04-07-2022, 12:11 PM
Some part of him is mollified, that not-small part of him that believes himself superior to her - by birth, by station, by homeland - that part of him sees her countenance change and accepts it as the natural order of things. She should be more respectful, more humble; after all, who the hell is she? Nobody, here, in Baltia. It is wise to know it.
This easily soothed piece of him though does little more than soften the deepest wrinkles of distaste that gather around his nostrils and make the gills there flare. His conceit lies thick across his scaled hide, his dislike of these trespassers from above weaving a detailed tapestry across the translucent blue flesh of his face. The long needles of his teeth click softly as he sets his jaw against her continued questioning. Her musical voice seeks to soothe him, but it does not. He will not be soothed by the likes of her.
"You are not a threat to me," comes the cold reply.
This is a poor start. He knows it and does not find himself caring deeply. It is a fine line to walk, rebelling yet conforming, particularly in a place full of eyes always watching and waiting and pulling your thoughts from your head before they've even been formed fully in the womb of your brain. Baltia has more than its fair share of mind-readers and he does not fancy banishment. Out there he would be as much a nobody as the spotted mongrel in front of him. The tension of it makes the water around them tick with electricity that stings and streaks invisibly across their skin until he pulls it all back inside of himself with a sneering hiss.
"Luckily, your timing is better than you know," the prince says at last, his own demeanor adjusting from furious disgust to simply dour, "my mother is throwing a party just for you."
The young Baltian gestures deeper into the kingdom.
"You will come."
It's not a question.
@Waverly