What Aemilia assumed the Imperator wanted to be called slipped softly from his lips, correcting the term "Alpha" she had used with a word she could not identify— definitely not from the English language. "Jarl".
A foreign language. If she was accepted into the pack, the Bay, the sterling-silver girl would have to grow accustomed to its ways. The leader's origins made a large impact on what their subordinates would have to follow. Aemilia had been in a Roman pack all her life, though she knew she was going to adapt to the best of her ability, if that was necessary.
She nodded, went ahead and called the Imperator, the Jarl, by what he preferred he be called. "Jarl."
Aemilia knew the platinum male was not going to allow her a place in his ranks as swiftly as that, though this was possibly his way of indicating that the girl had at least earned herself the shadows of a spot, though she would have to work up to her title. Then came what she knew was the Alpha's final word to make sure how crystal clear she was on how hard of a tightship he ran.
She nodded firmly. She understood. She would again become the hardworking, the loyal, the girl-fighter that would live up to the name of Angelus Mortis. Her brain-gears were already churning on the topic of the Trades.
"I understand, Jarl. I will abide by your rules and nothing else. I will prove myself to you."
