Ozragad caught sight of her as he reached the bottom of the stairs. The Princess was bowing deeply, much like his own subjects, surrounded by a knot of the ladies he had placed to serve (and spy on) her. He had half expected some kind of scene, a continuation of the game of mutual hostilities and disrespects their relationship had largely been up until this point. But there was none. Perhaps they were past all that now, with their new arrangement... and all else that had happened since. 

Strange, how he looked back on their bitter arguments with almost an element of fondness now. It felt like a different time, simpler, less dangerous. [i][color=f7941d]Less dangerous for you maybe. It was always dangerous for her, after all, it was you she was fighting with. You almost strangled her.[/color][/i] Ozragad winced at the memory of her delicate throat under his hands. But it was true, she had always been in danger in Morganyth, from himself as well as others. He was still a danger to her, after all, it could still be her who had tried to kill him. She had plenty of motive. [i][color=f7941d]And what will you do then?[/color][/i]

As the crowd parted for him, Ozragad could see that the grooms and stable hands were bringing the horses up, ready for their riders to mount. There was an order of precedence to the whole thing, he would mount first, followed by next in precedence and so on and so on. The next highest ranked person here would be the Princess herself, being a fellow royal, albeit a foreign one. The King could see his own tall  black stallion drawn up across the ward, but next to it there was another horse saddled and ready. 

He could tell from here that it was a magnificent creature. The palace stables at Cirith Anyr kept some of the finest horseflesh in all the country, even before he had needed to mount and outfit so many warriors for his armies. They bred for speed, rather than size, and he could see by its build it would fast. She was a filly still, just on the cusp of being considered a mare. Her coat was palomino, a pale cream, with flowing mane and tail of pure white. He did not know her by sight, but a horse so fine must have come from his personal collection, and there was only one person it could have been brought here for. 

This was a mount fit for a Princess. 

Normally he would have marched on past his bowing courtiers and got on horseback as quickly as possible in order to get the assembled court moving, Ozragad hated waiting. But now he paused at the foot of the stairs. This was supposed to be political theatre was it not? Then he would give them some theatre to talk about. He turned and walked to where the Princess still knelt, planting himself directly in front of her. He proffered a hand to her. 

[b][color=f7941d]"Your mount awaits you, Princess."[/color][/b]