Israfel is busy. There is much to do, and so she relishes the chances that she gets to set her complete and utter focus upon her work without means of distraction.

Distraction is a constant companion, however, typically in the form of a certain two-toned lady. Even when Luvena was not around, the Sun Daughter found her thoughts captivated and ensnared, drawn like a moth to a flame and prone to wandering. It was cumbersome, yes, but a far better feeling than being lost to the dark, dangerous recesses of her own mind. This was healthier. This was promise, and hope.

That being, she was actually getting some gods-damned work done when the doors to her throne room - her throne room, what a weird fucking thought - were unceremoniously pushed open and a large form came ambling in like he owned the place, spouting words without even a proper introduction like she was supposed to know his name.

What an idiot.

The Queen of Denocte’s eyes narrowed, slits of vermilion ire locking upon the brute of a fellow as he strutted in. She hated him immediately. Her stance changed, her chin raised, and the wild, dangerous grin she tossed in his direction promised nothing but threats and danger. Ruby eyes glittered like blood in the firelight of the chamber, and she waited.

The servants and couriers she had been engaging in only seconds before moved to back away, feeling the Night Queen’s ire and not wanting to participate in it, but they did a poor job of hiding their grins of amusement as they tucked back and out of the chamber with a bow to leave the two to speak in peace. They would linger behind closed doors, surely to listen, because the staff of the citadel did so love to chat and gossip and listen.

Silence echoed in the grand chamber. Upon the back of the throne adorned with silks of various colors, glittering like a nightscape of endless possibility, Solaris watches with curious lavender eyes, and the bird gives a small purr of eagerness. She knows.

The Night Queen arches a brow, rose-kissed lips turning upwards in a wry, crooked grin. “I’m sorry; am I supposed to know who you are?”

Introductions, of course, were everything… And Israfel knew who this man was, with the stench of sweat and dust and sand that clung to him like a foreign stink, because Solaris had informed her of his appearance. A shame, then, that a King did not have the forethought to introduce himself before speaking.

What a fucking idiot. Hopefully the King of Solterra would be more useful than he was proving himself to be, otherwise she had no use for him.

"Speaking."

His words are obnoxious.

It’s a wonder he even became King, as a man who clearly has no passion.

He speaks as though it is some great tragedy to come here, as though she was the one so encumbered by his presence, as though she was the one who traveled dozens of miles to a foreign land to stand audience with a foreign Sovereign. It was melodramatic, and briefly, Israfel wondered just how long this fool of a man would hold his crown before some petulant young fuck showed up and overthrew him.

Gods knew if he fought like he showed passion, it wouldn’t even be a challenge.

Isra’s vermilion eyes glance back at Solaris throughout the man’s little monotonous tirade, who sat roosting politely upon the back of her throne, very much not on fire at the moment. She cocked a brow, wondering at Leviathan’s statement of ‘flaming fireball’. “Solaris, did you burn up Solterra while you were there?”

Solaris gave a trill, an internal snort. ‘Not a thing, Isra. I never even ignited.’

She chuckled, a rich, deep timbre that echoed in the otherwise empty room. Israfel was not a Queen. She was not a ’lady’. She was a soldier, a Champion of Battle, a Warden, a Regent, a Battlemage, and now a Queen. She fought, and bled, and suffered to get where she was, and she didn’t give a shit about this man’s lack of respect to her. Her arrogant sarcasm and lackadaisical attitude was earned, because she had bled and suffered for the right of it. Gods knew that Israfel had suffered far worse at the hands of an arrogant man, but she would not stand the disrespect towards the Court she ruled.

“Do you run your kingdom with such lackluster disregard, Leviathan?” She asked at last, the question genuinely curious. “I really don’t give a shit, before you answer; I’m just curious. How you run your Court is your own fucking business; gods know you can’t do worse than the fuckers that came before you.” Maybe. Hopefully.

Stepping down from the dias, Israfel grew closer to the scarred brute in her throne room. Her body moved confidently, a casual sashay, that bespoke of years of militaristic prowess and ability. Gilded wings remained folded and tight against her back and shoulders, and while she did not match his imposing height, there was nothing about this man that daunted her. Especially here. Yet even if she stood in his Court, there would be no fear in her breast.

Leviathan hardly seemed the man to instill anything at the moment, other than disappointment. Still, she caught his eye, vermilion depths glittering like rubies, and she chuckled.

“I invited you here to talk. But if you want to measure dicks, we can do that, instead.” She paused, arched a brow, and gave a suggestive twist to her hips in a way no true ‘queen’ would ever dream of doing before going on. “All I ask is that you respect my Court, while you’re here, because I really don’t care if you respect me. It’s been a very long time since the Sovereigns of Day and Night met in one place and had a civil conversation; I was hoping we could start something a little different.”

She thought, briefly, to Luvena. Already she could see the stern disappointment that wrought the woman’s gaunt face, and she sighed. Ruby red eyes focused once more on the brute and she relaxed, and decided to show a bit of honesty here, risking this touch of vulnerability for the betterment of her Court.

“I have been taken advantage of before, Leviathan. I’m… Sorry, if I came off the wrong way, but being defensive is in my nature. I’m very much as hot-headed as my fires, and not knowing anything about you, well… I needed to take precautions, for Denocte, given our Court’s respective history. I wasn’t raised in this courtly bullshit; this is all new to me; I served Novus for years as a soldier, as a Warden, and then some. That is where my ability lies; I’d rather kick something until it stopped moving than try and use a silver tongue I really don’t have. You aren’t the only one who hates ‘playing games’, as you say, but for some reason you mistake my weird form of sincerity for entertainment, for games. But if you don’t want to stand here and talk, like adults, then you can leave.”

There was an arrogance about him that she didn’t like. For someone who was clearly ‘tired’, who came here ‘for the betterment of his court’, there was a pride about him that was self-destructive. They were similar in that regard, it seemed.

“I swear, Leviathan, that while you think this might be a game, I have never been more serious about anything in my life.” Except for Luvena, but this fucker didn’t need to know about her. Not right now.

"Speaking."

Something shifts in the air, and Isra’s tension shifts with it. It does not fade, not entirely, but there is now room within the chamber to actually breathe and relax, without the smoky threat of battle coating their tongues and cloying the atmosphere.

Israfel waits for a few more breaths, watching, her eyes focused upon Leviathan as he speaks… And then she grins. “Well, that makes two of us.”

Clearly neither one of them were exactly good at this sort of thing, playing Kings and Queens when they were anything but, yet Israfel wasn’t’ concerned. She had a plan, should all things go in her favor, of course. Luckily it had nothing to do with this scarred brute standing within Denocte’s throne room.

Arching a brow, she went on. “Maybe we should have a change of atmosphere to talk more about this. Do you like beer or ale, Leviathan? Seamus, one of our local brewers, makes some pretty good shit. I had a few casks delivered to the citadel for this very situation.” No matter his answer, the Sun Daughter had every intention of helping herself to a few cups. She stepped around Leviathan’s bulk form and strode confidently towards the doors of the throne room. Wrenching them open herself, Denocte’s Queen began to lead the way to a much more comfortable sitting room where a cask was already waiting, along with a few empty cups.

Instead of beckoning a servant to pour her cup for her, Israfel did it herself. She motioned for Leviathan to help himself, if he so chose.

“So. We both suck at this whole ‘royalty’ thing, which is fine. I didn’t take Denocte’s throne with the intentions of being a pretty little Queen full of poise and grace. My Court knows what I am, who I am, and we’ve always been a Court full of misfits.” The woman’s crooked, rose-kissed grin was flashed briefly in Leviathan’s direction, the keen glint of vermilion eyes piercing. “It’s good to know that you don’t have the intentions to follow in the same tyrannical steps as the Kings before you. No offense, but Solterra doesn’t really have the best track record.” It was old news, especially if Leviathan was no stranger to the terrible tendencies and luck that always seemed to befall Day anyway. She did not need to preach to him about his own Court’s shortcomings and difficulties.

“I don’t like talking about politics, but that’s what we have to do. Unfortunately. If we weren’t willing to at least try, we wouldn’t have challenged for this title. And, I think we both want to do what’s best for our Courts. Respectively, of course.” Lifting her cup of ale, Isra took a long drink and mulled over her next words. "How do you intend to breathe life back into your kingdom, Leviathan?"

"Speaking."