stillwater;

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails His – their – hunger is mirrored in the way they look at each other. Their desires are starved and suppressed, building tension between them that is ever thickening. Nayl’s body shudders under his stare, but she plays it off as though it’s a mere winter’s chill. She, like him, hates the way she is affected by his presence. This was never supposed to happen, but it has. There was never supposed to be a stallion that was enough to distract her from her responsibilities, and yet she left the security of Nerine to find him here. To want him and to see him was clouding over her better judgment; Nayl was desperate to breathe him in again, but she convinces him – and herself – that she is here only for business. What a lie, that is. The lust in his eyes is overpowering and she almost crumbles into him, but then she sees how his gaze darkens and the ridges of his face sharpen. The transformation amplifies her curiosity. She watches him warily and closely listens to the venom in his voice. ”Good,” but there was no way that she would be denied the alliance. Djinni took over Sylva in Nerine’s name, and Stillwater is merely her placeholder. The bind between herd lands was instantaneous with Djinni’s ascension, but Nayl took it upon herself to come here and ensure it, and to let it be broadly known of the diplomatic ties. ”I suggest you let,” she pauses to coyly lick her lips, ”your people know of this change.” Just as she would proclaim it to the men and women of Nerine. But this conversation is quickly shifting. This is so familiar, she thinks, as his expression turns rogue, glowering at her. This is how they had last parted when he dismissed her, growling at her like a forsaken monster. She had obeyed him then and carried herself proudly as though she had wanted to leave him, but this time, she is stone. Her legs are rooted to their place, and she doesn’t move. Her expression is equally as dark, but her autumn eyes are lit by an inward fire. ”No,” she retaliates with an icy tone freezing over voice, ”I will leave when I please.” Why should she obey him like a dog? Why should she buckle to his whims no matter the rage that may course through his veins? The placidity that he is known for is melting in the face of his anger, but still, Nayl does not waver from her place. ”Do I frighten you?” She asks, half-knowing the answer. ”Do you fear what could happen to us, what could come of this?” Because truthfully, she does. Nayl covet and myrina's creation