Argent had been trained well. She couldn't necessarily remember her training. She definantly couldn't have, even with a knife to her throat, recalled any specific moments from it. It had been many, many, lives ago for her. But it seemed to have settled into her bones. When to stand or sit or smile politely. When to speak and be silent. She had a certain amount of freedom as someone of her position and worth and even the last king, what she remembered of him, had been amused by the youth and playfullness that seemed to renew itself with each new life she lived. But she had been trained. She knew her place. One day she might flirt with her King if that was a thing allowed of her but she wouldn't initiate contact. She'd wait for it to be given to her first.<br/><br/>She did follow closely behind him though as they made their way down to the garden. Her place, she knew, even if she did often find excuses to go running off whenever allowed (and occasionally when not explicitly allowed but not told it wasn't permitted), was by his side. Even if he hadn't quite figured out how to tap all the power she could offer him yet. She would wait patiently. Until someone won her from him. It, afterall, wasn't a weapon's place to teach someone how to use it or prefer one wielder over another. Maybe one day she'd grow fond of her King but it was never even a thought in her mind to try to influence one way or another who owned her.<br/><br/>Upon reaching the garden she took a few experimental steps away from her king. If not called back she'd eventually drift from that place of hers completely, if only for a few moments, lithe legs carrying her racing and playing about the flowers to find fresh blooms and what joy she could find here.