It is absurd, having this meeting on this tiny creature's terms. Compared to the ancient creatures it addresses - a god and a principality - it is practically an infant. Illyria scowls at it, at them both. She has not consented to ordered about in any capacity, and this meeting is as much on her terms as it is on either of theirs.

"Respect is not freely given, principality," she cautions as she stands away again, ever aloof. "It is earned."

The principality wavers between earning respect and the lack thereof; it is a decent opponent. Its intentions are of sufficient interest. And yet - it completely disrespects Illyria as a rightful ruler and as a god, and under any other circumstance this would not stand. The symbiote, however, is appropriately intriguing. This is no indicator of respect, but Illyria knows well enough that if she does not follow that social dictation, the principality will make any further contact with the symbiote quite difficult.

Thus, she relents.

"You understand your potential, then," she returns to the symbiote, the less currently infuriating of the two. It understands its own power well, this much is clear. It understands it and it - fears it. Perhaps in such a contained field, when the will of the shell contradicts what it carries, such fear is justified. But Illyria would not know, nor does she care to. Gods do not know fear. "And that is why you keep yourself restricted so."