Vasileios sighed as Moira gave him only a cursory response. "No fun," he muttered. "But we will meet again, I'm sure! You can't turn away from me now. Not after a second time!" he called after here, even as he heard the thumps and metallic clangs that announced the woman's exit from his vents. And really, she hadn't even tried to throw a dagger down after him or something. He wasn't sure if he would count that as part of the second attempt or a third one, but she might as well have tried harder in the face of his teasing. Why did she think he did it? It wasn't to rile himself up.

A faint clatter rang out over the more overt noises of the Moira's escape and he found his eyes darting down to follow the fall of some object. Moira's? He knelt down, finding the necklace glittering in the bath's steam. The metal felt rough, but solid as he ran a finger along its surface. The inscriptions on the back only made it feel more ancient and weighty. A smile finally stretching over his face, he clenched the object in his hand. A second later, he spun around, calling out into the mist.

"Servants! Drain the bath and cleanse it. The water has been poisoned. Bring my evening clothes, so that I may retire." A scrabble of motion sounded and soon, the entire bath was filled with people. Among all of it, Vasilieos slipped out.

Over the next couple weeks, their kingdom's relation with its neighbor, Porphyros, only continued to worsen. Vasilieos found much of his time taken up by councils rather than thoughts of an unruly female assassin. The more time that passed as well, the more he thought she might never show up again. Had Moira finally learned to fear? Did their game finally go too far? Only the weight of her necklace reminded the king of the assassin's resolve. And this, he kept hidden on him at all times. In many ways, he grew rather fond of the object.

Sunlight bit through the bitter cold afternoon air that signaled the start of true winter in Negatia. Anyone that tried to brave it alone would die, and here he was, standing outside with the troops, readying for war. If it came or not depended on far too many things still, but this time, his country would be ready.

"Sir!" The voice broke through the usual clamor of the training yards. Vasilieos turned to see a courier dipping his head. A second later, the young man continued. "A regent from the southern province is here with news of Porphyros' borders. He's waiting in the council room. Should I tell him you're coming?"

Vasilieos nodded his head once, then turned to eye the palace which looked so far away from here. As it should. He sighed again. "Of course. After I run the kinks out of Phren here, I will call on him. Tell the man to wait." With that, Vasilieos patted his horse's side and the courier hurried off, leaving Vasileios alone once again, turning toward the treeline and the inevitable path toward the palace where too much politics awaited.