"It's a bold assumption to underestimate my willingness to backhand you in front of all these happy party guests, sister," Fjolnir told Rhiannon, his voice lowered slightly. She spoke of being innocent and making rash, rushed choices. The god could've spat at her quick decisions and moral high ground. He understood a charlatan when he spied one with his own eyes. This type of game, this extended session of playing hard to get was much more suited to the brothels and houses of ill repute.
"You enjoy your emotional manipulation of my admittedly shallow-tempered father?" he asked his smile still present, but slightly more manic. "He offers you more than possessions and immortality, but the red-bearded bastard has offered you something even more important," Fjolnir explained. "He's offered you his love," he reminded the other ginger. "You've done the unfortunate thing and aligned me with my father," he shared and held his contempt on the inside. "Eventually, our king will lose interest and you'll have missed the greatest opportunity of your life," Fjolnir added, but he doubted his warning would be heeded.