Ugh. That’s the only thought going through Arsinoe’s head when she spots Asmodeus on the horizon. Of course they didn’t make it back to the Badlands without him spotting them. There’s no point in running - Aesara is all legs, bumbling and uncoordinated in a way that lends itself to chaos, not rapid departure. So instead she waits, slowing their walk.

Aesara bounds ahead in delight, thin coat already drying in the heat of the Salem sun. Arsinoe flickers an ear forward, catches his words and rolls her eyes. “Not intentionally,” she mutters, uncaring if he hears or not.

She wants to go home. She needs to check in on Raegar, check in on the herd. And she doesn’t entirely want to reckon with what Asmodeus might think their daughter means. He had been all full of honeyed words, promises of power and her support. She was angry and hormonal and riding high on her usual self destructive tendencies. Now, level-headed and with another daughter at her feet, Arsinoe isn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of rehashing whatever it is she agreed to, or having to flat out renege.

Better to avoid him, keep him sweet (or ambivalent, at least) and focus on her own family and their interests. But he’s not going to let her go without a conversation, and Aesara is already wheeling from inspecting a sun-baked, leathery bit of seaweed to gazing curiously at the stallion and creeping closer. Arsinoe never lets anyone this close to her – but she isn’t exactly going to run a potential ally (and the father of her child) off. “No,” she finally tells Asmodeus. “I sent Xafira for that, remember?”

Aesara crashes into her then, and Arsinoe huffs out an annoyed little breath before gently tugging at her daughter’s mane. “Say hello to your father, Aesara. And then goodbye - we have places to be.”