The phoenix recoiled as Frey made to embrace him a second time, but the prince pulled away on his own, and Asbel was left with only the warmth of a wrist in his grasp, the shadow of heat on his chest and shoulders from the prince's unintended embrace. What had that near-hug been? An attempt to fight back against his captor? An instinctual reaction to attack a rebelling castle pet? Then why the retreat?

But Frey had, briefly, come across as panicked. Surely he wasn't surprised to find that Asbel had more magical talents than just turning into a man. Surely the dark did not frighten a young man who made it his mission to frighten all other beings in the castle. Or perhaps...

But as the prince's tone deepened in sincerity, Asbel tightened his hold. Surely this was a trick after all. Frey was no more afraid of the dark than his siblings. This new heated posturing was residual anger still -- not true shyness or true respect.

Yet the honesty -- whatever the source -- the honesty was unquestionable, and the phoenix slowly loosened his fingers from the prince's arm. He retained contact, fingertips against the prince's racing pulse, just in case he needed again to deflect Frey's advances.

"The value of the gold is not diminished by the value of the fountain," he whispered, almost gentle. "And the pirate's perception of the gold is not the fault of the fountain." He hesitated, intending to leave his answer there, but words rose unbidden in his throat: "And as long as I've known you, Asbel, you've only been gold in looks; the rest of the time, you are cruel and sharp and that adds tarnish all its own."