Not all the water in the rough rude sea,
Edmund snuck his tongue out at Paige as he approached, "Just because my mum is queen, doesn't mean I'm a prince. Unless Lady Safrin says I'm Torchline's next ruler or something of course." Because being a prince meant being in the line of succession and as far as he knew, there wasn't one. At least, not in Torchline.
As she landed in front of him, he held out a hand to steady her if she chose to take it. "And I'm not sulking. I'm brooding. It's much more sophisticated." Sulking was for children. Deliberating actions and consequences were too mature for children. Thus, brooding.
Brooding over the fact that the ever-constant warmth of his magic felt like a dull ember in his chest. Brooding over the fact that his mum had successfully trapped him here for his own safety. And much more occupied his mind as the war began.
As she landed in front of him, he held out a hand to steady her if she chose to take it. "And I'm not sulking. I'm brooding. It's much more sophisticated." Sulking was for children. Deliberating actions and consequences were too mature for children. Thus, brooding.
Brooding over the fact that the ever-constant warmth of his magic felt like a dull ember in his chest. Brooding over the fact that his mum had successfully trapped him here for his own safety. And much more occupied his mind as the war began.
Edmund Ansel the Prince of Torchline
can wash the balm of an annoited king
