The Fall King's eyes gleam a eerie ghastly green of a fresh storm in the dim light, lanterns lighting the Winter Fae's path to the dias, stopping well short of it. "You do not merely 'miss place' that blood drinker." He remarks cooly. "You have simply unfastened the jesses and allowed it to hunt at your- or it's, though unlike you- whim." He gestures minutely a wind rustling the leaves far over head. "Wine, Smith?" A goblet made from the horn of some great beast appears before him. It's a gesture of courtesy and an invitation to speak more of the true matter at hand. "You are hardly so... visible with your emotions." His voice rolls and echoes with a silkiness to it.