[He does, somewhat deliciously chilled at the point of contact, as his fingers go to the pendant now resting against his chest. It's cold, and bites at his fingertips before the heat of his touch warms it.]
Thank you, my queen, for your generosity.
[He doesn't release it immediately, a little shimmer of his own magic passing over it.]
no subject
Thank you, my queen, for your generosity.
[He doesn't release it immediately, a little shimmer of his own magic passing over it.]
I do intend to prove you right.
no subject
[Mab kisses her cold fingertips and touches them lightly to Mordred's lips.]
See that you don't disappoint me.
[And with a whirl of black smoke, her form vanishes.]