One Minister of Foreign Affairs meeting after another, that was what the hours following open court consisted of for the king. It was necessary and productive, if a lot for the introverted king. Cassian well knew how to cope. It was his job to.

A royal guard announced her arrival and promptly opened the door to his study. Cassian was at his desk. His eyes fell on Magda, not the appreciation of a man but the observation of a king. He noticed her attire, the stark contrast of it to what he had last seen her in. He said nothing on it, just as he had not then.

“Lady Ivanova,” because whatever charade she was playing in Coheed, it was not official here in Neveremere, “sit.” He welcomed her comfort, extending a hand to the other side of his desk.

Magda curtsied, dipping her head before she took her place on the other side of the desk. She saved none of her flirtatious smiles or batting eyelashes for Cassian. Magda had made her offer of…service, and it had been rejected. It was the hollow, black-eyed snake of a woman that sat across from him now, one that was kept even from Kennet. With the king, there was no use in pretending she was something she was not. Her other forms did not hold as much value as this one did.

“I appreciate your making time,” Magda said, crossing her legs, “It has been far too long. I believe we have much to discuss…”

Cassian noticed her charade. Or, really, the lack of one. Exchanges with Magda were always charged, as she had an energy and appeal of her own that wafted off of her seemingly involuntarily. Today it was nowhere to be found. It seemed she had been in Coheed for too long. She had lost one of her greatest weapons.

“Of course. Your work in Coheed is critical for our kingdom.” He was always cautious with her, but even more so now, though she would notice no change in the way he conversed with her.

He let her begin where she would.

Without a doubt Coheed had hardened her. How could it not? It was an unforgiving land that Magda had softened as best she could—transforming herself along the way. But the change ran deeper than the superficial. Magda was no longer going to scrape and beg at anyone’s feet. She’d spent a lifetime doing just that; first for the noblemen of Nevermere at her father’s behest, then for her own enrichment in Cassian’s service. But Magda had tasted power. Freedom. She’d drank deep of the delusion that she could fashion herself into a queen of a land she’d claimed as her own. That woman was far more desperate, more reckless, more dangerous than the seductress with pouting lips and sparkling eyes.

“Both Kaalim and Izen have thrown themselves behind Rian’s leadership. He’ll govern under my direction, keep me as his only wife. Chieftess, I believe he plans to call me outside of my official capacity, which is…quaint, I suppose,” Magda shrugged as if it meant nothing to her, the playful spark of the mischievous courtier Cassian had met that day by the fountain surfacing for a moment before fizzling out again.

“The governor’s daughter has started to train with the Parabolti. The campaign to recruit other young girls is well underway, more joining every day. Keeping the fear of the Eldouirs alive has been helpful in keeping the more conservative warriors from protesting too much. A Cambrian has joined them to train them and help change the mindset their women have been raised with. I’m spending time training with them myself. Helps to keep an eye on things.” Magda paused then. There was something else stirring in the blackness. Something difficult to place.

“The incident at the docks has…rippled the waters, without question. Nothing that cannot be dealt with. Some evidence the gifted is unharmed wouldn’t go amiss, but I’ll leave that to your discretion.” Magda stopped there, eyes fixed nearly unblinking on Cassian.

Cassian listened without any hints as to what she said was making him think or feel. His trust of Magda Ivanova had only ever run so deep, and all that she said was always taken with a grain of salt. She could be a real asset to Nevermere if she set her mind to it, and she could be a real thorn in the kingdom's side if her loyalties were ever tainted. According to Kennet, the latter was far truer than the former.

"The family of the gifted man will be sent for soon. I'll have him accompany their retrieval." Cassian said, a simple task that would both make good on Cassian's promise to Othello and allow the people of Coheed to see that the man was alive. In fact, from what he understood, he was thriving.

"This Rian Cyrilson," Cassian knew him, as he had coordinated the plan to rescue him, "your...husband..." Cassian said it cautiously, as if the concept were a fire that required care when handling, "Do you find him to be what Nevermere needs in a leader of Coheed?" Surely she would know what he meant. She knew her task when she was sent to Coheed. Coheed was to become Nevermere. To conform to their sovereign kingdom's image, one change at a time. Magda's success in that area had been questionable at that strange celebration that Cassian and Kennet had attended. He wondered if now, with her hand on the back of the Governor's neck, things would start to look different. To improve. Surely she knew that if she was not successful in her task then another would be sent to do it...

Magda nodded, appearing satisfied. The whole arrest of the gifted still dug like an irritating thorn in a horse’s saddle. She hadn’t yet decided how or if to address it, so for now she said nothing on the matter.

The word husband was enough to pull a flirtatious smirk out of Magda. She crossed her legs, lounging back in her chair. “Yes,” Magda responded firmly, unblinking eyes still fixed on Cassian, “He’s not the fool Kaalim was, which has its benefits and drawbacks, but he’s no ordinary brute either. Rian’s had time enough in Nevermere to understand what’s expected. And,” Magda smiled, starting to twirl a curl on her finger, “He trusts me. Though I can think of one or two… sweeteners that have helped in that regard.”

Cassian didn't want to hear another word about these sweeteners. It didn't take an imagination to imagine just what she might have been referring to. While perhaps the thought of Magda in such a disposition was not entirely unappealing the thought of her offering up such valuable goods to a Coheed brute was stomach churning. She seemed pleased with herself, however, so Cassian decided to think nothing further on the matter. If she got the job done, she got the job done.

"Good. I will trust that the conformation of Coheed is well underway with your oversight." He let that statement stand alone for a moment, intending for it to be a reminder of their history, of why he had sent Magda to Coheed and not another. She had proven to him over the years that she could do her job. That was what he needed in Coheed, now more than ever.

Now for the next matter, which he knew was of great importance to a woman like her:

"What reward do you seek for your efforts?" Because it had always been something. Power. Prestige. Recognition. Surely she wouldn't toil, committing herself even to the point of feigning a marriage--because he gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed that was what that was--simply to serve her king.

Magda nodded slowly to show she understood. Regardless of how she’d soured towards Kennet and all that had transpired since the festival, she still believed herself an asset to Nevermere. Though for selfish reasons, she’d served her kingdom well. Whether or not she’d continue in that pursuit was what remained to be seen.

Cassian’s question tugged the corner of Magda’s mouth up into a smile. Straight to it, then. Her interactions with Cassian had been less direct in the past, dressed up enough to be something other than blatantly transactional. The difference between this meeting and the one on the eve of her wedding was marked—or as much as it could be with Cassian’s taciturn manner. Magda could only assume Kennet was to blame. Magda’s response was polite, but blunt.

“I’d like to retain my title of nobility, and have one extended to the Governor as well. For us to be married in the eyes of Nevermere.”

For surely Cassian would know: her marriage to Rian would not prevent her from marrying another, as it wasn’t one recognized by her home kingdom, but no self-respecting Nevermerean man would ever touch her now. She’d been soiled by barbarian hands, after all. This was the best Magda was liable to do when it came to preserving her status at home—or what little was left of it.

No, Cassian surely did not know. He had assumed this marriage was one of convenience to give her leverage in country. Upon finishing her task, he fully expected her to return to Neveremere, single as a pringle and ready to mingle. Sullied by barbarian hands or not, if the king made a match then it was a match made. Rather than getting assurance that she’d have a life when she returned, she seemed to want to make her current farce something legitimate.

“Why?” A simple petition for an explanation, because Cassian’s mind wasn’t in tune with hers. It didn’t sound incredulous, though it surely was.

Why?

The why was far more complicated and shameful than she’d ever admit to. The why was that she’d tasted it; a facsimile of power, of freedom, of love, even, and all of those sweet indulgences had wrapped themselves up in her connection to Rian. Magda knew that they weren’t real, that they wouldn’t last, but perhaps foolishly she believed that she could have both. Magda Ivanova, witch of Nevermere, loyal servant of the crown, and Magda, Chieftess of Coheed and beloved wife.

But clearly none of that was something Cassian needed to know.

“How better to seize Coheed’s culture than to wrap up its safekeeping in our ways? Lord Cyrilson has far less of the stench of Coheed on it than ‘Chieftain.’ His—our—children would be future lords and ladies of Nevermere. Another knot to tie them to us.” Magda then softened a touch, whether the softness was genuine or not. “And if I am to carry those children, I’d be remiss if I didn’t seek a future for them beyond the grasslands of Coheed.”

Cassian listened. He always tried to keep an open mind about this brought to him. Whatever his innate reaction to this request, following the display Magda had put on up until this point, he considered it. It was not, however, a decision he would make today.

“I will consider it.” He intoned, a gracious response to an uncanny request. So she didn’t want out of this eventually? She had every intention of making it her life. There were levels of things to be concerned about with that, to be sure.

Magda had become less conscientious about holding her tongue; she was, after all, the highest ranking official in Coheed. There wasn’t a thing she didn’t say if she wanted it said. So it was uncomfortable to not press the issue now in a way that would have been foreign to her not even a year ago.

But Magda, still clinging to the courtier she’d been raised to be, dipped her head politely with a thankful smile. “Thank you, sire.” Magda had no further points to raise, so she waited for the king.

With business concluded, Cassian let a silence fall to ensure they had surely both said what they wanted. He never felt uncomfortable in silences, not even now, as he looked at a woman whose place in this world—in this kingdom—was becoming questionable.

After a sufficient pause he rose, expecting her to rise with him.

“If that is all, Lady Ivanova, I bid you visit with courtiers eager for a word and then return to your post.” Because that’s what it was, and he had made that clear from the beginning. Magda’s tight grip on the thing might be the very cause of her losing it. Time would tell.