Bramblepoint königinklinge

"i do." if hydra wished their details, mahler would provide them. but she had not asked after them; her gracious mien was clear even in her curiosity. there was little chance she was not recording all of this in some sort of mental ledger, and he could not fault the sable queen for it.
even if, the man thought honestly, he felt rather scrutinized, open to hydra's gentle prying. 
a wan smile to his lips, a cant to his muzzle. "diaspora must have its general back," mahler murmured reluctantly, for he truly enjoyed the majesty of the dark regent's presence. it was uncomfortable, somehow, discussing matters of blood and seed with a woman, though she was his equal, and mahler had always seen her so. he sensed a judgement, or perhaps assumed one — either way, he chafed beneath it, and wished to be upon his way.