No.

Asmodeus had lost count of how many days had passed since he had fled from Tinuvel's chilly shores to escape what he had done, but he knew it had to have been at least a month or more. Long enough that he had begun to accept that no one was coming for him, that he had escaped the justice he so deserved.

But he knew who she was. And knew why she had come.

Rather than charging ashore with righteous anger, however, Asmodeus watched (still and silent and wary) as the Queen of the Cove - his mother's counterpart - collapsed to the sand and stayed there. For a time, he let her be simply because he could not fathom a reason for Daciana to be here that was not rooted in vengeance, but eventually, the curiosity grew too strong for him to ignore.

Carefully fixing a mask of indifference over his face, Asmodeus casually moved toward her, his gaze sharp and appraising as he took in her downtrodden expression. He supposed that he should feel bad to see her in such pain - a part of him, perhaps, did - but the vast majority of him felt a twisted sort of satisfaction. Solomon's death had not been a part of the plan and had robbed him of the gratification that came with his revenge. He could not watch his father agonize over his loss, but perhaps he could watch the others agonize over Solomon.

Solomon didn't deserve their pain. Or he did. Asmodeus struggled with this concept, his opinion wildly swinging back and forth depending on what mood he was in when the thought struck.

"You come to my home and seek to order me around?" Asmodeus begins dryly, utilizing the sarcasm to hide any remnants of the tremor in his voice. Daciana's tone had still been that of a Queen, but her countenance was anything but, and it suddenly occurred to him that she might not even be a Queen anymore. With Solomon gone, had anyone stayed to take over the Cove?

Possessiveness flared in his green eyes but he forced his hooves to stay grounded in the soil. The painted mare might be hurting, but she was no less formidable now than she had been when he had joined the Cove as a yearling at Xiomara's side. Before, when she had belonged to his father, his gaze had never landed lasciviously on her. She was his father's mare, and therefore not of any interest to him beyond what wayward teenage eyes might have briefly considered.

But he had won against Solomon.

Take her, the dark voice in his mind whispered. It had risen to life in the darkness that followed the killing, and remained his constant companion now, encouraging him to follow his darkest thoughts. She would have been yours, you know.

And she would have been if he had stayed to claim his prizes. Not that he could really bring that up without revealing what else he'd done, but the realization brought with it a sudden appreciation of the fact that she was a lone mare. One that, like Nyimara and Marceline, had more than proven her capability as a leader, as a mother, as a fighter. She was exactly the sort of mare he had felt himself drawn to as he matured.

And she was no longer off limits to him.

"Get up," he said coldly, his gaze sharp as he watched her lay on the ground. For a moment he considered whether he should pretend to somehow not know, but he abandoned this pretense. Solomon was a large enough name that the rumors of his demise had reached even here in Salem. Explaining why he hadn't gone to say goodbye might be trickier, but he would leave that particularly sticky point to deal with if - and only if - it arose. "You were a queen. You don't wallow."

Adult Stallion 16.0HClassic Champagne ChimeraSolomon x Xiomara