Ironclad's sudden yielding hurt more than Solomon cared to examine. They had never truly been close, owing to the young stallion's devotion to his aging father and then later, to his stalwart sense of pride, but Solomon had ever been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Even after the Inlet prince had challenged for one of his daughters. Even after he had vied directly against Solomon for the right to court Valka. Despite everything, the tobiano King had been willing to give him another chance, but this transgression was different.

Running like a coward from the souls that looked to you for protection was unforgivable, and Solomon now found himself in sudden need of new allies.

Solomon cannot blame the small grullo stallion for the smug smirk that he wears. Had the positions been reversed, he would have likely been grinning from ear to ear at such a stroke of luck. As they settle together, the familiar aura of competition wove around them, and he had to mentally stop himself from bristling at the prospect of a challenge.

A lazy smile curls on Solomon's lips as Bjorn comments on his quick response, and he chuckles without mirth. He was not yet sure how he felt about Suleiman cohabitating with the daughter of Bjorn and Nyimara, but it had, at least, proved somewhat useful. The slip of her tongue, intentional or not, had prepared him for the possibility of Bjorn taking the Inlet. He hadn't foreseen this particular outcome, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

"You have a habit of showing up wherever I happen to be, Bjorn. It was only a matter of time until you managed to do so permanently, rather than temporarily." He answered dryly in reference to their previous meetings, his tone hinting at mirth despite its generic neutrality. Although even that remains to be seen, he thinks silently to himself, mentally tallying the number of times that Bjorn had come and gone mysteriously. Who was to say that this round would be any different than the times that had come before?

Still, Solomon does not yet have enough familiarity with the painted stallion to demand answers from him. The reasons he had chosen to come and leave with more frequency than the seasons themselves would have to remain a mystery for now. It did not give Solomon much hope that Bjorn would stick around long term this time either, but making friends now would give him the time and space to plan for Bjorn's next disappearance. Perhaps Rehoboam, Gavriel, or Galahad would be up to the task of taking on their own territory and solidifying Solomon's hold on the island further.

"I hold the crown of Tinuvel," he begins, not bothering to be coy or dance around the issue. "And I plan to keep doing so." Solomon says calmly, his voice firm. It is his turn to flick the dark strands of his tail against his body as he watches his companion for clues. No doubt Ysabel will hate him for trying to reach common ground with Bjorn, but he has more than just the emotions of his distant Queen to consider. Her interest in protecting their legacy had waned, as had his desire to indulge her grudge against the small stallion. Solomon's legacy depended on the decisions he made every day, and if she had no desire to be a part of it, then he would not force it.

"Deciding the monarchy came to blows last time, but I have a feeling we could come to a more… diplomatic solution this time." Solomon continues, his voice still controlled. His mind flicks - very briefly - over Isabel and her confession, but opts not to mention it. Her betrayal still stung, but she hadn't left him precisely. Just thrown herself at the colt as if she had no ability to control herself. In truth, the whole situation left him feeling unsettled. He never knew quite how to regard the little mare, and when he thought about it too much, it made him feel uncomfortable with the stallion he'd become. Still, as it stood, Bjorn's grandchild was set to be raised in the Cove, and his older daughter had taken residence in the Arch. If one looked at things realistically, Solomon not only held all of the playing cards, but had also left little room for bargaining.

Being a tyrant could be fun, but Solomon was aware it would earn him no allies.

"I'm sure you're well aware of my Queen's… frustration with you in the past. Should we call ourselves allies, I will bar her from making trouble for you." A ceasefire seems like the very basic foundation upon which to build their alliance - if it should be built at all, and yet it feels… small compared to what they might otherwise be able to achieve together. Solomon does not have much trust in the small stallion, despite his battle prowess and apparent luck, but time had a funny way of changing things. "What are your thoughts?"

Solomon