The words were pretty, so pretty. Just as the Queen that spoke them was. Yet that meant little to Carmine. No, what he was interested in was her actions. What she did going forward, how her Territory Court guided Glacia in this time of need. Just how would the Dark Religion, the absolute faith of those Darkly blessed by Mother Night within the frozen land, would continue on. Would the whispers grow? Would they lessen? That was what Carmine cared about.

Only time would tell.

Carmine, thankfully, had patience.

A scent was growing closer, Carmine noted. One that spoke of the pages of a book; that said Queen. Without truly looking as if he were watching her, the Warlord Prince did not bother to move as she was clearly on a course for bumping into him. He let his attention flick back forward as both felt and heard the slosh of liquid upon his suit.

"Only a little," said Carmine, glancing down at where the liquid was soaking into his clothing. "Nothing to worry about." With a flick of his fingers, the liquid was dispersed, the fabric of his morning dress coat dry once more. "See? Everything is quite alright. No apologies necessary." Her anxiety was something malleable, something that he could use. Never would Carmine not take advantage of something like this. Not when it was a Queen.

"I'd be more concerned about your dress, Lady," said Carmine, lifting a hand towards her. "Would you permit? I know a thing or two about cleaning up such things." In the lighting of the room, the blue of his eyes seemed endless as they focused upon the Queen. "A necessary skill when one has traveled as much as I have." Somewhere, he knew, was his Ama. She was not that far away, getting them drinks, and then she would return.

"I simply do not want to presume and do such if you are familiar with the craft."

"I am certain both Lady Graveworthy and Lady Luceau will be able to make use of another talented Mind Healer." Jeremiah smiled briefly. "In fact, I've no doubt you'd be offered a chance to stay on for a season or more given how much we hurt for Mind Healers within Dena Nehele." Though he knew well that Shadya's path would not keep her within the territory forever, it would for a time and any time was good enough.

"I would tell you thanks are not necessary," not when he believed he shouldn't be thanked for what he thought as not only courtesy but how the Blood should act, "but I've learned to simply accept them and say that you are more than welcomed."

The Black Widow Warlord Prince paused. "I will say that you are not an imposition in the slightest," said Jeremiah with a smile. "If you've need for a change of attire, to have yours laundered, or anything, there should be some things within the closet in this suite that you can make use of." His head tilted, queerly bright eyes looking beyond Shadya. "I believe they should be in your size but if not something else can be found."

The smile on his face was back at the mention of Sorinna and dinner. "We all eat together around eight." It was a late dinner time for sure but it enabled almost everyone to be there. "I'll have an extra plate set for you and let Sorinna know that you're here and joining us." Mostly so that his daughter could make arrangements to the seating arrangement around her and inform her Bonded males so as to not cause a possible tiff. Not that he expected most of her males to cause one.

He moved to stand, though he paused with his hands pressed to his thighs. "If you've any other questions, you can ask one of the guards or reach for me. I'll leave you to getting acquainted and see to those things I said I would procure for you." Pushing himself up, the Black Widow Warlord Prince swept into a proper goodbye before he simply smiled at Shadya. "Things are not always quiet here," said Jeremiah, "but while you are here, I think your mind--if not your heart as well--might be able to rest easier."

Then, unless she stopped him, Jeremiah turned to leave and left Shadya to the room. There was already a checklist of things to do organized in his head and he only had so much time to see them done in what he considered a timely manner.

"I've no doubt you can assist in that matter," replied Jeremiah with a smile. Truthfully part of it was fear, another part of it was control. Stela would merely need to make listening and obeying her more to Lord Cosovei's advantage than his loyalty to the group he wished to be fully integrated with. A few nights of nightmares would help with that, he knew that much.

"With Prince Bane on leave, Lord Serban has been seeing to his duties. Eventually, he will return, once things are settled at home with the new child." Truthfully, Jeremiah was concerned about Sebastian. The landscape of the Prince's mind in the aftermath of his break had been ... It was not completely dusted, not like Lisichya's, but it was fractured and time would be needed to see him healed and back at the Territory Court. Working with Arkadie to help Sebastian at least eased some of his worries.

A sigh escaped, the concern evident on his face before he simply continued on. "A couple of days and I'm sure he'll be ready." Jeremiah tilted his head to the side, thinking upon it. "He's a moldable sort, really, to the point that I wonder about his sense of Self." Now he was definitely getting off upon a tangent. The Black Widow Warlord Prince was quiet for a moment before he finally spoke again.

"Nothing particular but ..." A breath was released before he shook his head. "No, there is nothing I can give you to track what I am looking for. I suppose if you hear anything about my family, then let me know?" The look in his eyes was cold, flinty as he continued. "I am certain that this, in some manner albeit removed, ties into those that I am looking for." Then, as he realized she may not understand, he explained: "There is someone that has worked in the background for years, that has attacked my family and others. They've a debt to pay and I'll see it claimed when the time comes."

Jeremiah did not immediately respond. What he did instead was study Dmitri, truly study him. Yet the gaze that fell upon the Warlord Prince was not the predatory sort common with another of his caste but that of a Black Widow. When Jeremiah looked upon Dmitri, he let himself slip. Just a little, just enough to find the thread of a Widow's walk and see where it lead.

He let out a breath, blinked, and those queerly bright blue-green eyes of his focused upon Dmitri properly. "To be frank, Prince Petran," said Jeremiah, "it is about your contract with the Territory Court." Said contract appeared next to his elbow as he leaned forward, the tips of his fingers pressed together. "When you were taken on, regardless of you being an unknown and untried Gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince, there were certain things that we made clear; rules that were meant to be followed. If any of these were broken, were not followed, then your contract could be ended immediately."

There was only a brief pause, the Black Widow Warlord Prince keeping a finger upon the emotional pulse as he did. It did not matter, not with the path that he had seen. The very same path that he followed now, speaking with the Gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince. "Bluntly put: you were not meant to fraternize with the Wards of the Territory Court." A brief pause. "And in case you feel the need to argue due to my choice of wording ... This is a direct result of your bedding not just one but two of them." His eyes narrowed. "To be frank, I wouldn't be including Lady Bannok in this but considering the report of you tackling her ..."

Shaking his head, Jeremiah continued on. "It is no matter. The point remains that there were certain expectations and they most assuredly did not include taking to bed one of the Healers you were meant to be looking after. A Healer who has not, as of yet, made his Offering to the Darkness and is still a youth in the eyes of this Court." The look upon the Black Widow Warlord Prince's face was still inscrutable as he studied Dmitri Petran. Even as Jeremiah spoke, though he was clearly reprimanding Dmitri, his voice never rose in tone or volume. Yet he still spoke with authority--the kind that conveyed disappointment and more without ever yelling--and was every bit the Steward of Dena Nehele speaking clearly.

"You're welcome to speak before I tell you of what happens now," said Jeremiah after a heartbeat, "but I will warn you that if you decide to do so, that you be mindful of what you say." For it could change, then and there, what the decision was when it came to Dmitri and his time within the Territory Court.

"Similarly, though for different reasons, mine was kept secret," though his had been the case of possible harm to be done, someone that could use his then unstable nature to their advantage, "as you're now aware. As long as your scent is hidden--when that starts to shift--you should be fine." Jeremiah paused for a moment, considering his words before he sighed.

"I am well-versed in the views of Tacea and cannot say that I am fond of them. To speak bluntly, once you reveal yourself, it is their loss if they do make the choice to no longer do business with you. You'll likely find yourself with more people interested in working with you as so many here are extremely receptive to males that have second castes." His eyes flicked to the tightening of Maseo's fingers--the whine of the porcelain heard--and the way they slowly relaxed as his emotions ebbed. The sharp spikes in his emotions, each one Jeremiah felt, might have been concerning if it were someone else. As he was training, it was expected. It also made him wonder if he had been so tumultuous.

"Actually," said Jeremiah, "I do. My mentor, Lady Arkadie Graveworthy. If you'd like, I could send word to her about you? She's discreet, of course," it went without saying but he would reassure all the same, "and you could contact her about going out for a hunt. To be quite honest," the smile on his face spoke of amusement and mischief, "I think it would do wonders." Not just for the male before him but for the Black Widow Queen as well. (As he did worry about her, more than he had realized he had.)

With the web stretched delicately between his fingers, Jeremiah stood up. "It's different for each of us," he said as he moved around his desk and towards Maseo, "and some have a stronger connection than others." The blue-green of his eyes were queerly bright, more so than normal because they shadowed by the bangs that fell into his face. Closer, that eerie feel of the Twisted Kingdom--that cloying scent of it that was ineffable--was heavy upon the Black Widow Warlord Prince. "It requires a strong sense of Self; that you are capable of protecting such--your center, your crown--as well." The other chair in his office was slid forward, moved closer so that it was near Maseo's, with a touch of craft.

"Though in this foray, I would be protecting you," said Jeremiah as he claimed the chair, "as this walk is mine." His hands were held out towards Maseo, a moment given for him to study the widow's thread that was woven between his fingers. It was far more complicated than some cat's cradle and truly did look as if it were a spider's web. "It's easier for me to work without one, yes. I didn't actually take to it until ..."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Well, she had me making lace pancakes to grasp the form of a safe-ward and from there it became easier to work this way." It was why, when his fingers did not pull the web taut, that it draped downward. Oh, he'd use a frame if he wanted to prepare something in advance but mostly this was his preferred way. Jeremiah had spent too much time watching both Claudia and Arkadie weave webs and that had resulted in his own being something of a mix of the two for all that he worked with his hands.

“Grasp my wrist,” said Jeremiah, “when you are ready. A physical connection makes this far easier.” That and it was the only way he could ... With Maseo conscious anyway.