From the window Florina would witness a muscular man covered in blood coming out of the stables, pausing to shake his boot free of the feces he has unintentionally plunged it into. After getting what he could off, he looking up towards the house, right at the window before which she stood. The blood covering him slowly pooled away from his person, creating a neat pile of red to the left of his feet, leaving his skin and clothes red-free.

He took two more steps towards the house before a swarm of private security came surging from inside, weapons raised, hearts hammering, intending to give their lives to protect those inside the prince’s home. Hiram pursed his lips at them, then looked up at Florina again and spread his arms.

Surely she knew he could kill them. Whose hands would their blood be on? He gestured for her to come down to him.

Hiram observed Florina’s exchange with her staff—he assumed they were her staff—with a bemused smirk resting contentedly on his lips. When she referred to him as a brute he lifted a hand to his heart as if offended, but the smile never wavered.

“I won’t harm a hair on her head.” He said when she turned the attention to him, hand now covering his heart but this time to symbolize the promise. Of course, Hiram was not above breaking promises, but what they didn’t know didn’t concern them.

He sighed, eyes bouncing, waiting for the motley crew of defense to wander inside so he could be alone with the person he came to see.

When the leader of her motley guard stepped away, Hiram said quietly, for only Florina’s ears, “No, he won’t.” Because what the man said wasn’t true. If Hiram chose to do something to Florina then it would happen and no help would come in time. When it did arrive, it would be too late, and it would be incompetent against him. Hiram was a warrior and a gifted. What could they do against him?

He watched her don her cloak, his smirk ever present.

“Of course.” He responded to her inquiry. “I’ve tasted you. I can find you in any corner of Terra Nova now.” He offered her his arm, and if she took it he would begin to stroll, headed nowhere in particular, the blood pooling at his feet rolling over the earth as a dog seeks to stay close to its master.

“I’ve come to follow up on our little chat.”

Hiram only chuckled at her question, refusing to answer, choosing instead to let her wonder. Truth be told, he didn’t plan tomorrow. So it was possible.

“We spoke of our people.” He reminded her, as it was a conversation he himself actually remembered. That was uncommon. Then again, she was uncommon. Her gift wasn’t particularly powerful, but it was certainly useful; moreso, there was something about her. A tug, you might call it, that he felt. It very well could have been her voluptuous breasts or her womanly curves, but maybe it was something else; maybe it was something supernatural.

Whatever the case, here he was.

“As I recall it, you weren’t sure whose yours were.”

It wouldn’t take much to fool Hiram. He didn’t observe people the way some others did. He wasn’t skeptical of everyone and everything. He took them at their word, or he didn’t, and either way he controlled what happened. This was how a man with power behaved.

“Because I think you think you don’t have any people, but you do.” He bounced his brows. “You don’t have to have red hair to be under my protection.”

Hiram's smile grew as she questioned is motives. It showed her good sense.

"Because," he started slowly, and she might have gotten the impression he was about to impart something deep and thoughtful upon her, "I want to." One of his eyebrows climbed his forehead, challenging her--and anyone else--to deprive him of doing what he wanted to do. "I am powerful. The powerful do what they want when they want. You are gifted, yes, but also..." he reached out the arm that wasn't escorting her to attempt to brush his fingertips at the hair by her face, "I want you." And if she had any sneaking suspicions or doubts before then surely they were all confirmed now.