Dear lady of Argyll, he thought to himself, suppressing the amusement save for a warming smile. He had no particular interest in the trappings of royalty, the false niceties of court. Fae could mislead with words, and it was considered a great skill worth honing, perhaps out of necessity. But among mortals, an outright lie would do to maintain the illusion of conformity. To preside over such a court, she must be very good at both.

So he saw the Queen. He had not yet seen the woman, which was certain to be far more interesting. Rivers, if it please ye. He dipped his head. Blue eyes fell upon her named champion, but true attention stayed plainly fixed upon her.

Patience was not a typical virtue of the fae. For Rivers it remained a hard-won and somewhat poorly leashed skill. Particularly when his curiosity piqued. So. If you were me, eh? Who say's I'm a bettin' man?

And what if you were you? (Oh, if only!)