"You're my only sister, so less a victory and more a pity win, as a battle needs more than one competitor." Their tone is matter of fact though perhaps the monarch's lips lift a little at the familiar sibling bickering.

Phi moves on as if she hadn't heard them, brushing her hair over a shoulder and moving to sit on the chaise that was just a few feet from the large white wood desk her sibling sat at. The trees the seelie Court was known for, interior wood almost marbling like porcelain tile.

"Besides," her eyes peek to the door that led to Aislan's bed chambers, then back to the ruler themself. "It's not as if you were entertaining a guest. No one's been in here for a few weeks. So it's not like I'm intruding."

Aislan's pen stops, almost like a record scratch in how the silence seems to sound deafening in the aftermath. Back straightens and the air starts to chill despite the crackling fire going on the hearth. The fae ruler's eyes are almost as sharp as a daggers edge in their intensity as they settle on the other blonde.

"What do you want, Philomina? If you have something to say, spit it out then leave. Contrary to your belief, I do have duties to fulfill."

Phi's playful expression falls away and there's anxiety reflected in the pools of her eyes, concern as she rises. "I told you, mother's worried about you. And I am as well. We've never seen you like this, Reòthte."

The childhood nickname makes Aislan soften a slightly, the bite of the air falling away considerably. For that, Phi, gifted with water and not sharing her sibling's immunity to cold, is grateful, stepping closer to the desk.

"You had them build a fireplace in your bed chambers and your study!" She motions almost exasperatedly to the dancing flame and Aislan's eyes seem to almost become entranced with it. "You don't get cold, mo deartháir."

They exhale and look anywhere but their sister. "Can I not enjoy the heat just because I don't feel cold?"

"Aislan-"

"It relaxes me."

The admission is almost a whisper, but it still halts Phi's words, her eyes widening as how much such a small sentence gives away. But they said it...so it's the truth. There's no careful wording or fae trickery in the three words, as they lay bare in the quiet of the room, the siblings' eyes meeting.

Phi is the one who moves first, a smile lifting her lips and she nods. "Well if it relaxes you, then I see no reason why not. And hopefully, in the future, they'll be an ever warmer fire to warm you, right?"

The monarch doesn't say anything, fearing how the words would leave their lips if they tried.

Philomina smoothes out her skirt and hums an affirmation at her own prior question before moving to the door.

"I'll let you work then, and let mother know you're alright. But don't hole yourself up in here anymore, no matter how nice the fire is. People outside wish to see you."

She stops, hand on the doorknob as she looks over her shoulder with a small smirk.

"I'm working on a blazer for King Camhlaidh. As a thank you and as an apology because you put Vel in charge of a thank you gift. I haven't seen it yet, but he's been far to happy this week. You can thank me later. Tootles!"

And the room is quiet again, only the crack of fire devouring wood heard, light dancing along the single tear that slides down the ruler's cheek, and turns to ice.