The prince's whispered response was nearly too soft to hear, and Asbel leaned closer, wary, to hear his response. The answer, when he heard it, brought a thin, tight frown to his mouth. Of course Frey would want to be the best of all his siblings. Of course the youngest would be so desperate for that which would be so difficult to achieve.

"You can't--" The prince yanked his arm, freeing it from Asbel's slight grasp, and the phoenix panicked. If Frey got away from him in the dark, he could do anything -- and Asbel lurched forward, grabbed, as chance would have it, the prince's collar. No, that was too aggressive a hold -- he let go at once and caught instead the young man's face: a hand against either side of his jaw, warming the sharp bones beneath his fingertips. Perhaps the prince would not be so quick to squirm out of a hold that could damage him more severely.

"You," he replied, voice again low and steady despite his fluttering pulse, "You humans are not born with talents. Gifts are not rained down on those who do not develop them. All you have done, Prince Frey, is teach yourself to be callous and cruel. If you want anything out of your life besides that, you teach yourself to do something different. Put your tongue to a better use: be a diplomat. Unwind the need for an army altogether. Fight demons outside yourself." He tightened his grasp, tilted the prince's head, and forced Frey to meet his gaze. "Bullying in the dark? Harassing your servants? You are a prince. You are better than that."