Left alone for the first time that day, Asbel exhaled and pushed his shoulders back. He would be prepared, yes, as promised, but prepared for what? What did he expect to do? He could not fight and he could not flee. Something in between, then -- diplomacy, perhaps. If he could figure out what Frey wanted, perhaps they could come to an agreement. Surely the prince didn't [i]enjoy[/i] being so contrary and so at odds with everyone...

In gazing about his room, the phoenix's green eyes lit upon the discarded, surely-poisonous fruit left behind by his antagonist. He crossed the polished wooden floor and crouched beside the offending object. What did Frey want? What did he [i]really[/i] want?

---

"Of course, yes -- I mean, no, not a word, sir. I won't tell anyone." Already Aren had patted the dust off the rag and, as it was still damp, rushed forward to daub the worst of the blood from Frey's hands. The prince was much more cooperative than he'd expected, and Frey's flush of embarrassment brought a similar tinge to Aren's face as well. To see the hot-headed prince in weakness -- no wonder Frey didn't want word of any of this getting out. Aren kept his eyes lowered to see as little of Frey's anxiety as possible.

Despite the spray of glass across the windowsill, no jagged shards had lodged themselves in the prince's hand, and Aren managed to pick out the scattering of smaller pieces. He'd always had a good eye for detail (one of the reasons he was usually on the cleaning and sewing duties), and with the rag to wipe away the blood as it welled from a myriad of minute cuts, it was Aren's casual medical opinion that Frey would get out of the situation without a scar.

"I will have to tell about the broken window, at least," he ventured softly, still picking out the smallest bits of glass, leaning close to the damaged hand. "What should I tell them about how it broke?"