They continue their dance, and he isn’t sure whether he grows accustomed to the rhythm of it or it exhausts him. Perhaps it is both, but he relaxes at least marginally—content to know that she does not intend to cause immediate harm. Perhaps long-term harm—she struck him as the type to let the poison simmer instead of sliding a knife between the ribs—but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.
So he gives her a slightly warmer smile, the corners of it roguish.
“I am willing to agree to a truce,” he is thoughtful for a second, mulling it over as his eyes drift to the rest of the land unfolding around him. When he returns his gaze to her, he holds onto it, unblinking as he searches the depths of it. “But I consider that a firm line. Break the truce, and there will be no going back.” Another quirk it scarred lips into a crooked smile. “Anyone from Sylva breaks the truce.”
But he eases up again, rolling his shoulders and feeling the warmth of the sun radiate down on them. “We will see about expanding it into anything further. I would very much like to take you up on your offer to see your kingdom for itself.” He grins. “But make no mistake, Mary, I am not afraid.”
He had felt death in his throat. He had felt war pulse around him. He knew the very depths of his nightmares. He was wary and guarded around the autumn kingdom, but it was not fear around his throat that kept him from acting and nothing would goad him into action quicker than he wanted.
“I have,” he thinks on it for a second, “enjoyed your company, Mary. Should you ever be interested in taking your considerable talents for politics elsewhere, I know of a place that would appreciate them.”
MAGNUS | I don't belong to anyone, but everybody knows my name
@[Mary]
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