Her questions were one upon the other and he felt his frustration rise. He stared at her and then at his leg. She wanted the mark on his leg. A scar then? But was there a -
And yes, there was. He knew there was, though he often ignored it. Along one side of his left calf, a scratch. It had been but a scratch, even years later, he told himself this. He'd went to his father's tower, had gone to the top room where it was kept, the figure which remained formless and yet kept horrifying form all the while. It remained bound even now, behind a wealth of Knots, each one binding it to the niche it crammed itself into, if legend were to be believed, in order to escape the magics flying all about it. They'd long since forgotten its name, the figure, yet each king had been given, one after the other, the edict to keep the knots upon it, keeping it under lock and key.
A key he'd stolen when he was only fourteen. He'd gone to see it, had looked upon it, had seen into its rocky face, into its sightless eyes, and he'd fallen in his fourteen year old imaginative fear. He'd leapt back, felt as if it somehow had reached out and grasped his leg, somehow. It had been only a chair though, he reassured himself, the touch on his leg. He'd gained a small scratch, and that the scratch had yet to have disappeared, it reminded him of what his father kept watch on and he had not once again gone to the room.
She remained like a like statue at his side, her hands in her lap. He ran his hands into his hair and gazed at her, her sightless eyes glittering in the firelight. "I only wish for a kingdom if it is my fate," he struggled to say. "I do not want my father's or my brother's kingdom if it is in their hands, not at ... Lady, you confuse me. You seem to know a great deal, yet you ask me questions I feel that I cannot answer for I do not know the answer you wish to hear." He tugged hard at a lock of his hair and gave a frustrated grin. "You're a lovely woman, Lady Arina, and as mysterious as your name."