From his mantle, the King departs, a smile on his lips for the Queen he leaves to make her own decision. It is a smile that promises his return to her side. For now, he seeks someone else, desiring a privacy that the two had only had once before, when Kaj had been condemned and despairing. The King searches for his new Spectre, eyes moving across the faces that turn towards him, giving smiles and nods to those who meet his gaze. It is not hard to find him, and Kaj switches pace, twisting on heel to shift his path towards the ex-Prince. Now, he belongs to the Council of the Edge. The past is forgotten, wiped away in a blur Kaj will never hold against any of his subjects. Smile melts like honey across his pale golden face, wings shuffling softly to avoid rudely bumping his subjects aside. It feels odd to call them such, for they are his brethren, and he is not accustomed to feeling anything but equal to them- even as a Captain. Doubts it will stop feeling odd for a while at least.

But those are the least of his worries, and the ones that do prevail are ignored in favor of the newly crowned Spectre he approaches. A nod of head is given, but a kindly smile sweetens the ceremonial gesture. They were both stags of similar upbringing, it was merely a matter of respect, a motion to go through before their more private relationship could trump the situation and breach the rank gap. Instead of stopping to address him face to face he extends a cream wing, aiming to brush any part of Quilyan, perhaps his shoulder or flank, to convey the message that he did not want to stop and chat where all could hear. "Walk with me, brother," he said softly, a mix of command and request, pleasant and clear in his desire to partake in pleasantries with one he knew and trusted so deeply. None of those gathered round could hold such a bond with the Stormbringer, not even Kahlua, for the relationship forged between the two pegasi was unique in all cases. "If you are not too terribly troubled to be taken from the side of your missus?" Playfully he teases, a good-natured wink following his lyrics as he laughed throatily, long pillars directing him forth in the direction he wished to take Quilyan.

@[Quilyan]

There is a shared awareness between King and Spectre that the Storm Bringer can't truly describe. He has always been aware of Quilyan, since he'd first met the painted Prince. He knew where he was at almost any time. Though at first it had been because Kaj did not trust Quilyan with Resplendence's shattered heart and mind, it had evolved into something different over the seasons. Now, it was like they had shared a womb, and his acknowledgement of the Spectre had yet to cease. It was odd, but not unpleasant, for they were brothers in all but blood according to Kaj. Much like Ink had become to him, over the passage of time. But that was a wound still far too raw for him to graze over in his thoughts, and his cheek twitched with the desire to show how he felt. It was restrained, for he could not let his people see how badly he missed the stallion that painted with substance like night embodied, mute but also the greatest friend the lion man had ever had. But time had gone on, and in Quilyan's face he found the support and loyalty he'd always valued, the one thing he'd found so terrifyingly absent in Helovia.

They play a game far too intricate for anyone to understand, uninvolved as they were. But Kaj can play it well, though there is a certain warmth to his eyes that even he cannot conceal, for he knows once the two have parted from the conspicuous stances they take in the herd meeting that all will fall away like gossamer shrouds upon their hides. But Quilyan is quick to play his part, and Kaj watches as he pardons himself from the side of his beloved. The Storm Bringer regrets, in private, for he and his aardbei have slipped apart since the darkness invaded. He feared it could not be mended. She had Quilyan, after all, and what was Kaj in comparison? What could he offer as a brother that a lover could not? Tongue is held regardless, until the brothers are side by side, disappearing from the views of those who may wish to pry. The King is in need of the one who had supported his rise to the throne, for it is only in him that he can confide. Their Queen was too pure of heart and endearingly simple of mind to understand, and Resplendence and he...well, he had already addressed that fact.

It is Quilyan who speaks first, and Kaj smiles softly, though there is a certain weariness to it. "Not without sacrifices, my brother. I could have done better." His crown shakes sadly, but he inhales deeply, spreading the calm to the rest of his limbs, trying to make them understand that he can relax now. He stares up into the boughs above, to the sky beyond, and muses on the events that brought him to stand before the painted fellow. It had been such a long and winding road. He only hoped it would be worth it, in the end. Icy blue eyes fall back down and he smiles once more at the Spectre before him, trying to shake off the mood clinging to his shoulders like a phantom memory. "Tell me, broer. What does love feel like?" And oh the shame! He feels the flush of his face as he speaks it, smile awkward and strained as he tries and fails to hold Quilyan's gaze, moments later letting his own fall to awkwardly peruse the ground round his hooves. If only his flock knew that their King was so helpless in matters so simple.

@[Quilyan]

Everywhere the gold figure looks, he sees beauty. But all he can feel in his heart is sacrifice. His mind goes to Lace and he recalls the agony on the poor grullo's face, the morbid tear that went streaking down his cheek like a falling star wasting its life in one last glorious show. They had lost a great number of their family, and even more were still haunted by the shades that had overtaken them. Kaj could not despise the twisted creatures, no matter how he tried. Not when Lace was counted within their ranks. Not when Lace could have wrecked the Edge with his disease, could have driven them to fight him no matter how badly they wouldn't have wanted to. Instead he had turned and fled, to keep them safe. Kaj felt hollow, to have watched him go, to have done nothing. Was the good of the majority more important than the kinship of one?

Quilyan didn't seem to take kindly to such thoughts, however. He was swiftly interrupted by the tenor of the other stallion, and Kaj turned pale blues upon him, weathered by all that had happened since their escape from the Edge. There is no restrictions placed upon his painted brother. Kaj desires his honesty, his opinion. If there is one soul he could trust in for council, it would be the Specter before him. So instead he sighs, the width of his chest ashudder with the weight of his decisions. Listens as Quilyan talks, and tries to believe in him. It is the only way to be free of the guilt that weighs down on him heavier than the entirety of the broken wall. "I suppose you are right, Quilyan. I only wish it could have been different." But that is all that can be said on the matter, for neither of them can change it, and Kaj must either move on with Quilyan's support or let the what if's kill him. His choice is obvious.

His embarrassment is enough to distract him, feeling like a gangly legged colt with such a ridiculous question upon his lips. But Kaj has never loved. Has never tasted the sweetness of adoration and affection. The only love he'd ever known was that of his love towards his dearest sister, and the fates had been so cruel as to rip her from his side before either of them were ready to say goodbye. Who was to say love was not always like that? Agony, loss? Surely there had to be something pleasant to keep all those lovers entranced by one another, though. Kaj merely didn't know what it could possibly be, or if he'd been bitten by that awful bug.

Quilyan, thankfully, did not take the opportunity to mock the King for his deplorable love life. Instead, he kindly explained, though not in the way Kaj had expected. What did it feel like? Was Kaj...in love? How could he tell? So he asked. "What does it feel like, broer? How do I know?" But then the truly vital question appeared; who was it? He dithers about uncertainly for a few moments, habitually clearing his throat, clearly overwhelmed. What if he is reading this wrong? What if he does not feel that way, truly, towards her? "She is too good for someone like I, friend. It should lie dead. But to quench your curiosity, she is the same ray of light that leads you, that takes the mantle at my side." He cannot in good faith say her name, fearing if he does that he will be swearing himself to the emotions fluttering about inside, unnamed and unwanted. If he does not utter her title, perhaps he will not be chained to her, doomed to chase after her wandering heart with a ball-and-chain round his heart, to be yanked through the dirt in his inability to tell her. To take away her innocence, to make her reach into her small stores of cruelty to deny him, for that is all he deserves from her. His eyes are downcast, wings low. He is no leader now, merely a heartbroken individual in the presence of a trusted friend.