Antares is interrupted in his welcome by Maslakhat and he does what duty and fealty dictates. He steps aside and withdraws his attempted invitation with a few steps back from the one he had almost offered his nostrils. He might have been High Prince elsewhere, but here he was only a Lord of the Northeastern portion of the territory. It rankles his darker brother, but he knows better than to speak out of turn when his brother had already backed down in the shadow of the Teke.

Bahadir’s claim, emphasis on the previously unmentioned former, does not so much as stir them. A former king is king no more - and Antares was well aware of the fact with how he gives way to the sterner interrogation of the actual possesser of the Dunes. Few his herd might have been, but it was all to his power that Antares was granted the leave to build his People here. “And now they are under ours,” the dark brother replies, adding at the end with a nod of deference to Maslakhat that did seem to be genuine despite his personal opinions, “Maslakhat’s and our own in his generosity for the exchange of our watchfulness.”

The addition of a lady did nothing to assuage the two Arabians, but Antares does adopt a handsome smile at her addition to their number. “Welcome to you as well, lady of the People.” He can scent on them their relation, though their scent was not shared to each others flesh to imply them traveling companions of any length lately. Atair offers his nod of basic greeting, not making much of himself with his true ruler and the owner of the land in play.

“You speak so casually of Ⲟⲩⲃⲁⲥⲧⲉ… you must be of a Tribe under her protection? … Though it was Ϣⲱⲓ who led us and Ⲥⲁⲭⲙⲓ who keeps us.” He speaks the Holy Tongue because if this one was Royal, for all that he looked Other in many ways, he deserved to be spoken to as such. Ⲙⲟⲛⲧ, god of the vitality of a ruler, would not have been mistaken in choice - though that choice was overthrown for some device of the gods or another. Sometimes one lost the grace of their god and the protection therein was utterly laid to waste in the face of a lone mortal against a formidable opposing god.

Antares looks to Maslakhat. “They are of My People, though they seem a bit of someone elses too. If you find them worthy, I would accept them as guests under my Wife’s convictions. She would take it poorly if one came who meant to be a guest and was turned away without my speaking for their comfort.” Maslakhat was always short on his words, in Antares’ experience, but if there was any chance to do right by Sayyida’s upbringing, he would.