Those eyes. They're heart's blood red, gleaming ruby seeds, and he's never seen their like in the waking world.

"I won't permit that," he says, tautly, with all the authority of his position. A Prince speaks, and the world listens, even if it does not always obey.

(A Monarch speaks, and angels always do.)

"The old man would kill me if I let that happen." Why does he tilt to lightness, unsteady as a freshly hatched babe? "Or he'd try."