Zevulun reacts as usual to her venom - a tolerant greeting, a terrifyingly fond look in his eyes. She does not miss the way his eyes linger on her swollen sides, and her ears pin in irritation. She’s perfectly aware she is overdue; probably dangerously so. She’d seen Akita suffer the same fate in her final pregnancy, and Riesling imagines that this, too, is a time history will repeat itself.

She scoffs at the upstart stallion who speaks of Salem politics as if he has any understanding of them. “Salem is at war because of Zevulun’s inability to protect our daughter, and the idiotic laws of this place that forbade me from doing so.” Her narrowed eyes turn back to Zevulun and she hisses, “Rafe threw Marceline off of that cliff, turned his back on a decade of peace and condemned an entire island to war for Claret; there is no one I trust to keep me or the children safe more than him. If I ask it, he will shelter the herd.” A clear delineation and warning to them all there - that Rafe’s allegiance lies with Riesling, and therefore with whatever stallion she has yoked herself to.

After all, her brother has never hesitated to do what needs to be done. And he can avoid the question until his dying day, refuse to give an answer as to just how Evrain took the Hills and Marceline washed up in the Peak broken and Isik disappeared into the dust - Riesling may never know the truth. But she has seen him kill for her before; she and Zevulun both heard the vow he took that day in the Hills. Everything he promised came true in the space of a season - how can she do anything but believe in him?

“I will not stay here with you,” she chokes out, ignoring the small part of her heart that wails at her to give in, to be gentle and cede to his wishes just this once. Life has not allowed her such luxuries, and Riesling knows better than to fall into a grave of her own making.

Any modicum of grace she was willing to give Zevulun in this evaporates the second he mentions going to talk to this stranger. Her ears pin and she sneers at him, demanding, “How many conversations of that sort did you have with Balor before he was nothing but a forgotten corpse, and you the victor with his home and his herd?” Her golden eyes dart to Claret and Riesling is only just able to fight back bile at the memory. At her pathetic, clinging desperation to protect whatever burgeoning future she had going here, repay Balor and get out from under that overwhelming debt. At the misunderstanding between her and Zevulun that led to Claret. She cannot regret it - not when her perfect daughter was the outcome. But she cannot ignore that it happened, either.

Harsh words, because she knows that Zevulun still carries guilt for Balor but the truth is not always kind and she isn’t one to shy from it. She has berated sense into him before - Riesling will do so again. “I will not see you repeat history and meet his fate. I’ve spent too long here to let you disappear into some watery grave because of a mangled leg and injured pride. Send me or this one,” she tosses her head at the stallion she’s done her damndest to never meet, “If you must. But going yourself is a fool's errand, Zevulun.” She glances around, ignoring the fact that she seems to be the only one here willing to speak the truth.

Revealing his cards now, letting the invading stallion know he is back, is injured and ripe for the taking is suicidal. “The only advantage you have right now is he thinks you gone and the herd fled to the winds. Do not give that up in some desperate attempt to make peace. He took your home - what more is there to know? What answer can he give, what resolution do you seek that will change anything? Cast him out and be done with it. For once in your ridiculous life put aside your emotions and think about what you give up in exchange for what you already know.” Her eyes glitter with rage, with unshed tears of relief and anger and so many other nameless emotions (and perhaps labor pains, but there isn’t time to think of that now).

Her voice gentles now, still not soft because Riesling doesn’t know how to be, and she tells him in a call back to a conversation they had years ago, “You’ve never had the stomach for war. Speaking with him will only weaken your resolve - for you, it is better not to know your enemy.”