’.. Time will tell…’ His response causes the cocky smirk upon her lips to falter for a moment, replacing with something akin to fury. If you asked her now what started the competitive feud she and the Peak Minister continued all these years later, the witch is not certain she can give a proper answer. Perhaps it was the way that Marceline constantly found herself at opposing sides to the silver witch, maybe it began with the seduction of Rafe all those many years ago, maybe it was even how easily Marceline managed to snatch away whatever prized toy that Nyimara tried to hoard for herself. Either way, the confident response in Asmodeus’ voice draws a silent growl deep within her breast.

Anger flashes behind her voidless-black eyes as her paper-thin nostrils flare, exhaling a pointed huff of disgust. Unusually long silver-white tail lashes audibly against her lithe limbs as Nyimara sidles closer, snaking her finely chiseled muzzle forward to scrape lightly against the beast’s chimera shoulder. ”I suppose it will.” she replies, fighting to keep her voice as level and monotone as possible.

It is for the best when Asmodeus changes the direction of the conversation and Nyimara allows it with no more arguement than a mere press of her velvet lips, as if promising that this conversation has so much more left unsaid. Attention transfers from the languid gleam of his blue-green eyes to the welcoming sensation of his whiskered lips as they travel over the dust-blanketed chocolate hairs along her spine. It was hard to stay angry at him when his touch is so…. Skilled.

Once more the cocky smile slides into place along her lips as the feral woman lifts her pale crown higher. ”As to be expected….” she purrs, taking a step backwards to draw herself out of the range of his touch, if only to force him to take a step forward if he wished to touch her again. A coquettish grin ghosts across her exotic fascade for a moment before disappearing with entirety. ”Helios will support OUR claim to the Salem throne….” she begins, pausing a moment to let the implication of that single emphasized word linger between them. ”As long as I am at your side… as QUEEN.” she chuffs, exhaling a slow, calculated breath as her sleek chocolate neck arches, sending silver-white tresses cascading heavily across her visionfield, veiling her wary gaze. A single brow arches in suspicion, ”I do hope you will not prove me wrong when I promised him there would be no concerns on that forefront…” she inquires.