”Ruan.”

His name on the voice of a stranger had him turning to settle piercing blue eyes on those of fire. Like Aranea’s, but bolder, louder. Except these were not looking at him. Not his face, anyway. They walked over his body, instead; the charcoal black of his legs, purple spots pulled tight over lean muscle, welted and angry scars at his shoulders, a strong neck that darkened to yet more black, and then, briefly, his eyes.

”Nayl,” she offered. Then there they go again, those eyes, wandering away to somewhere behind her. His own glance that way yielded the same results hers had: not a damn thing.

”You look like you've seen happier days. Perhaps some bitter memories?” she said, turning back to him once more. He didn't read genuine care in her voice or expression. It felt more like a taunt, or a prodding, as though testing him, but for what intent, he couldn't discern. She knew him; his name, probably his home and placement there. Asking Do I know you was pointless and a waste of breath, when he already knew the answer. He didn't know her. Why did anyone ever ask that question anyway, when they could just answer it themselves?

”Plenty of both, “ he replied evenly, his voice as deep and dark as the forest of his home.

He searched those eyes of fire, wondering who she was and how she knew him. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him that people would know of… whatever he was. A ghost of the Taiga, perhaps. Hidden away, and kept to himself and his people. Typically, Jinju or Heda wandered to the field on occasion, and very rarely, him as well. He was particular about whom might be well-suited for their family unit, and often didn’t show himself unless he’d found one that may have potential, so he wasn’t exactly a public figure. His recent efforts there had been mistakes, crossing the greedy and power-hungry that were only interested in climbing the ranks of a system intent on naming equals as superior to each other. Maybe she was one of those, too.

His eyes slid down her face to her muzzle as he watched her enter the chill around him, her breath reaching. Frost almost glittered on the velvet of her nose and he wondered if the cold bothered her, when her scent smelled so much of sun and sweat and sea. His world was so different with its damp and darkness and clear, fresh air, dapples of sunlight and beds of needles cushioned underfoot. Her breath fogged as his did, clouding so close to his skin. Nobody but his daughters had been this close to him in well over a year, and his pulse kicked unsteadily, though he stood calmly stoic.

His gaze lifted to her eyes again, peering through her fire to find her intent. She was a mask, though. A wall of secrets. A ghost of a smile flickered in the corner of his mouth, then gone again as he silently expanded his Winter to swallow the rest of her, embracing her in this chill that followed him, haunted him. Liked the cold, did she?

”You know me. Can’t say the same for you," he drawled low. "Care to enlighten?”

Recognition carefully lightened her face as she realized the cold was his, surrounded him. Surrounded her, too, now. "A man of the cold," she observed, staring at him. He could almost see her thinking, puzzling out the tangles of her mind. Her first time coming across a cryokinetic, maybe. An ice magician. He wasn't surprised, he supposed. He was the only one of his kind that he knew of thus far. His daughter's magic seemed more commonplace, and he wondered if this woman was yet another body warmed by supernatural heat.

Turned out, she wasn't.

She didn't smell of it, feel of it this close to him. The lack of burning retaliation was another confirmation, but the way the earth rumbled around him when she pelted his cheek with the soil solidified his assumptions.

His brows barely tightened, not quite a frown as he considered her without flinching. The wild in him understood her rebuke, captured that smile spreading her lips and committed it to memory. Were those as rare for her as they were for him? His mouth quirked in answer to her amusement though, feeling her chuckle flutter in his dark ears and melt the cold of his veins. "I can do more if you keep me trapped in your mini winter," she warned, or merely stated facts, but it was still amiable.

His eyes slowly trailed down her face, back to the part of her that was the closest to him at the tip of her velveteen nose. In a voice so low, unable to be heard were she not so near, his breath mingled with hers, "Then don't stand so close." There was a hidden smile in it, a quiet amusement as he let go of his magic, softly laughing eyes returning to hers. It snapped silently back in place around him. Though it slid away from the majority of her lean figure, it still covered most of her head, most likely, but it couldn't be helped. One day it would be contained within him again, but that day hadn't yet come to pass.

And he wasn't backing away from her.

Whatever mirth she'd had came to an end and she was solemn again, her gaze flitting momentarily away as she thought. When she spoke this time, her voice was hard again. "I take it you and your Queen don't have great communication."

His lips pressed to a thin line and his eyes cooled, but he let the comment pass. They didn't have any communication. There was no queen. There was no king. There was only him. But he didn't correct her.

"...or perhaps there are other reasons you would avoid a political meeting and not familiarize yourself with the other lands. I visited your forest years ago and spoke with Reagan. I'm Nayl, Queen of Nerine."

He heard the sharp barb in her words, but didn't feel it. All he felt was the raw, ravaging scrape of that name as it burned him from the inside, reminded again of the pain he'd come here to temporarily escape from. He didn't have to explain himself to her or anyone, and didn't care what she thought of him. He was who he was, and the rest of the world could either accept it or leave him the hell alone.

"Well met, Nayl, Queen of Nerine," he offered formally, though simply. She already knew him, so of course he didn't introduce himself. As for the rest of her speech, he gave a noncommittal shrug.

"She has been, and will always be, the better diplomat. I've never been well-versed in the tricks and wordplay of politics, and prefer to seek more honest company."

There was no judgement in it, only a statement of preferences. Diplomacy was not a skill he claimed. Unfortunately, honest company no longer included his wife, but he didn't mention it. He was a private man, and confided in no one. Blunt and direct, he strayed away from the meandering way diplomats seemed to speak, bouncing badminton phrases off each other. He was not one for shuttlecock small talk. Neither was he rude, though. Not intentionally, anyway.

"You're welcome to join me for another visit if you like. Things are very different from the last time you were in the Taiga." He didn't need to know how long ago her visit had been exactly. If she thought Reagan was still around, it had been long enough. But he didn't expound on that either.

"You can come now, if you're not busy," he suggested, bright, blue eyes firmly in the fire of hers. "We can talk on the way. Tell me about yourself and your Nerine? I need to get back to my child," he gave in explanation, hoping she would take him up on the offer. He was genuinely curious, had intended to familiarize himself with the other lands. He hadn't meant to cut their time short, though, but he'd been away longer than he'd meant to be and Jinju was probably waiting to be relieved of her new sister.