There were secrets held at bay, kept and tucked and sequestered somewhere within both of them, and he clasped, clutched the urge to ask about all of things she dared not speak of. The otherworldly, entangled sanction of his eyes remained solely on her, a child of the snow who’d strayed – like so many before her. How many times had he asked why Rikyn had left? How many times had he wondered what made Aithniel clamber to sands and dunes? How many times had he pondered over Adelric’s whereabouts? There were more, scores more, because they’d once been so proud, so young, so many banded and united together under a banner of ice, and then, quickly thereafter, it was as if they’d all forgotten. But while she brightened under the recognition of her old home, he darkened, a narrowing of his eyes, a dangerous course of exasperation caught over his muscles and sinew, for he was frustrated with the way the world worked, with the way everyone cast aside allies, comrades, without saying anything, without notifying anyone, just leaving him. Perhaps it was because he didn’t matter to them. Maybe he was one more thorn, one more barb, they didn’t wish to snag themselves upon. Or he was nothing, nothing at all but a speck of dust and flicker of memories; a blue prince shuffling across the horizon with his emblazoned smile and his gallant stride and his honorable intentions driven, driven, driven into vehemence.  Time changed everyone into the disillusioned or the dreamers, and he didn’t know what he was anymore, wandering from place to place in search of power, requital, and contempt.
 
Orsino snarled at her, but Erebos ignored his haughty display, settling his brows in a fine line, his thoughts into a clearer pattern – he shouldn’t have been hostile because she was just one more in a long list of those who’d abandoned the caverns and the cliffs for another kingdom. Was it easy, he mused, to turn one’s back upon those who’d protected, shielded, and sheltered them? It seemed relatively effortless, facile, and simple to those who’d fled their world – but the boy knew his heart would have collapsed had he ever thought to escape from his family. He loved them. He cherished them. He vowed to avenge them. And what did all of the others do? Flee. Abscond. Disappear. Vanish. Sneak away. Were they cowards? Were they destined for something else, something greater, something more magnificent than the chilling empire? The boy didn’t understand any of it, couldn’t bring himself to think of a time and place where he’d disregard his sanctuary. Erebos’ gaze flicked from the horizon, to the shamble of darkness and shadows, to the bewitching reflection of puddles against an everlasting sky, and clenched his jaw.
 
He tried not to be angry with her. She’d gone elsewhere to be with her father. At least she had a reason. At least she had a motive, a goal – and that was likely more than the others. The lad’s stare returned to her, light and affable, as if naught else had passed through his mind – no sentiments of loathing, no grinding despair, no sinuous, unwinding vexation. His answer came on swift allegiance, quick adherence, pure, commanding, cold faith in the palace of winter and power. “Of course.” Where else would I be? he wanted to ask, and Orsino hissed, high and keen, through their connection – and instead he inquired into other matters, highlighting curiosity over irritation. “Who is your father?”