Lion Head Mesa stele

“For now,” she acquiesced. She wasn’t keen on offering too much to the beautiful man before her—but surely Germanicus knew what was potentially coming down the pipeline at their pending union?

Unless the Imperator knew something she didn’t. Such as Reyson’s loyalty being far too steadfast within the walls of Mereo. Another broken promise perhaps—because surely, she could not thrive within the militant pack. Especially so close to the man who drew something from her that none should.

Not even her suneater had.

Leisurely, she stretched, reading the mannerisms of the man before her and believing such a lackadaisical motion to not be one of great disrespect. Her muzzle brushed lower though, eyes of honey gleaming up at him. He was one that thrived to have his confidence fed—surely, she could so such, until she was reunited with her soldier. And then her pack.

“Some days,” she agreed, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “Surely, you must understand how that feels an eternity?” He must have had someone by his side.

But before she could delve further upon that, the Pharaoh beckoned another forward—a delicate and beautiful creature. Her heart clenched—surely, Reyson noticed this sort of beauty he was surrounded by, day in and out. She was nothing compared to these wolves—a plain pelt of ash, defined only by copper points and plain amber eyes.

Surely, that was why others had turned to others from her. They always would.

When the feather was revealed, she gave only a moments pause—a mind that was becoming fuzzy with indulgence attempting to grasp the unspoken meaning of such a gift. She knew nothing of it—and so she practically purred: “It’s beautiful, Pharaoh. How would one obtain such a rare treasure?”