She's as jumpy as a filly in spring, and the bastard stands his ground with the smallest lift of his amused brow. She introduces herself, and his silver gaze turns interested as she reveals she's a queen - he hadn't expected that of her. One of her seeming shyness isn't the sort he could imagine upon a throne, and he wonders if she is the trophy queen of a war king, a pretty face to warm his bed and bear his children. "Shall I bow, or will a curtsy do?" he asks her with a small simper, sarcasm evident, massive head tilting to scrutinise her in a manner he fully intends to be unnerving, predatory.

She asks a question of him, and he is silent for a moment as he thinks over it. Because it just won't doesn't seem like the sort of answer that would satisfy her. "Because peace can never be permanent, Kahlua. For every woman like you, there's a man like me - never content unless we're at war. Battle runs in our blood, and as long as that's the case, peace is naught but an attractive concept that doesn't work in reality." For him, it is as simple as that. Some individuals were content to follow, but for every one of them, there was a Tyradon or a Confutatis - content only when bathing in the blood of a foe. Unless there was a way to stifle the primal urge for war in the minds of such men and women, peace could never last. Oh, if Tyradon and his demon queen took a herd, he didn't doubt that a period of peace would soon follow - a time when they were content to rest and savour life, free from war cabinets and strategies. But sooner or later, the lust to take would arise within them again and they would march again on their palisade to rule, to dominate, to dine on wine, women and war.

Because life was too damn short to sit around a fire content with what you had, when you could have more.

"That is why leaders need to be willing to do whatever it takes in the name of their followers. They are entitled to savour peace while it lasts, to reap the rewards of hard-won battles, but they need to have the ability and desire to give their last breath to protect what they have when necessary. Kings and queens who do naught but sit on their thrones and pray war will never come are unfit to wear their crowns - who is going to put their faith in a monarch unwilling to die for them?" He makes his crusade for dominance sound almost altruistic, when he puts it like that. Yes, there is an element of selfishness in his craving for power - he wants to be the best, he wants to want for nothing and to have mares fawning at his feet and men begging to fight and die in his name. But he also craves leadership because he thinks he would be better at it than anybody else - he is willing to die for his cause, to fight and kill and protect until his bitter old bones break and his flesh rots in the bloodied soil.

He hunts a crown not just for his sake, but for the wellbeing of all who pledge their loyalty to him, because they deserve it.

He looks back to the mare, the angel queen, and lifts a questioning brow. "Would you fight for your herd, Kahlua, or sit and watch as they're torn to shreds before your eyes?" He scans her face for reaction, keen to see if his words have managed to convince her about how right he was.