“Well, I certainly give my respect to healers such as yourself,” he says, and is glad when that seems to be the end of it.
(He cannot know, of course, how soon he must grow accustomed to being called majesty - for tonight, during a party only for themselves, the worries of the Summit and all the unraveling to follow are still a few days’ dreaming away.)
Better to listen to Atreus answer the question he had posed - and Asterion’s expression is one of interest as he does, his dark-edged ears tipping forward. He nods despite not recognizing the kingdom’s name; save for the seasonal courts, which he has heard of only in passing, the bay is still unaware of the other worlds around them.
“How lucky for us that you chose to return here,” he says with a smile, and pushes away the thousand other questions he might have asked. Of course, he does not suspect what lies beneath the thin veil (thin as new ice on a November lake) of truth that the healer spins for him.
He is almost relieved when the winged man takes his leave, noting again how adeptly the stallion maneuvers the conversation. Asterion could learn much from him, he thinks.
“I would like that very much,” he says honestly. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Atreus.”
@
