[ At one point, he considered her prideful demeanor frustrating—he wanted all to kneel before him as a Harbinger—but now her attempt at bravado is simply endearing. Wanderer can't help the low chuckle from leaving his chest as he reaches out to cup her cheeks in his palms, running the pad of one thumb over her skin.

Like her lips, they're soft, too.

Wanderer has lived centuries; he isn't inexperienced by any means, but it is very much different for there to be... affection in his body language, his expression. Long ago, when he'd gone by a different name, he allowed himself to feel this way. Those distinctly human feelings are resurfacing now. ]

'Victory'. Say it like that, and I might take it away from you.

[ He doesn't like losing, either. ]

Finish your tea, mage. I'll prepare your bed.