Despite the air of roughness that could cling to the golden man in the earlier moments of his conversations, she finds that he is quick to slip into the sugary flow of words that keeps her desperate need for civility among her peers appeased and her intelligent mind grinding and whirling about each statement and subtle play of tones and language. He is not the only one of her number with a tongue of silk and sugar, actually one of many who satisfy her with their intellect and wit – but it is always good to meet another of her blood who is worthy of the aspirations she drapes them in, and it is even better to know that so many of them live here, with her.

It is the basis of their revolution, one that she covers in black silk and tinkers on late into the night, a dark machine oiled and rigged to leave oceans of blood in a new, cleansed world; surely, they will not all die, for she is a kind woman in that she will let them serve beneath her as the slaves they are if they are smart enough to ask her benevolence. She is sure Deimos will think the same once he sees their dominance taking hold – even he cannot wish to kill all in the world when some might be spared to do the work unfitting for their beautiful, crowned kin.

She laughs lightly at his playful retort on the wild lands, she herself knowing that feeling from her younger years of wandering and learning. Each path was known to her, so long as it had not been newly born, and so she knows how much lie between this cold land and the southern realms; it is a wonder he managed to remove himself from it all long enough to realize that summer had come.

But the conversation turns to stories and she will not delay them with any more words; she knows well enough that he has heard plenty of her land while out and about, her vanity for once not the cause of her concern. Too often tongues waggled about old mishaps on behalf of their former rulers and it seemed not a soul could remember that the faces that had once ruled there were no more; sure, the General had risen to rank, but the others beneath the Frostheart and her beloved Empress had all but vanished. The only remaining faces of the old covenant were mostly unknown to the outside world, for which she was thankful – perhaps only d’Artagnan was still feared among the commoners of Helovia, for her dearest Engineer had been all but silent in his pact to the nefarious guild and the others were much the same as he. It went well with her plans, of course; if she could maintain a guise of friendliness towards the idiot queen of the Edge, she is relatively sure that time will ease the rest of their fears from them.

She listens with great attention, though she feigns to be moderately distracted by weariness and the sound of the lake shore that whispers in the distance. It wouldn’t do for the man to automatically know she takes much more care to catch each detail than most, and while she is the reason he is here, she trusts very few who she has known for many years – and Thranduil is new to her life, however interesting he might be.

Her lips flicker in a humored smile at the thought of Kahlua and this one meeting, as well as the immediate mention of Abishia. He says he knows of their dark stories and of their goals, but seems to feel little disturbance over the matter (which is in itself highly reassuring) – but most intriguing to her is that he has won over the River Walker in such a way that her crumbling walls are now open to a certain dual horned infiltrator.

Her grin grows wolfish, golden eyes narrowing in dark delight, but his earlier words are the ones that draw her immediate response.

"A lost king?" she inquires, "Surely the great Midas hasn’t already gone mad from being around the Czarina Seele and her hatters." Her laughter tells that what she says is about what she believes – the notion, however grand it would be to her at the end of the day, is not one she can easily take faith in. Midas, however small, punitive, and winged he may be, was not of a soft soul; the golden armor that wreathed his neck was indicative of more than just the ability to defend his body, and his tales stretched long into her own history in Helovia, his conquests gilded and honorable. If she had to put a wager on the fall of the Falls (the pun almost draws a second row of laughter from her as it fleetingly crosses her mind), she would say that Seele would fall long before the sky pony ever thought of defeat, if she even remained to defend the land she had been given.

It was not a fault of her character, really; Illynx found no shame in leaping from a burning ship what so ever and would be the first out of the Basin if it seemed things weren’t going their way, after all.

"In so far as our history, I am afraid it was more than likely painted true for the most part," she says it with a sigh, as if true regrets fill her at the thought that they are feared and of popular discussion (wasn’t that her entire life goal?), "though I seek to remedy the mistakes of the past with gentler actions in the future. Should you have more… inquiries, I will happily seek to answer them."