There he went: the eyes darkened with intended devilry and malice suffused the young man's features. Uncertainty plucked at the back of Asbel's neck and he slid off the bed as carefully as if confronting a wolf. Death meant so little to the phoenix, but pain -- pain he did not want. All he remembered of his prior life was the end of it, and the end of had been a steel-sharp burst of agony. Asbel could still feel the tickle of it in the back of his mind; the presence of Frey never eased it.

While he had not flinched when the prince so casually discarded the poisoned fruit, he stepped back as Frey warmed to his anger, but Asbel -- eyes trained unblinkingly on Frey -- had miscalculated his own position in the room, and his shoulders bumped against one of the posts of the bed. "Your highness, I do not--" but Frey ignored his plea.

What could he do? He could not fly, as all his instincts begged him to. He could not fight, not if he might wound even the least-favorite of the five children.

The crack of the opening door, then, carried in its wake an instant surge of relief. A rescuer! Asbel turned toward the sorcerer with undisguised hope. The man may have been the least appealing of the sorcerers, but against this royal dragon, any knight would do. 

Rescue was near, so near-- and then arms closed around him like a cage, and Asbel tensed. Shoulders tightened. Fingers tightened into fists. He was never touched. His feathers were plucked, his feet made perch on offered arms, but he was not [i]touched[/i]. Another's heat infringed on his; another's body pressed against his.

Startled more by the strange and unpleasant closeness of his antagonizer, Asbel did not manage a reply for one long moment. When at last he could speak, the words were soft, careful: "I will not be left alone with this creature. Please remove him."