“Celestino.”
The king of Simo held no resemblance to is youngest brother, save the air of distinction and, perhaps - if one was actively seeking out similarity - the self-righteous cock of his left eyebrow.
“I know that name," King Ingo hummed in fancied consideration. "I was defeated by that name. You are the general of the Ilysian army.”
Cele remained quiet. There was not much else he could do that would be of any benefit to him or the others. It was clear Ingo harbored no inkling of surprise, which meant he was fully expecting the general Ilyos to appear before him. Or he was wickedly talented at lying. Neither one seemed favorable.
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