In a way he found her beautiful, intricate, as all others she encountered surely did. Perhaps in another place, another time, he would comment upon it. For what little experience with the fairer sex the Prince had, his golden heart generally made up for it, shedding light and compliments down upon those around him. Yet when she stood there before the flames, a request on her lips and a blueprint in her mind, anything that could be chalked up as physical attractiveness and aesthetic disappeared. Maren became a mannequin, a doll which he had to clothe, shape, adorn. She was warm and pliable, little threads of tension running in the seams of her stripes.

The Prince was as gentle as he could be, something outside of his almost fervent desire to create recognizing her discomfort and amplifying his own already careful mannerisms to suit her. The metal was beautiful against her frame, and though Cera was not one for arrogance or negative pride, he found it attractive as it lay against her skin in custom fit precision. Accenting the crests and valleys of her body, even as it covered the stripes that lent her the exoticism that undoubtedly drew others to her in fascination.

When he finally removed himself from the headspace he often fell into when manipulating the metals of the earth, he was able to freely call it endearing, the way she shuffled her little wings away in order to enhance her peripheral vision. Cera dare not call them cute to her face for fear of insulting her, but if one day he could firmly call her a friend, then perhaps he would inform her. Or tease her kindly, whichever came first. She seemed the type he desired to befriend, at the least. Ilaria huffed fondly from her little rock by the fire, auburn eyes agleam with amusement. Everyone is your friend type, Cera. Cera huffed a little laugh while Maren inspected her armor, turning and lolling his tongue out playfully at the red panda.

Heart seemed to glow at her praise, her saucy little wink, and Cera laughed more freely for the effort. He returned it with one of his own, paired with words that sprang in teasing jest to his lips. "It is only the greatest because you are the one to wear it," he assured, emeralds gleaming like the gems they resembled in the fine curves of his face. It was nice to joke and play, especially after the mild dramatic moment with Rhoa. Though crafting always lifted his heart, the Golden Prince loved to socialize, and he seemed to glow from within at her simple interaction with him. Truly deserving of the name he'd somehow been awarded.

"You'll dazzle them even as you're being protected," Cera hummed pleasantly, eyes dancing in little flames reminiscent to the ones warming his skin. But she was made of softer things, though something in her eyes glinted like gleaming, polished silver - the blade of an ornate dagger, beautiful but still capable of so much more. And instead of flames, mists began to coil round them, as if wrapping him in a tender caress. Cera's smile illuminated beyond all, and as the clouds seemed to be sucked into one of the amulets, he directed the full intensity of his countenance to the mare before him. "Thank you," he breathed, exhilarated.