The amusement that glitters behind his pale gaze is hard to miss. Where her black visage is impenetrable, save for the moments when emotions rose above her control, Asmodeus has not quite learned to manipulate such power, not as well as she at least. Years upon years of manipulation and prowess have honed that ability. But even she is not perfect…. Yet. She hides the sting of his insult, the biting words and vicious growls that threaten to take control and awaken the monster that lurks in slumber behind her glittering black eyes.
’The crown is not yours anymore Nyimara…’ The words that cross the space between them leave a bitter taste on her tongue. Regardless of how right his words were, that did not make their potency any less…. Bitter.
’Offer to bed the Dunes king for support?... or have you scheduled your next disappearing act?’ Instead of lashing out with venom and fury, emotions that rise on instinct deep within her breast, the silver-haired witch cannot help but smile. It is not a coquettish smile nor is it one of purity or bliss. How well Asmodeus was coming to learn her ways. A true testament to the time and effort she put into molding and shaping the unrest that lurked beneath the heart of the Ice King’s son. The smile that crosses her face is far almost sadistic, as though promising violence and chaos. A single brow arches as a smooth, impish giggle erupts from the deep recesses of her chest. Despite the bite of his words, Nyimara prances closer to him, closing the gap of space that separated their bodies to curl her sleek frame against his own in much the same manner as a cat might its owner. A foolish human might see it as affectionate, an action to show devotion and true loyalty. Nyimara saw it as something different. She saw it for what it truly was. The feline attempting to trip up and bring down its captor. A situation perhaps not so different than her own? Perhaps.
”Mine, mine, mine, my own… my precious…” she taunts, her lyrical voice venom laced with honey. Ash-dusted lips trail lightly along his spine, going against the grain of his coat in an effort to enhance the sensation of her touch. A coy grin slips into place along her small muzzle as the exotic huntress brings herself to stand at his side, the point of her shoulder pressing the barest of touches against his own with each rise and fall of their shared breaths. “Oh how easily the gold loses its luster and the sparkles of glitter and jewels fade…” she begins, pausing to blink up at him from beneath the thick veil of her pale lashes. ”Would it not be easier to share the burden, my love? You need me…” she breathes, pausing for a moment to let the weight of those words settle between them. ”It is easier to fit a shared throne than to bear the weight alone.” she finishes, her unusually long tail flicking idly against her hip as she presses closer to his side. ”But if you wish me to bed the Dunes king to secure the Salem monarchy for the Desert then I will. However, I would prefer we use a different and far more… tactical approach.” she begins, tossing her finely dished head to rid her visage of the tendrils of her alabaster forelock. ”You have no shortage of offspring to offer after all.”
It is a gamble, an assumption that Marceline spoke truth and that the lone mare and foal she had seen on the borders were in fact results from last spring. She does not know for sure, perhaps it had only been her imagination that saw resemblances where others might not have. Jealousy? Absolutely. Nyimara was not known for sharing. Power or lovers. Yet again and again the gods seem determined to teach her such useless tendencies. Regardless of how much she fights against it. This time, this time she would not give Asmoedus away so easily. Not this time. Not when Salem dangled so close to her outstretched claws.