There is something behind the throne

Quilyan

greater than the king himself.

There is very little in this life that is capable of making the prince angry. Today, however, he is livid.

Zarina cautions him, but he does his best to block her out as he flies through troubled skies. You are being hasty, she insists, and he shakes his head, ensuring that her mind is occupied by maintaining her precarious seat rather than scolding him. He flies quickly, streaking beneath full, grey clouds. He would have continued, had it not been for the lightning - but when a streak of electricity flickered through the clouds above his head, singing his tail as he whipped by, he decided that it might be more prudent to continue his search on the ground. His companion agreed. Emphatically.

How dare that mare try and harm his mate? And then, to have the gall to return to her and try and take something of hers? Much less something that he had given her? Had they been in Th'orqui, the entirety of the Guard would have been ordered to hunt her down and bring her back (dead or alive), but here, he can only rely on himself. In a perfect world, he would realize that his anger only blinds him, that he does himself no favors by seeking out Phaedra when he is so tightly wound; but this is not a perfect world, and he is not a perfect stallion. And now, I'm stuck in a bloody storm.

Zarina quietly observes that the darkness of the clouds matches the darkness of his thoughts, though she has given up on talking sense to the stallion and thus keeps her opinion to herself. He is far too unsettled to care that he has offended his rather prissy companion. He will apologize later, once he comes to his senses. He begins to pace along the edge of the meadow, keeping to tree cover. He doesn't particularly like his location, but he would rather be among trees than out in the open in a thunderstorm. If he's lucky, maybe the mare will just fry herself trying to fly through lightning, and that will be the end of it. Unfortunately, he isn't a particularly lucky individual.

Where are you, Phaedra?

@[Phaedra]

[W/C | ---]
Walk walk walk.
Talk talk talk.
Think think think.

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There is something behind the throne

Quilyan

greater than the king himself.

Now, before you judge the prince for his inability to properly dispense justice, allow me to explain:

Prior to having met Resplendence, long before having heard the story of how the pegasus mare had tormented his mate during the invasion - in fact, even before planning for the invasion had taken place - the prince had come across the pretty, speckled mare in a group of other, less fondly remembered equines, and had enjoyed an evening under the, shall we say, unfortunate influence of some particularly potent mushrooms. Until fairly recently, the memory was a fond one, albeit nothing he intended to revisit after finding Resplendence. But now... now, he is filled with a great deal of confusion over how, exactly, he is supposed to feel about the allegedly evil fae.

As he does not particularly appreciate being confused, much less over a woman, it has translated to a great deal of misplaced frustration. In addition to that, his relationship with Resplendence requires at least a moderate amount of anger toward the pegasus who attacked her.

So, in a way, it isn't really his anger, to begin with.

This is why he does not immediately attack her when she saunters into view. In fact, he takes a moment to watch appreciatively, as even in his irritable mood, he has to admit that she is a stunningly beautiful mare. She is not nearly as adorable as my Resplendence. But the stubborn insistence sounds hollow even to his own mind. Zarina, infuriated by his lack of action as much as his former treatment of her, shrieks angrily, her fur puffing up and her hackles rising in a decidedly not threatening manner. He resists the urge to send her up a tree with orders to wait silently.

"You," he says (with a great deal less venom than he had intended) before adding, "have caused me a great deal of trouble, m'lady. I should have known after that first day that you would only be a headache." His tone quickly turns to that of the flirtatious joker he had been when they had first met, and he adds a wink in for good measure. He takes a moment to explain to Zarina: first of all, he is no fighter. Second of all, he has learned that one may draw in a great deal more flies with honey than with vinegar. And, finally, (he keeps this to himself) the damn woman sparkles, even without any sort of magic or trickery. He would never willingly betray Resplendence, of course - but his eyes can't help but enjoy the view while he cajoles the pegasus into leaving his poor mate alone.

@[Phaedra]

[W/C | ---]
Walk walk walk.
Talk talk talk.
Think think think.

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There is something behind the throne

Quilyan

greater than the king himself.

Let it be known that Quilyan positively adores Resplendence. He loves her with every fiber of his being - everything from her rare smiles to her fearful need for his embrace. Perhaps it is that she reinforces his masculinity - after all, doesn't every stallion want to be needed by a petite, pretty damsel-in-distress? And he can, without a doubt, swoop to her rescue, be her knight in shining armor, fall from the skies as her protector - all of those things that men think women want. So far, it's been working in his favor with his mate - oh, and did he mention the adorable quirk of her missing ear? What about her silken, flowing mane? No? Well, now you know.

Anyway.

Phaedra is moving closer now, smiling coyly at him with that innate, raw allure that she undoubtedly possesses. Every line of her body, every slight curve of her musculature, every word from her lips and every bat of her lashes screams of feminine sexuality - and Quilyan, like every other male, cannot help his unbidden arousal at the thought that she wants him. He chuckles, a deep, throaty, masculine sound that does little to disguise his current... state. "I've heard of several things, but I admit, I'm curious to see what you have to say on the matter."

He feels himself step closer, drawn in by the sight and the heat and the scent of her, and he drifts away, falling into her essence, into her desire, losing track of exactly why he has been trying to resist her. She is simply divine, a new conquest that he must make, a new challenge that he must overcome, a new experience that he must claim - and damn the consequences, because despite the niggling feeling that he musn't, that this is wrong, he simply. Must. Have her.

Why aren't they touching yet?

@[Phaedra]

[W/C | ---]
Walk walk walk.
Talk talk talk.
Think think think.

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There is something behind the throne

Quilyan

greater than the king himself.

It is true that there is a difference in the allure of his mate and this mare: where Resplendence is shy, Phaedra is bold; where Resplendence is cute, Phaedra is sexy; where Resplendence is demure, Phaedra is demanding. They are so different, and yet so very intoxicating, each in their own ways. But he isn't thinking of Resplendence now - no, all he can think of is how close Phaedra is, of how his skin ripples where she almost-but-not-quite touches him. She reaches upward, just barely skimming by, resisting contact - and he returns the favor, with every intention of teasing her back. Let her see that she is not the only one who can turn the tables, that she is not the only one who can take control.

He holds in a feral groan, takes a step away from her, twisting so that he is perpendicular to her shoulder. He lifts his wings slightly, leans so that his neck crosses over her back, reaches to tug playfully on her mane before trailing his muzzle softly down her spine. "Is that right?" he murmurs into her ear this time, having rotated so that they are facing the same way, standing to her side and slightly behind her.

And then, suddenly, he curses and half-rears, pushing away from her so as not to hurt her. What the - He shakes his head violently, but the pain in his ear only gets worse, lending a sharpness to his senses. ZARINA. He halts suddenly, freezing, and the marmoset scampers back down his neck to nest in his mane. No matter how angry he may be with her, he will never hurt her, and she knows it. He flicks his ear, wincing at both the remnant of the bite's pain and the blood that he can feel rushing to the area.

"I suppose this kind of blood flow isn't quite what you meant?" he asks ruefully. Inwardly, he is furious at himself for losing control - since when has he acted like he was anything but in charge of a sexual situation? Why is it so easy for him to lose himself in this mare? He has no interest in bringing it up, making things awkward - but he also has no interest in betraying his mate. He brings his magic into play then - pulling a sense of celibacy into the air around them, but maintaining the flirtations. He's all for having fun, after all - but not at Resplendence's expense.

@[Phaedra]

[W/C | ---]
Walk walk walk.
Talk talk talk.
Think think think.

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There is something behind the throne

Quilyan

greater than the king himself.

For a moment, nothing happens, and he is worried that he is not strong enough to stop it, to stop her, to stop himself - because, in truth, he has not wanted like this in a very long time, has not allowed himself to give in to such temptations because his mate was not ready, because he didn't want to scare her away, to pressure her, to - well, to do anything to jeopardize their relationship. And then this mare presented herself oh-so-willingly and oh-so-sweetly, and oh, gods, it would have been - would still be - so very easy to give in. But the moment passes and he feels a tangible relaxation of the air surrounding them, is able to step a bit further from the intoxicating mare. Zarina calms as she feels the decidedly sexual tension drain away, taking the moment of slackened emotions to berate him endlessly on his stupidity and, finally, wrapping herself in his mane once more, satisfied that she has gotten his attention.

He feels a tug again, a sort of counteraction to his magic, and a slow grin spreads across his face as he realizes that they are engaged in a battle of wills, an intricate dance of magic and desire. This is the kind of fun that he can participate in, so long as he maintains control - which, given the strength of her magical pull, will prove to be quite the challenge. "You are something else, Phaedra," he says with a chuckle. Indeed, Zarina agrees acidly, drawing a smirk from her bonded. He is thrilled and amused, though his companion is considerably less excited to witness his little magic experiment.

But, of course, he is not here just for fun. He is here for information, and for Resplendence's watered-down form of revenge. Since the little dun would never seek Phaedra out on her own, it has fallen to the prince to do it for her. If you couldn't already tell, he volunteered - and not for the reasons that you're thinking. He had no intentions of flirting with the mare - but he has to admit, it is a wonderful surprise. "Tell me, is your vendetta against my mate real, or is it merely a sad attempt to draw my attention?"

@[Phaedra]

[W/C | ---]
Walk walk walk.
Talk talk talk.
Think think think.

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There is something behind the throne

Quilyan

greater than the king himself.

The complete withdrawal of her magic catches him by surprise, but even that pales with the revelation that he has managed to shock her. Caught off guard, his own magic evaporates, leaving the pair of them with a strange distance between them. He watches her warily, waiting for some kind of trap - but there is a certain defiance, a certain menace in the way she throws her head haughtily in the air, as though preparing for a battle, that assures him that she has set their little game aside. For now. When she spoke, she had become cold and aloof, and he wondered if it was merely his redirection of their path that had forced her into this strange role or if it was something more.

He doesn't miss the way she sneers as she speaks of Resplendence, and a small part of him resents the implication that he could do better, that she thinks so highly of herself as to imagine he would prefer her over his beloved. An even smaller part of him entertains the idea, albeit briefly - considers that in another land, in another life, Phaedra would have been the perfect partner, for Resplendence, with all of her virtues, would not thrive as Queen. But this mare, the Opulent one, she would reign supreme over any court, would surely prove an asset in every way - she was cunning, she was charming, and she could get anything out of anyone.

Well, in truth, that remained to be seen.

Even so, he had to admit that her arrogance would have been well suited to him and his life in Th'orqui, and the part of him that admitted it spent a moment considering how different things could have been, how happy he could have been, how his Queen would have been someone just like Phaedra. And it made him uncomfortable, especially now, with how far he has come away from that lifestyle and that persona, with how much he has grown and matured. He is better now, isn't he? A better pegasus, a better stallion, a better... everything. Isn't he?

And it is that doubt that allows her to work her way into his head, belittling Resplendence's fears and the prince's anger, sending the negativity scuttling away into the recesses of his mind. When she speaks of past times, she makes it all seem so harmless, so idiotic - two mares thrust into a battle they had no right to be fighting, destined to dislike one another because, after all, isn't that what we do to those with whom we are at war?

"Archibald sent a spy into a war?" he queried with a quirk of his brow. "Now, either you are incredibly talented, or someone just doesn't like you." He smirks slightly, a teasing glint returning to his eye. "Though," he adds with a slight frown and a serious tone, "targeting your companion was entirely uncalled for. I believe that is a bond that you and I have in common." He resolves to keep an eye on Archibald in the future, for he is now in charge of the World's Edge's warriors. It never hurts to be aware of those in positions of power.

He ignores the various jabs aimed at Resplendence and then, it would seem, at him. Had he managed to offend her, to hurt her feelings? Now, surely she was made of firmer stuff than that. And he could have corrected her, could have defended Resplendence, could have told her how the lockets really worked - but why give out free information? "If anything, my dear," he teased, "I applaud your dedication. I do have one question, however." He sauntered closer, narrowing the gap between them in what appeared to be an intimidating-but-flirtatious kind of way. "Why me?"

@[Phaedra]

[W/C | ---]
Walk walk walk.
Talk talk talk.
Think think think.

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There is something behind the throne

Quilyan

greater than the king himself.

The problem is, they are the same. Or, at least, they were once. In the time before Resplendence, in the time before Zarina: they would have been perfect, he and Phaedra, a force to be reckoned with. In truth, if he were to give in to her seductions, to allow himself to fall into the trap that he knows exists just beneath the surface of their innocent flirtations, they might still be - but he has already decided, already made his choice, already pledged his allegiance and promised his loyalty. He has not, perhaps, been the most honorable of steeds - but he has always been reliable, and it is on this thought that he chooses to focus, for without the promises and the oaths and the commitments, he knows he would give in to her, and he knows that they could be something unstoppable.

They are users, the Opulent and he, forever picking and prodding at their peers in order to find some new secret, some unknown piece of information that will give them power and control. They would use everyone else, and then, when they ran out of victims, they would use each other, relying on one another as parasites will do; and they would part ways eventually, one having gained the upper hand at long last, until some new tidbit came along and ruined the illusion, and somehow they would remain stuck in their uneasy alliance, growing more and more desperate to break free. So, you see, they are very alike. She knows it, and he knows it, and it is here that they shall remain, forever teetering on the brink of something wonderfully terrible, pushing and pulling at the doors that kept them separated.

Perhaps, one day, the doors would open, and they would see what it feels like to crash and burn.

But, for now, he merely smiles and says, "You're right." He left it at that, allowing his gaze to linger on hers, the pair of them holding one another hostage until he breaks free, tracing the petite lines of her face, the soft folds of her wings, the feminine speckles dancing along her bodice. He has nothing more to say on the subject, nothing more to add: if he were honest, he would admit that it discomforts him, how close they are on some subconscious level - but he is not honest, at least not with himself, and so he concentrates on the material, focuses on the concrete. At the very least, she has nothing to fear from him emotionally - for he will not tell her lies, will not claim love when he feels nothing, will not make promises he does not intend to keep.

And if he makes a mistake now, he will spend a lifetime mending his broken relationship.

But he does not think of that.

@[Phaedra]

[W/C | ---]
Walk walk walk.
Talk talk talk.
Think think think.

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