Frey's jaw hardened in a tough, straight line. His regal, blue-blooded and orange hued eyes glimmered with what only could be pure anger. Or perhaps irritation? It was strange that anything could overpower his fear- his intense phobia of the dark. Strangely, something about this, this -bird!- annoyed him to no end. As Frey was pushed aback and his wrist was seared by Asbel, he didn't feel fear nor pain nor regret. 

It was interesting to think just how much you can hate a stranger. The same way you can feel such annoyance to someone who pushes you in line, or to someone who, quote unquote, 'accidentally' tripped you. Alas, Frey felt this way toward Asbel but with so much more intensity... The everlasting feud between the Montagues and the Capulets would seem like a trifle in contrast to Frey and his unreasonable hatred toward the world. 

Concepts like karma or kindness were lost on the young prince. What was it, exactly, that made him so bitter? While his siblings grew sweet and golden, why did he alone grow to be so dark and cold? How was it, under the same roof they had been so different? How had the demons shown themselves only in the heart of Frey? They had all the same royal treatment. So why, then, did Frey feel just... so... demonic?

Sometimes the questions are hard and the answers are easy. Frey wanted attention, in any way possible. Even if it meant being locked forever in a dungeon. Of course, he had attention already. He was the prince. But what was a diploma worth if it was handed and spoon-fed to you? Frey wanted to earn his own fortune. Or, in this case, attention. 

"I want..." The prince spoke in a tone barely louder than a whisper. "I want to outshine everyone, and that includes thou, the immortal bird. I ask you this; how is a well-behaved prince meant to outshine his sister, who can calm a sea serpent. In contrast, I can't get a flower to obey my command, no matter how carefully I beg. No..." He suddenly jerked his arm harshly. "If my brothers lead the army with their dragons, what can I do? If my brother can talk to the fae in the wind, I ask you, what might the youngest, whom has no talent whatsoever, possibly try to win at?" He waited. "Exactly. Perhaps my sharp tongue, or my attitude. Whereas the royal family seems to have been inclined with the ways of nature, that lesson has been lost on me." Frey bit his lip. He felt strangely... empty.