Her expression gives nothing away, but her silence is telling enough. In the early days before he knew much of her, Asmodeus might have not caught it, but with his silver maned witch the absence of vitriol was just as importance as it's presence.

A smile crosses her lips that arrests his attention for how very unlike Nyimara it is, and his brow furrows in suspicion as she curls around him, cat-like. Mine, mine, mine- she purrs and he offers a soft snort of amusement. Once, he had believed her. Then she disappeared and came back with a bastard's boy in her belly and whatever delusion he might have had as to her affection or her loyalty vanished. Even now, as she slithers alongside his body, he half expects to feel her fangs in his skin. She'd been foolish to remove her mask around him once he'd found his feet; it had allowed him to flip their power dynamic, but even now he was well aware of the danger he faced if he ever offered her the same opportunity.

You need me, she cajoled, fluttering her golden lashes in his direction. He bit back a sarcastic response and focused on steadying his breathing, hating that her proximity was making it so hard to focus on the things that were important. Thankfully, her acknowledgment that she would bed the Dunes king if he demanded it helped to snap the chimera from the delusions he had almost allowed back in and he huffed a small laugh, amused at the thought of becoming Nyimara's pimp. That would certainly be one way to win the favor of the enigmatic Arabian.

What followed that suggestion, however, brought the anger back into his eyes and he was reminded, again, that Nyimara truly did not know him. She still believed him one dimensional, without character, too far gone down the path she'd set him on to resent that he'd ever been put on this path to begin with.

"You would have me become my father." He said flatly, eyes darkening as he watched her. His voice grew harsher and he pulled away from her presence, grateful for the distraction. "Perhaps you should have bedded him instead of me."

Asmodeus gritted his teeth and shifted further away from her, turning his head to glare back in her direction with pinned ears. Spurned pride burned in his chest, although it's origin was more complicated. Asmodeus was not necessarily opposed to the idea of sending children or bartering them between families, once they were of age. However, to do so in place of earning something rightfully? Trading a child for a herd's support in gaining a crown was fundamentally no different than trading your son away to avoid fighting.

"I will win the monarchy by my own merit, not by bartering children like chattel." He turned further then, facing her head on once more. "Although I will admit," he growled, tail lashing. "The idea of trading mares is growing on me."

He let that sit for a moment as he dragged in a breath to steady himself, eyes still fixated on the beautiful mare. "You've cost me as much support as you've gained me, Nyimara." This was a presumption considering no one had ever said as much to his face, but it was a convenient and plausible enough excuse to make his demand. "So it is upon you to prove to me that you can be a queen. Not a tyrant, Nyimara - we both know you can manage that just fine - but a queen."

"I won't order you to bed the Dunes lead, but if that is how low you must stoop to earn his
favor than so be it. Bring me the support of the Hills or the Dunes if you want to rule at
my side again."

Adult Stallion 16.0HClassic Champagne ChimeraSolomon x Xiomara