"One more. Hold still."

After seventeen years, the tug of just one more plucked feather caused hardly a stir. Asbel felt a brief, sharp sting beneath his shoulder, then little more than a dull, ticklish ache. Oftentimes, the alchemists wanted the down from his chest and sides, but their larger potions these days called for contours and primaries, and the ache of their absence irked him more than the removal of the feathers themselves.

But -- ah, to be done for the day. Asbel shook himself in a flurry of scarlet and gold and hopped onto the outstretched arm of the nearest sorcerer. With a bow, the man deposited the eagle-sized bird onto the stone tiles, and Asbel, trailing sparks, hopped awkwardly away from his keepers to tuck himself into the nest of rugs and pillows spread across a wide, low bed against the nearest wall. The stone of the floor and the walls, though a bland sandstone dun, at least tempered the heat he provided to a room so cozy. Even with open windows, the glass marbled and green, and a breeze rippling through the tapestries on the walls, the sorcerers had stripped down to bare feet and shirtsleeves.

While the alchemists bickered over the quality of the plucked feathers, the phoenix forced his body to change, felt the hitch in his chest that accompanied the shifting of his skin, the cracking of his bones. Heat burned through his bloodstream; slender spires of smoke rose from his neck and back. With one clumsy hop, Asbel rose from the floor and landed on the bed, and in a moment of overbearing heat and brief pain, twisted his shape in a miniature inferno, and then... finished. The phoenix waved away the lingering smoke with one human hand.

He did so hate the shifting back and forth. He would have preferred to remain human had the alchemists not groveled so for his feathers. And as they fed him, clothed him, worshiped him, he could hardly refuse. When he was hardly more than a sooty chick cracked from its smoking shell, these humans had sheltered him, taught him. He may have been but a trinket, a tool, but at least they kept him in pristine condition.

Yet Asbel could feel, exploring the crevice of his shoulder with one copper-colored finger, the mark left by the plucked feather. When he had been younger, bright green eyes blazing with curiosity, he had positioned himself in front of the full mirror to see the scars, but he hated to see them now -- the brown specks along his back and arms like human freckles, marks left behind by a thousand stolen feathers.

Oh, well. A single lifetime for his admirers would last as long as a lit candle; after that, he would be free to leave. This tediousness, then, would be all in his past. That he never remembered his past lives was a mercy, perhaps: to know what existed in the untouchable world beyond would have been a curse too great to bear.

With a sigh, the phoenix rolled off the bed long enough to pull on a scarlet tunic cut with citrine thread and pants to match. No shoes, of course; he despised shoes. And he would never stoop to wearing gloves, though he had a tendency to burn stripes of burnt wood into the posts of his bed when he woke startled. But one hand brushed through his burnished golden hair produced no smoke, only a subtle shift in color from gold to orange and back. With hair appropriately tousled, Asbel touched other pieces of his human body out of habit: earlobes shot through with looped earrings, a nose straight and sharp, knees and legs and toes accounted for.

All in one piece. Good. Settled, then, Asbel rocked back against the pillows heaped onto his bed and watched as the alchemists continued to bicker over their small and precious collection of newly-gathered, softly-glowing treasures.

Everyone loved their lives in the castle. There was one thing about the human life, however. It was much too short. In the eyes of greater, divine creatures, humans were nothing but insects. So what made them so special, exactly? Though many philosophers sought an answer, it was always ambiguous. The sheer briefness of life was enough for some individuals to seek ways to extend their lives. This was especially true for the royal family and the court of nobles. Everyone wanted to live forever, everybody wanted to bathe in the fountain of youth. And most were willing to do whatever it took to attain immortality. Some of the more appalling methods included eating a certain type of fruit known as the blood pomegranate, or even eating the heart of a salt-dried wizard mummy.

Needless to say, the most gruesome of methods were severely frowned upon. But not everyone wanted the fountain of youth for selfish purposes. Some wealthy people would pay with everything they had for a chance to save their beloved, children, or family. In response to the high demand, and lifetimes of searching, the royal court had found their fountain of youth- the rare god-bird, the phoenix. Seventeen years ago, a phoenix egg was found and hatched. He was loved by everyone in the castle. The phoenix was almost as famous as the four famed royal children, the heirs to the throne.

In a nation where vagabonds and waifs were few, and the general populace was well-fed and as satisfied as could possibly be, the crown was probably worth more to the competitive kids than eternal life. The heir didn't go the oldest. In this large, proud nation, the crown was awarded to the child who proved themselves the most worthy. Their culture didn't suppress females, either, so there was a chance the princess could inherit the crown! The two eldest were boys and were known for their dashing good looks and experience as dragon riders. In addition, they served as generals in the royal army at only twenty one and twenty four, respectively. The princess was a beautiful, independent maiden. Five years ago, when she was only fourteen, she calmed a sea serpent that was terrorizing the citizens on the kingdom's eastern coast line. The serpent reverted into a human and currently lived in the castle as a servant to the princess. The fourth was a young man of nineteen. He was an ace with the pen, and an even bigger talent with animals. The whole kingdom was betting on who would inherit the crown out of these four beautiful, perfect children.

But the funny thing was, the king and queen had five children. The fifth was a prince. At first glance, he didn't seem any different from his four older siblings. He had the same glittering topaz-like orange eyes, the same sun-warmed tan and charming smile. But he was different. While the others' eyes glittered with the determination to succeed, his was the determination to make himself stand out. It was a very mischievous kind of sparkle. Similar to the cuckoo chick pushing the other eggs out of the nests, the prince sabotaged his siblings to make himself look better. From putting a sleeping draft in the dragon's meals to greasing the floors around the servant's quarters with butter, the madness had no end. It usually backfired on him, though.

"Oh, how I hate him..." The prince, Frey, hissed. He was staring intently through the ajar double doors leading to Asbel's 'pen'. The phoenix lived better than he did! With lavish quilts and pillows, food handed to him on a golden platter, and a big window, it was better in every aspect compared to Frey's own small, while luxurious room. Clenching a fist, the seventeen-year-old ground his teeth together. He had no real reason to hate the phoenix and his siblings so much. In fact, they always forgave him. Maybe their unending pity and mercy was what drove him to do such things? Or perhaps sinking so low would lower everyone's expectations of him so he wouldn't have to work. Or, maybe it was simpler. Frey was just envious.

Brushing a hand through silver hair that darkened at the ends, the prince clenched the rosewood door with his other. Asbel was a phoenix. A living treasure. He was the problem child. So why not do what he was born to do? Narrowing his eyes, Frey didn't have an ounce of hesitation or guilt as he burst through the doors with a loud sound. The sudden alertness and tension radiated by the sorcerers, philosophers, and alchemists was felt immediately as several pairs of eyes turned to stare at him. They knew that he was nothing but trouble. "Y-your highness." One of them stammered. He was a stout man, and reminded Frey of a boar.

"Don't call me that," The prince quickly quipped. "You can call me 'your majesty' after I'm crowned." He said confidently, which indicted a glare of annoyance from the others. "AN-Y-WAYS, you guys are needed in Cassiopeia's pen," He said, speaking of his sister's Pegasus. "She's having some trouble." Meeting the suspicious glanced, he sighed and showed a note signed by the stable boy. It had taken forever to threaten the poor guy to sign it! Murmuring in agreement, the men made their way out of the room, leaving the prince alone with the target of his tormenting. From pushing Asbel out the window to shooting him with a poisoned arrow, Frey had done quite a bit. What he didn't realize was that this time, he was suspected, and the castle's sorcerer was standing outside the door.

Grinning evilly, the devil in the shape of a handsome prince pulled out a fruit from his cloak. It was a cubic shape, and was fussy with pink hairs. It was about the size and consistency of a grapefruit. "Hey there, buddy..." He said with fake warmth. "Want some?" He asked, nudging the fruit toward the bird. It had some strange effects that would no doubt be satisfying! He didn't get it. Why didn't they just keep Asbel in a cage? "Don't worry, it's really good..."

While the alchemists froze at the invasion of the prince, Asbel reacted only with a new tension across his shoulders -- a new wariness in his emerald eyes. He knew, as did his keepers, that Frey never brought good news with him. All the spoiled prince ever wanted was to cause trouble, and between being peppered with toxic arrows, pushed out of windows, harried and harassed beyond measure, Asbel had learned to never associate Frey with anything save unpleasant near-death experiences.

The other royal siblings he liked. The two oldest were as handsome as they were regal, and the phoenix felt safe in the presence of the princess, as if she could easily chase away any monsters that endangered him. Even the princes' dragons were oft too imposing to deal with, and the one pleasant outcome of perpetual imprisonment was that Asbel very rarely had to deal with the towering brutes.

Frey, on the other hand... Asbel sat up and folded his hands in his lap as the prince became his only companion. The fruit in the young man's hand he studied with open suspicion, and a glance up and down the prince's figure confirmed that the young man had not, spontaneously, grown up: his eyes still gleamed with the devil's fire, his smile maintained its mischievous hook.

But this was a child of the royal family. As much as he might want to, Asbel could not flare in self-defense.

"No, thank you," he replied, tone low, as polite as possible. With two fingers, he pushed away the proffered fruit and the prince's hand. Nothing about the delicacy looked appetizing, and Asbel had certainly learned not to trust anything the youngest prince offered him. "I am not hungry. You ought to eat of it first."

A flash of annoyance passed through Frey's eyes as Asbel refused to eat it. He paused, as if he had no idea what to do, but the expression lasted less than a split second. Then, he chuckled. It wasn't the happy, light, fluttery kind of laughter he emmited when his plans were successful. No, this was a much more sinister laughter that only forewarned disaster. Whenever he laughed like that, eyes glittering with even more malice than usual, most people were smart enough to run.

"You're right." He said in a dangerously soft voice, hurling the toxic fruit behind him and putting both hands Behring his head in a relaxed position. The prince may not have the golden looks of his siblings, but he was really handsome. It was just a rebellious, evil, mischievous kind of handsome. The same way someone might find a vampire or demon attractive.

Frey seemed to be alright. Not minding at all that Asbel foiled his plan. Then, it began, first like a dribble. "Of course you wouldn't be hungry. I mean look at you. Look around you." He accused, gesturing around the amazing room to prove his point.

"I don't understand why we keep you around." He spat, rocking on his heels. Oh, how he yearned for someone to react to what he said. It was irrelevant that they would have negative emotions, and reactions.

Frey, despite being raised the same way as his siblings, had a twisted philosophy. At one point, he was a nihilist, claiming he was the only real person and everyone else was a dream. Currently, he didn't see the point in being kind. You didn't receive anything special.

"You know, you're just a-" Before he could finish speaking, the castle sorcerer burst into the room. "Ew." Frey huffed cruelly. The man took a deep breath through his nose. A lot of people did that around him, he realized.

The sorcerer was a middle-aged man with whiskers and eyes Frey didn't trust. Sometimes that prince would fantasize about being a hero, and the towering sorcerer would always be the villain. At least in his imagination. "Your highness! What do you think you are doing?"

Thinking quickly, Frey looped his arms around Asbel in a warm, touching way. It was time to act like the angel foreigners thought he was. "Just an amazing creature." He said in a most sincere way. The sorcerer's expression softened only a bit, he knew Frey was up to no good.

There he went: the eyes darkened with intended devilry and malice suffused the young man's features. Uncertainty plucked at the back of Asbel's neck and he slid off the bed as carefully as if confronting a wolf. Death meant so little to the phoenix, but pain -- pain he did not want. All he remembered of his prior life was the end of it, and the end of had been a steel-sharp burst of agony. Asbel could still feel the tickle of it in the back of his mind; the presence of Frey never eased it.

While he had not flinched when the prince so casually discarded the poisoned fruit, he stepped back as Frey warmed to his anger, but Asbel -- eyes trained unblinkingly on Frey -- had miscalculated his own position in the room, and his shoulders bumped against one of the posts of the bed. "Your highness, I do not--" but Frey ignored his plea.

What could he do? He could not fly, as all his instincts begged him to. He could not fight, not if he might wound even the least-favorite of the five children.

The crack of the opening door, then, carried in its wake an instant surge of relief. A rescuer! Asbel turned toward the sorcerer with undisguised hope. The man may have been the least appealing of the sorcerers, but against this royal dragon, any knight would do.

Rescue was near, so near-- and then arms closed around him like a cage, and Asbel tensed. Shoulders tightened. Fingers tightened into fists. He was never touched. His feathers were plucked, his feet made perch on offered arms, but he was not touched. Another's heat infringed on his; another's body pressed against his.

Startled more by the strange and unpleasant closeness of his antagonizer, Asbel did not manage a reply for one long moment. When at last he could speak, the words were soft, careful: "I will not be left alone with this creature. Please remove him."

Noticing and relishing in the phoenix's anger and shock, Frey reached and ruffled the bird's hair and tugged at his shoulder roughly. "Chicken."

Snickering in an impish way, Frey let go of the abundantly warm bird. Making a gagging noise as he let his arms loosen. It nauseated him to have to try and pull a fast one, unaware it was hardly effective at all. The prince combed a hand through his hair arrogantly, the silver color radiating in the dim evening sunlight. Chuckling at the sorcerer, who had conjured a raging wall of fire behind him. The look in his eyes was a dangerous one. Seeing that Frey had released his precious treasure, Asbel, the sorcerer let his spell disperse. There was no need to harm the prince, if he didn't aggravate the phoenix. In his opinion, Asbel was worth more than Frey ever would be. All the prince was was a monster. A failure. "So like a curse..." The sorcerer taunted.

Frey knew he was no match for the sorcerer, Bachus. He had been there ever since his eldest brother was born. No one was really sure where he came from, but he had his own tower at the far side of the castle. Bachus had cured the queen of her illnesses while she was pregnant. Because of this, most people of the kingdom came to see him as an extremely important person. But Frey hated him, even more than his siblings, parents, and servants. It appeared Frey was one of the few people who could sense Bachus didn't mean well at all. Nevertheless, he was in no mood to be beaten to a pulp. He just smirked. "Keep running your mouth, old man."

"The disrespect-" He began, but Frey cut him off.

"I. Don't. Give. A. Damn. Now, go play with your little pet over there, old man." Ignoring the fumed of the old sorcerer, the prince whistled as he walked out of the room, a mischievous glint in his eyes. But before he was completely out, he looked back. "I'll be back to hurt you later..." Frey sang, not caring the sorcerer was listing.

"Do not fret. I will make sure that... filthy... rat never touches you again." The sorcerer promised.

Meanwhile, Frey had made it back to his room. It was much smaller than Asbel's. In all truths, it was a servant's room they had put a new bed in. The ceiling was high and the window was small. His bed was covered in a slippery silk. It looked most uncomfortable. It was. He sat on his windowsill and sighed. It was tiresome, sometimes. Sometimes he wished he could run away, far from the castle. He wouldn't have to be compared to anybody anymore...

"Man, I hate that stupid bird... I hate everyone...!" He grumbled angrily as he suddenly pressed his hand against the glass, shattering it. He didn't care his knuckles were torn by the glass.

The prince's sudden retreat left Asbel strangely cold, but he did not move, did not speak, until the prince was out of the room. That Frey made no secret of his aggression, but why was the young man so angry to begin with? The prince and the phoenix had been alive for nearly the same length of time (accounting for the disappearance of past memories), in the same home, around the same people. So why, then, why did the prince behave so much like a loosed arrow? The young man had no direction, no purpose. He only wanted to ruin things -- perhaps ruin people.

But Asbel brushed a hand through his own hair, hating the glow of silver of the prince's hair in the sunset. Dangerous -- and handsome -- so like a demon. Without any guidance, that young man would destroy himself and everyone around him. Though he had absolutely no care for the kingdom, Asbel did not want to see it fall apart in the hands of a misguided child.

Asbel exhaled properly for the first time since Frey's appearance. He uncurled his fingers from where they had been clutching the bedpost behind him, the wood smoking as his fingers parted from the mahogany. "Thank you," he murmured, turning to Bachus with the shadow of a grateful smile. How could anyone dislike this man? He was the only one intelligent to stay behind when the rest had gone to obey Frey's clearly-falsified instructions.

"You need not--" The phoenix broke off, took a breath, squared his shoulders. "You need not promise such, Bachus. He frightens me when he arrives unannounced. If he returns later tonight, I will be prepared." Green eyes flashed in the direction of the now-empty doorway. "I will be capable of handling him on my own."

---

Thunderous footsteps startled Aren out of his reverie, and the slam of a bedroom door nearly knocked the room's pictures out of alignment. He glanced at Jeoffrey and Anders, but neither one seemed to have noticed the disruptions. Such was a front, of course: Aren could see the tendon in Jeoffrey's neck that indicated his irritation, and Anders was scrubbing at the hearth with more energy than he'd shown in all the last half hour of their cleaning.

"Should we go check on him?"

The question was met with silence, and with a sigh, Aren tucked his dusting rag into his belt. Jeoffrey was only twenty, and Anders had only just passed his eighteenth birthday, but at, comparatively, the infantile age of sixteen, Aren knew that if anyone was going to check on the prince, it would be him.

Hands trembling at the prospect, the servant hastened to adjust his green-and-gold uniform, and he made an attempt (however useless) to tame his mess of brown curls. As long as Frey didn't murder him, Aren was going to count this visit as a success.

From the study currently under the servants' supervision, Aren padded silently down the hall and pushed open the not-quite-closed door leading into the prince's bedroom. "Your Highness?" he called, voice little more than a whisper. Where was-- Oh! At the window, surrounded by a shower of broken glass. Suddenly pale behind his freckles, Aren pushed the door the rest of the way open and pulled at the rag still secured in his belt. "Sir, you're bleeding! Hold on, I can help!"

Bachus nodded. He was not one to speak without reason. Now that that troublesome prince was gone, there was no need to put his thoughts into words. Frey couldn't understand much about body language. Either that, or he just loved to push everyone's buttons. After a second of thinking, the sorcerer detmined it was probably a mixture of the two.

Adjusting his robes so they were comletely straight and wrinke-free, he tapped a foot to the ground. Putting up a hand in a silent farewell, the wise old sorcerer calmly at rode out of the room. He couldn't imagine what Asbel would do- he divine creature was not easy to read. Attacking Frey would be idiotic, and the king and queen might get somewhat upset. Somewhat- they didn't really care about Frey, either. Chuckling slightly, Bachus made his way back to his tower.

---

Frey bit his lip nervously. While the initial pain was clouded by his malice, it was throbbing now, and he really didn't want it to scar. If nothing else, he still retained his charming appearance. Turning his head quickly as the door burst open, Frey's eyes met the ones of one of the castle servants, Aren. Unlike all the other nobles in the castle, Frey hadn't any personal assistants. Why? Well, because 'Only well-behaved princes get person all servants'!

Quite honestly, that wasn't the real reason. It was truly that nobody would volunteer to be around him more than required. He made their lives a living hell anyways, but if they had to wait on him hand and foot all the time...

Well, they'd lose their sanity rather quickly, that much was for sure. Frey almost sighed in relief when he realized it was Aren. The boy was only a few months younger than him, and was one of the lower servants who actually had to deal with him. Frey saw him as a nice guy who he didn't hate as much as he hated everyone else. The only other people who deserved that honor was the castle oracle, some other servants and surprisingly, one of his brother's dragon.

Normally, he would refuse help, but his hand was really hurting. It was how he had bonded with the dragon. The dragon saw his more innocent side that was only unveiled when he was hurt. As such, Frey tried not to be hurt when around others, but in this situation it couldn't be helped. "Please... Aren... can you help me? I beg of you, Aren, please don't tell anyone about this!" He said in a genuine, polite voice that wasn't akin to him. "And don't get Bachus, either!" He added. Blushing profusely, he was embrassed at having to beg his servant.

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 enjoy 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 really 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?"

It was a shame, really. The fruit was meant to make the eater's hair turn a bright pink for three days or so. He had learned about it when one the maids claimed she ate one once. However, they only grew in the tropics outside the kingdom's boarders, making the fruit rare. It was said to be extremely sweet and soft. But the strange layer of hair on the square fruit turned most people off. Frey had taken it from the kitchen. He had really wondered what the rare 'Kinp' fruit was doing in the castle kitchen. Not to feed anyone, hopefully.

At any rate, the prince was breathing at a fast pace as Aren cleaned his bloody hand. He didn't want the other male to make a mistake. The rag awas a little damp, and not rough at all. The prince couldn't help but tense up. He wasn't used to being so cooperative, and he didn't like the submissive feeling. Nevertheless, he was determined to make his hand feel better. "Be careful, Aren. This is my hand, after all. I want to be able to use it." He piped in while the boy worked.

Smiling broadly as he saw that Aren had cleaned his flesh successfully, he chuckled. "Remember," He said sternly, "Not a word of this to anyone! Or I'll get you!" He threatened. Sighing in relief, the prince wiggled his fingers. Good. They all looked fine. "But you did well, Aren. I thank you." He then swung his legs over the edge of the window so he was back on the floor of his bedroom. The walls were painted a plain white color. "What happened, huh? Let's say... I smashed your head into the glass! Yeah!" Frey declared proudly. His normal malice was back. "Oh, but you don't have a mark on your forehead. Come on, let's fix that...."

After some searching, Asbel managed to find an used stick of incense, which was just strong enough to spear the fruit, and with the fruit so impaled, the phoenix carried it to the open window and flung it outside. If it was poisonous, hopefully the wild animals in the gardens beyond would have enough sense to leave it be. He dipped his fingers in the bowl of rosewater on his bedside table, just to be on the safe side, and against the encroaching darkness of gathering night, he lit with a wave of his hand the braziers lining the perimeter of the room. He could extinguish them with an identical wave; let Frey, if he did venture back down to Asbel's room, know blindness -- helplessness.

---

Aren ventured a shy smile at the praise. He'd never realized Frey had the capacity to be so kind. The prince came across as so... so prickly, but maybe he wasn't so bad after all. Maybe the rumors in the kitchens and around the washing basins had been exaggerated.

"I'm just glad I could help." He set the towel on the ledge long enough to wipe his hands on his jerkin, and began, as he reached to pick it up again, to add, "I didn't expect you to be so--"

Let's say... I smashed your head into the glass!

Aren recoiled as if struck already. He staggered away from Frey, color draining again from his face until he was as pale as the walls. "Sorry, sir," he managed, "but I-- I've got to go my apologies excuse me." He ducked, just in case the prince lunged for him, and as fast as he could, as hard as he could, he sprinted toward the door and the safety of the hall beyond.

Reaching out with his non-wounded hand, Frey stopped as Aren quickly excused himself and left. His expression was priceless. "Ah, I live for moment like these.. " He said before errputing into a stream of insane giggles and laughter. Everyone in the rooms around him had moved; they wouldn't jeapordize their safety by being around the prince! But once he was sure all the company was gone, Frey stopped and placed a single hand on the windowsil. "Aren never finished cleaning the shards of glass..." He mused nonchalantly.

For a moment, he was considering tracking the brown-haired servant down and telling at him to clean it up, but decided that he had scared the poor guy enough for one night. Even Frey had his morals. Plus, he didn't really have anything against the other guy.

Asbel, on the other hand, was another story. The prince snickered, knowing all he needed to do was hug the phoenix and he would be so mad! Frey slipped PFF his shoes. If he padded around n his socks, of was easier to slip by everyone else's rooms.

As he walked, he was glad that the halls were lit by chandeliers. He had a horrible fear of the dark. Ever since the day he had been trapped in a forest at night.. Ever since he had seen wolves and bears corrupted by darkness... he could never live without light of some kind.

Finally, Frey made it to Asbel's room. Casually, he strolled in. "Why hello there, Asbel." He said in a chipper tone and walking over to him. Ignoring any pleas or words, Frey placed his hand on the phoenix's shoulder. It was actually pretty bright. Good thing, too...

Though he sat on the floor at the foot of his bed, listening with all his being, Asbel did not hear Frey's arrival until the prince was halfway past the threshold. The phoenix leapt to his feet, and nearly bolted for the open window, as much good as that would do. But no-- no. If he did not hold his ground, this would never end and Frey would be completely out of control forever. There was a possibility, a very real possibility, that Frey would only stop when Asbel was dead.

So the phoenix rose as Frey strode closer, his expression stone and his body still. Then a hand-- a hand on his shoulder, and Asbel closed his fingers around the prince's wrist to forestall further contact. The lights, with a gesture, he extinguished and the room plunged into darkness. Only his own glow, as faint as distant starlight, could he not put out.

"Tell me what you want from me." His voice, though soft, was not gentle. No longer as tame as a hearth-fire, he would brook no further assault. His hand warmed around the prince's wrist, though not yet hot enough to burn. "I will not hurt you, but neither will you hurt me, Prince Frey."

Frey blinked in surprise as the phoenix placed a hand on his wrist in response. Most interesting.. Did this mean Asbel was going to bite back? Frey smirked, thinking about the possibilities. If Asbel fought him, maybe he could get the phoenix to lose some of his privileges. The fact he had a bigger room really bugged him, for some reason. He was about to say something snarky, and licked his lips.

But before he could do just that, he was submerged into a sea of darkness. Smug topaz eyes widened in fear. The dark! More than anything else, he hated darkness. You never did know what it hid, what would come popping out...

Not to mention, the prince had bad experiences with darkness before. Frantic eyes caught sight of a luminescent object, and Frey moved to cling to it, only to realize in dispair it was Asbel. He flinched and withdrew his stance, but his wrist was still held form. Terrified, the silber-haired demon realized Asbel did this. He didn't know how, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Though he was scared, he couldn't help but narrow his eyes at Asbel's words. Maybe he could reason with him. If Frey could get him to turn the lights on, then it would all be alright. Everything would be... fine...

He bowed his head a bit, not having the energy to be cruel. Why did he do this to himself all the time...? But Asbel had cornered him. Usually he was prepared for this sort of thing, but had underestimated the god-bird. Biting his lip, he spoke softly and cautiously, as if he was addressing a king, and he was a peasant. "I... I..." He was at a loss for words. "You're immortal... it doesn't matter... " He whispered.

"Since when did a hug become a hurtful gesture? Because that would be news to me. I want.." Frey paused. His had to play his cards right, or he would succumb to his fears. He had a feeling Asbel has a lot of intuition, so lying wouldn't be an option. "Let me ask you something..."

"Can you imagine a group of pirates out at sea, looking for treasure? Well, one day they find a whole island full of chests and pots filled to the brim with gold, jewels, the whole package. But... the more they see, the less impressed they are with what they find next. Say, they find a fountain of youth. Well... a chest of gold sounds a little boring now, doesn't it?" He spat.

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."

If someone had said that to him, the prince would have ripped their head off. Then, as his signature move went, throw them out a glass window. Preferably onto a sharp and spiky bush, or maybe some good old-fashioned broken stone. But the palace was well-kept, so usually they just fell on the mosaics decorating the ground around the palace,

Alas, Frey's Achilles heel was the dark. And he was never good at concealing the evident fear, the obvious panic running and pulsing through his eyes. He hardly heard what Asbel said at all, only registering something about being cruel. At that, topaz eyes rolled. "And what perks, I may ask, are there to being kind? Friends, happiness? Things you can buy with money. And I'll always have that." Even if he never attained the crown, he would still be wealthy.

But it was still dark, and he was too busy hyperventilating to say anything else. Asbel was like a lighthouse in the dark. How ironic. "So what if I'm cruel and sharp? It's so much more relaxing." If he was nice, he would have to be very thoughtful about what he said.

Despite his words, Frey had been nice to Aren, so the prince was more than capable at it. Maybe it was even how he truly was, beyond his untouchably demonic exterior. But nobody would know that. Only the oracle and Lucian, his older brother's, dragon.

And he had sworn them both to secrecy. "...What is it you want, Quack?" He mocked. "Or do you not ask for anything your owners tell you not to have? Must be nice to be their little pet, eh?" Frey has seemed to temporarily overcome his fears simply to mock the phoenix.

Despite the apparent fear in the prince's expression, the young man's responses were sharp enough, and Asbel doubted Frey was truly frightened. Though his rapid breathing and the rioting pulse beneath the phoenix's fingertips suggested otherwise. What was the prince so afraid of, if not Asbel? Why would the bully, the brute, the insufferable child be afraid of anything?

"What I want doesn't matter," he retorted, tone smooth even as Frey's sought to cut. "I owe the debt of a lifetime to your family, and even if you are a brat and a nuisance, I cannot go back on my word." His fingers tightened around the prince's wrist -- hot as his temper flared, if not hot enough to blister. The corona of light around his body brightened momentarily, though he did not seem to notice.

"And you lie to me. If you wanted only money, you would be happy. Yet you make my life and your siblings' lives miserable. A happy man does not spread discontent." Asbel pushed the prince back a step, squeezing his wrist in unrelenting intensity. Neither one of them would leave this room until this mess was sorted. "So tell me plainly, prince -- what do you want? If not friends or fellow kindness, then what?"

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.

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."

Frey's eyes lost their cruel, heartless glare and instead shifted to one of blankness as he was grabbed once again. Asbel really wanted to hold him, keep him helpless. This brought a smirk to Frey's face. So the immortal bird was scared, was he? The prince didn't miss the fleeting look of panic that crossed his nemesis' features. The prince chuckled softly, knowing that look very well. It was one his servants- particularly Anders- gave him right before Frey terrorized the poor man. The expression reminded him of a chicken that was about to be beheaded. Or maybe a criminal who was about to be kissed by the guillotine. And yet, when Asbel spoke once again, his tone was cool and calm. The prince's lips curled in a scowl for a few moments before he responded.

"Excuse me? Who do you think you're talking to, PET? You're nothing but the sorcerer's little cash cow and pet. Are you not seventeen years of age? Why, then do you play the part of a wise man when in fact you have never seen outside the palace?" Frey grunted to support his point, then placed his smooth palms atop Asbel's hands, and tried to gently pry them off. He then flashed a grin. "But... it's so much fun harassing the servants. It's not like I have any personal ones, anyways. Have you ever seen a grown man scream and jump out a window?" He giggled. 'I haven't. It'd be fun to try and make Anders do it, though."

Frey sighed. "Listen, Ash-Bell." Purposely mispronouncing the phoenix's name, he continued. Why was he still talking to him? Why bother? There was little point in talking to something that had been raised to love the devious sorcerer. "You are nothing but a pet. A well-behaved, magic-producing, human-like pet. Isn't it amazing? You don't have to think- Bachus does it for you. Unfortunately for the rest of us, we're not pampered. Even though I'm a prince, the damn servants have better rooms than I do. Nothing wrong with it, of course." Realizing he had slipped up and accidentally shown his more mellow side, Frey corrected himself. "Nothing but everything, that is!" In a quick force, he pushed the phoenix back roughly.

"Be a diplomat? Are you kidding me?" He laughed heartily. "Does it look like I give half a damn about my kingdom?" He said it so surely, but there was genuine worry in his eyes. Being a diplomat... Wouldn't be such a bad thing, actually. But he had to deal with the tasks at hand. "Does it? Because if it did, then I need to correct it." Then, not being able to stand it any longer, added, "And turn the lights back on, you bastard!"