Frey nodded with a grumble at Cassius. It would not be wise of him to start trouble. At least, not before they even got off the ground. The prince knew that Cassius was hardly botherd by his words, but Augustine was a different story. Though now, he appeared to not care, Frey had made Augustine cry a few times. Once, when he still dined with the rest of the family every night, Frey had lost his temper against his oldest brother. This was before he was appointed a general, and was still rather soft. He recalled the time with bitterness. 

Augustine had made a jest about Frey crying in his sleep, and in response, the prince jumped up on the great wooden dinner table. He took into his hands a big pitcher of ice cold milk and dumped it on the to-be general all while screaming how much he hated him. When the king shouted for him to stop, Frey yelled back and pitched the pitcher at his father's face. Of course, Blanchette had waltzed in at the very moment and stopped what would have been a terrible, though most embarrassing royal procession. That was the reason Frey didn't eat dinner with the family anymore, unless there was a visiting noble, and he would be forced to 'play nice' with whatever royal problem child from another kingdom his parents thought suited him. 

There was a fluttering feeling in the boy's stomach as he climbed up on Cassius. He had never flown before, so this was a big deal for him. He shot a glare to Asbel as he sat down, with knuckles white from gripping so hard onto the saddle. Didn't Asbel know how to fly...? What were all those fancy looking feathers for, or did they serve no other purpose than to act as a medicine? Nevertheless, the boy exhaled irately and clamped his eyes shut as he felt the wind begin to rise. "Is this even safe?" He shouted over the gusts.