She leaned in, closer; he wanted for time to stop, for the moment to freeze before the phantom touched his white skin. His heart almost stopped beating in denial, and he wished her muzzle would just pass through his neck, proclaim her nothing but the product of a twisted mind — but neither thing happened. Instead, the second was far too short, and then her soft nose brushed against his neck. He steeled his nerves, and again managed to stop a shiver from running down his spine, remaining perfectly motionless, a statue carved of marble and moonlight. Cold, cold, cold, if only his skin was the sharp edge ice and would cut her muzzle.. but, of course not, and at his spat-out answer she took a step back.

He felt like he could breathe again, like the dark waters in his lungs cleared, but he did not let his relief show. With cold, almost accusing eyes, did he return her glare, blinking solemnly every once in a while as the moon slowly climbed the horizon. Each breath was calm, precise, followed by another one, and somehow he'd calmed his heart to a steady rhythm. Cold, he thought to himself, feeling the familiar numbness settle in his veins. Glacial. Detached. His mind was somewhere else, disconnected from his body, perfect in its crystal clarity, yet his frosted eyes kept blinking, his sides rising and falling, but he was not a part of it. Not even an ear twitched as she laughed in his face, his breathing never losing its steadfast rhythm. She could laugh all she wanted — he wasn't about to twitch.

"How can you say that I'm not Delinne? That was after all the name my mother gave me." Perhaps your mother was a liar, and a thief, he thought coldly, watching Tvíburi's smirk. The curl of her lips was infuriating, but more so because he knew her face. And so, the moon came across the horizon, bathing them all in light. How many times hadn't he seen the play of it, the gleam along the lightning stripes? But even as she claimed to be Delinne, called him King, his heart rebelled; it couldn't be. But how could he know? How could he prove it? Could he just turn his back and walk away, and let her gape as he disappeared in the night?

"I don't recognize your scent," he said coldly, and in a world where smell mattered so much, it was no small thing. Again, he blinked, ignoring the bright light reflecting off the water's surface, before his eyes narrowed and flashed dangerously. "Begone, norn, and seek not to twist the minds of any others with you trickery, lest my horn find your heart while you sleep."