The King might have chuckled at the Devoted’s simple ”Oh” in response to his candid, outright honesty. He might have grinned easily, inviting the others to join in on his amusement. Except the would was too fresh—Elsa’s stinging insults during their spar and her silently cold shoulder during this meeting too recent and painful—to allow him any kind of laugh at the expense of this situation. Instead, his navy gaze found hers, blinking once as his head dipped quickly in agreement that, indeed, she would ”most certainly wouldn’t let” him fall into that habit with her. He blinked again, in solemn surprise, as she thanked him. “You are welcome, Queen Alysanne,” his deep voice rumbled simply and quietly.

But then his great head and attention turned, drawn by the motion of Mauja dropping his head to the lake’s still and glass-like surface. Navy eyes watch his dark muzzle hover above the surface; but he does not drink. The Elephant’s own black lips purse, wondering if this sudden denial of thirst was some sort of repentance for the man’s outbursts and lack of reservation during the meeting. But the King said nothing aloud, instead simply wondering if this withdrawn Mauja was the one he would now receive—after naming him Emissary and now spilled his sins at the ground of his motionless, frosted hooves. What was the cost of the Edge’s leadership? Of power? His eyes glance from Mauja, to Alysanne, and then to the vague direction in which Elsa had disappeared…

He felt drained, exhausted from hearing and corralling all the angry outbursts and outraged voices that all wanted to be heard in the meeting; and (though he did not entirely know it) from the influence of Alysanne’s magic flowing through him during the meeting. And now, in this moment, he felt alone as Mauja’s dull gaze stared across a lake for infinite moments.

”I think you can be a great Queen…” The blue gaze stared through him as his sad words fell simply—and Tembovu’s own navy blinked and looked away. There was no recognition of his touch, no warmth of friendship or love in this soft voice. But then, in the moment, Mauja was not a friend, he was an advisor.

A single, black-rimmed ear tilted backwards, navy gaze staring beyond the Frostheart’s face to the spotted, satin juncture of neck and jaw as he spoke. His words were just, based in truth and experience. Thick black lips and his gaze jerked slightly as his friend Emissary referenced the day of his own ascension to Regency.

”You could’ve asked her in private chatter than thrust it upon her like this.” The chide was gentle, and (as the Elephant’s dark eyes finally swung back to his blues) his eyes were sad. A soft, long breath pushed out of his nostrils (he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it), before he looked for long, silent heartbeats at Mauja. Though the rebuke was gentle and honest, the Elephant cannot help that it adds to the burn of shame and guilt in his barrel already stoked by Elsa.

And so he nodded slightly, “You are right, I should have. If I had known the Icebound was relinquishing her throne, I would have.” His deep rumble was void of emotion and hushed. And then he looked to the Devoted, “My apologies, Alysanne.”

And then the burn began to grow into a need— a restless need for motion. As emotion always did to the Elephant King, he would rather put his body into action rather than sit and let his mind dwell on the thoughts that rolled through it.

So, with a terse dip of his great skull, he began to drift away from his two black-and-white cohorts, “Thank you, my friends.” It was laced with sadness.