Marceline is quick to recognize him, which doesn't particularly surprise him. She had struck him as an attentive leader during his brief stint in the Hills, so it was not surprising that she had filed away the face of a potential enemy. In truth, Rehoboam
should be thanking her. Removing Isiksiz from the Lagoon had not only paved the way for him to retain his Marauder position unopposed, but had also removed a dangerous threat from his daughter's vicinity.
The fact that the irritating soot-smudge of a stallion hadn't returned, though, implied that Marceline found some redeeming quality in the pest.
"Oh you know," he murmured, gesturing with his muzzle to the endless dunes of sand behind him.
"Enjoying a lovely mandatory vacation. You know how Nyimara gets in the Fall," he murmured roguishly, lying through his damned teeth with the hope that Marceline would take his implications of Nyimara's baby daddy with her. He didn't know if such a rumor would help him or bite him in the ass, but if it added more chaos to Nyimara's life he would do so and gladly.
"Can't keep her hands to herself."
As the chocolate-colored mare joined them, he offered a secretive wink to Marceline and then turned to face Ny, carefully hiding his loathing of her with the same mask she'd been so frustrated with the first time they'd interacted.
"Hmm," he drawled warmly, his hard gaze fixated on the contours of her face.
"Who wants to sleep when the ladies are talking, Ny-darling? Better the real adult sticks around to make sure you two play nice."
And, if he were lucky, learn a little more of their secret pact.
"A united Salem? With Nyimara?" He questions, his voice subtly incredulous despite the rictus cocksure grin still on his lips. The odds were still pretty good that the Dunes Queen would lunge after him to force him from the conversation, but until she did, he intended to make himself as much of a nuisance as possible.
"So who gets to wear the crown?"