“You are pouting like a child,” remarks King Barnabas, his ungloved fingers running across the deep scrunch between your brows as he attempts to placate you. “There is no reason for you to travel to Storm with us. The outcome is decided; you know this.” They were due to visit the Dhalmekians who were seeking their support in battle against the Iron Kingdom. You had been an instrumental part in the decision to refuse, and the King had agreed, even though you two rarely saw eye to eye otherwise.

It was foolish to butt heads with the King of Waloed, but even so, such things had never stopped you. Only so many could get away with speaking to and arguing with him the way you do. He keeps you around for both your intellectual acuity and your sharp tongue, so to lose either would be a massive blow. King Barnabas squeezes your chin and directs your gaze to his. “Do not make this harder than it needs to be.”