Visitors were becoming more frequent, more commonplace, and Magnus had to wonder if it was because of the slight uptick in activity within Tephra or simply the balancing of Beqanna as a whole. Now that the initial worst part of the storm had passed, others were growing more curious—braver. He himself was beginning to venture outside of Tephra and beyond the field to the other lands, doing his best to get a feel for their politics and structures. He could only imagine that the rest of Beqanna felt the same curiosity.
She, however, did not seem like she was a visiting diplomat. She did not seem like anything he had ever seen before, at all. She was regal in stance and it brought forth his more formal kingdom training, his shoulders straightening and his expression carefully neutral as he stepped forward toward her. Magnus did not consider him King of Tephra, but he had worn the crown before and been raised a Prince. That kind of experience, that training, went straight to his bones. He may not be King, but he carried himself as one.
He came to a stop as he neared her, dipping his golden head more formally than usual. “Greetings,” his voice was deep and steady, whiskey in his throat. “What brings you to Tephra?” He had envisioned the land as one of peace, of sanctuary, (a familiar stance nowadays), but he knew better than most that peace was not given freely; it had to be protected, fought over. So while he did not view her immediately as a threat, the warrior in him stood at the ready, regarding her with a weighty gaze. “My name is Magnus.”
He considered mentioning his position, but dismissed the idea. It would not be difficult to guess.
magnus
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