He reassures her at least of Antares’ fidelity and utter infatuation - that he can at least read on her face in spite of the clear embarrassment. It was true that Antares had felt only more desire, that she had improved her status simply by being so baldfaced in her feelings regarding other women while he was entangling himself into a new coupling with her. Rigel did not think he did it apurpose, Antares being too noble for petty jabs to incite others, but it had been well done in any case.

He misses her care over this mare in his tale, so taken in by his memory of her as he was. She had been a concubine of a breed other than the God’s Own -- so not entirely worthy, so to speak, as to warrant his having made an argument with a noble of Mahgrib over her and potentially sully the alliance with badly chosen behavior. Still, he wished that he might have taken her from that place. Still, he wished that she might have taken him at his late-spoken word to flee and let him find her in the vagabond wastes. Her image would not easily nor kindly leave him to peaceful slumber. When she is clearly looking at him, he breaks from his memory and properly flows them onward into other discussions.

She is less balking now, hearing him out without directly given sign of offense or denial - but he does not doubt there might still be seeds of doubt behind the well knit facades women were made to wear in her homeland. He tells her of the dangers that came from laboring beneath a Husband in constant call to his body. He tells her of stories where Husbands did try and were unable to command themselves rightly - though he leaves off telling of the men who died for this disruption of wifely jealousy, distracted too easily in battle by some bondswoman brought to draw his hungers out and make him sloppy in his battle. He can see that the loss of the child in his one story alone was enough to make her consider more deeply what she would condemn her body to-- or sacrifice future children to-- while he yet again does not specifically mention it being evenly Antares’ own Gift that would be to her curse.

He did not wish castration for making her afeared of her Husband, after all.

He hopes she had not taken it into her soul too heavily that she might be afraid already of being amorous with her Husband, however. The worry makes him tangent off in his speech the same way it makes Sayyida lip her lips to the sand beneath them. He does not see the questions she brewed, though he marked her concerned countenance once he had enough mind away from worries and he comes back to the present. He chooses not to dig at more wounds to her propriety than she had already taken to heart with him -- and instead continues on his distracted tangent till she is crying and he finds reason to interrupt his tale with thanks for her patience. She, also, considers him most potently by the end of all he had need to say in this particular lesson. He feels the swell of hope that she might have finally realized that to be of one flesh, mind, and soul was not to be a flowery phrase but meaningful. That the love of the Husband shared by the Wives was love they also would heap at her own feet. Their bodies a protection for her children, their wombs fertile ground by which her children would know friendship, their hearts meant to bring her joy and companionship that might never be given from a stallion to a mare -- with total understanding, their minds meant to offer wisdom of things not known by their companions.

She excuses his foray into the personal, as he anticipated, but her praise in him seems to make him make a face that implied what might have been a blush, were he but human. “I find that most high praise and you shame me for not having equally high praise to offer in return, for all that I am the wordier of my brothers...” He looks to the side though, clearly in thought about a particular person of his acquaintance - but not of the one who had caused him such sadness. Instead, of course, what he reacts to is her next question regarding the state of Antares’ household as it stood.

“First Wife, my dear sister. Only Wife, and hence why all the fanfare in telling you of those stories and the eagerness of my brother in having you returned to me as my student.” He smiles, clearly viewing the question as matter-of-fact with good humor. “And for that last -- you will never swear vow or oath to any other. It is forbidden. Even in promises, you are barred from giving of your oath or to swear a vow to anyone save for him.

“If one person is to beg you for a boon, you might find it easiest to say - ‘My Hope Is With You’ if you intend to give it them, or ‘At The Pleasure Of My Husband’ if you mean to be coy or cryptic to your stance on the granting of it, or deny by ‘May The Gods Forbid’. That way the promise you wish to convey is no oath or vow that might make you waver to the duty owed your Husband.” He tilts his head to one side, as if remembering another instance and another phrasing after having listed those three. “It is not uncommon to otherwise say “I swear it is so” and normally that is not counted for the layman, but as you are to be all but his equal - and you would otherwise be putting his honor and yours on the line in swearing to fact some thing or another-- One might say “Will You Speak for This Person” or “Are You Sure Of This Dire Thing” to you and you might choose to reply “May Ammut Consume Me Otherwise” or “May Maat’s Feather Affirm”.”

He finds in himself a little wariness that he might be postponing the truth - and he could not abide even the sidelong lie of omission. “I will tell you, though, lady - One has played the part of Priestess of Min for him when we finally came and established claim in these Dunes. It was unplanned and stunned us all, but please promise me you shall not hold the curse of his defiance of Min in lieu of his Duty in Wartime against him. It had been two years since he had been confronted by the season of Min and Qetesh where he had no bridle affixed by myself, his betrothal to you, and the War he headed in his father’s stead. The warrior-lady Indira of the Crossing Isle was laid before him by Set and Sekhmet in unholy alliance, awakening in him the warfever and blending it into passion for a night - acting like the lightening strike against a mountain face and baring him raw so that you might have the best of him and not the creature who tore at her in confusion between the fires of Min and the conflagration of Sekhmet.”

“They regard each other well, but she was not meant for him. She was to be his cleansing from the bloody years spent being harder than his soul could almost endure - more brutal than he ever wanted to be again. She is no threat and wanted nothing more of him than the amusement he gave in his fight and then his pitting all of us brothers against her-- every one of us four losing, if you can believe it.”