It does not take long for Asmodeus to answer her call. Almost as if he had been waiting as impatiently as she for the child to make it’s appearance into the word. Almost as if he truly cared. Almost as if she truly believed it. Almost allowed herself to believe it. Almost.
If it had not been for the wandering eyes of her past partners, Nyimara might think there was affection lying beneath the hungry eyes that roamed her sweaty, damp body. But even the faithful ones could be swayed when it came to hormones and endorphins that arose with autumn. Still, Asmodeus had proved his loyalties against his father and despite being tossed at her hooves as some discarded toy, he had risen to the occasion with a measure of control that only experience had taught her.
’A son..’ he remarked, his gaze raming over the boy’s glistening coat. She too turned her head to gaze in satisfaction at the creamy gold of her newest offspring as he finished his meal and raised his head from beneath her flank. His bright blue eyes blinked as he gazed upon the painted stallion, his pale, pink nose fluttering as he tried to inhale the scent drifting towards him. Asmodeus takes a tentative step forward and stretches his neck towards the child, his gaze darting towards her before returning to the colt before him. The silver-haired witch dips her head slightly, closing the distance between them. Ash dusted labrums brush along the slope of his shoulder, stretching high enough to rest her chin across his broad back..
”Cahyr is the name I have given him. He will be a great warrior… a king one day...” she purs, pausing a moment so that the words can linger breathily into the air between them.
Cahyr snorts his disapproval as mother’s warmth steps away. Pale ears lace tightly against his small head as he takes a hobbled step towards the towering shadow, his eyes blinking in challenge as though he dared the familiar beast to contradict him. Nyimara smiles broadly, withdrawing her chin to scrape her blunt teeth possessively across the brown splotched shoulder. ”Like his father… if you wish it.” she purrs, her breath hot against his skin as slowly, almost reluctantly, she withdraws her touch to fix her near-black eyes with his peridote gaze. A twisted grin splays across her delicate features as she purs, ”Would you like to be a king of the Desert?” It was more than Solomon ever offered him. A temptation as clear as the poisoned apple handed to snow white. And how she relished in the idea of Asmodeus facing off against his sire and dam. Flaunting the golden crown that stood stubbornly between their hooves with expectation in his bright eyes....