When she returned, Darius held the reigns of Mallory's horse for her.  It was, not unlike the man who rode it, large and a bit brutish.  War-trained and dangerious it snorted as she approached as if to dismiss the princess' slight form.<br/><br/>"Make sure to give a firm reign," Darius cautioned softly, "He's used to ignoring light tugs in battle."  Then he leaned down to offer her a hand up to the larger stallion's back.  And had she still held any doubt of his enspellment, the look in his gaze as he attended her was proof.  Sir Darius was her's.