Alexander

A look of clear skepticism crossed his features as the warlord's sea colored irises traced the brilliant figure of the stallion before him. Frost's tale of fanciful unicorns continued to vex him, and yet he could find no alternative to explain the state of pristine health of a horse that should be confined to the leisurely gazing of lush fields for the rest of its days. His horse's obsession with this mythical creature he claimed to have healed his opponent had resulted in a scoff of blatant disbelief from Matteo and yet, apart of Alexander was almost curious what Anastasia might think of the peculiar tale and yet, she remained as guarded with her words as any royal might. His brows raised in brief consideration of his daughter's efforts to attribute the steed's health to sheer willpower. A soft sound reverberated in the back of his throat before he muttered in agreement, "No, they are not." It was a possibility, he supposed. He had certainly seen his fair share of impossibilities performed by simple strength of will. History attributed some of his own achievements to such a thing - which begged the question on why Rixon sought to weave such a fanciful tale.

Such thoughts, however, were filed away for later consideration, particularly when there was still the Duchess' absence to speak of. Her dedication to her causes were...noble, even if the Monarch was surprised she would take up arms against her home country. War, however, was no stranger to the Conqueror. He thrived on those conflicts that made Anastasia's soul weary. She was not meant for the throws of battle - despite the training she had partaken in under his astute tutelage. An audible sigh left Anastasia's lips and yet, her fears brought a mere shrug to the King's shoulders. "Only the future will tell us which side is right...history is always written by the victors." He commented softly, having seen his fair share of empires overtake and demolish all that came before them - regardless of how just the cause of those that rose against them.

Anastasia stepped closer towards him, her head leaning gently upon his shoulder, the young woman clearly seeking some sort of comfort in the wake of the emotional exhaustion that came with her ventures into war ridden nations. His arm delicately wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer till her figure was flush, side by side, with his own. Alexander's cheek rested gently upon the top of her head before he uttered softly, "Welcome home, Anastasia." He could hear that soft sigh of contentment upon her lips, the pair merely lingering in that familial embrace, the horse before them holding both of their gazes. It was several peaceful moments later that the young woman finally straightened, Alexander releasing her from his hold as the Russian's hand reached out to brush against the steed. The Hunter's brow rose as the young woman pronounced the Mongolian race horse as ready - and yet, he had no reason to disagree. His head dipped in silent agreement, "Watch him." He commented softly to the puppy who glanced briefly up at him with a small wiggle of his tail. He made his way deeper into the Cavalry's barn and towards their pristinely kept tact room, only to pull a saddle from its place. The Macedonian made his way back towards the awaiting horse and eagerly dutiful puppy, just in time for Anastasia herself to reemerge with a blue roan in tow.

A small flicker of amusement crossed his features as he nodded easily, lifting the saddle in his arms up and on the stallion's back. "Here, give me him and go get yourself a saddle." He answered as he reached out for the lead connected to his daughter's geldling. "And you, you better stay here." Alexander continued, glancing down at the puppy who'd taken to nipping playfully at his shoelaces.