It's nice to finally have some recognition, even if it was from a peasant— a mongrel boy with priceless golden hide (so unfitting for such a worthless child). His coat glimmered and shined with a brightness he did not deserve, with glorified treasures he would never see. It was I who deserved such dazzling gifts, such tantalizing pleasantries as a reward for my respectable rule and might— achieving kinghood was no easy feat, mind you (it's truly tiring, and I still have a ways to go before I'm even close to achieving the throne). And this abominable boy rubs in my face his unearned glory, his blessed coat that he does not deserve— that he has not suffered for. In all of its perfection, unmarred by his dam's brutality and traditionalism.

He is not the continuation of a family tradition, the victim of a ritual between parent and child where the blood of the new generation paints the world vibrant red. How lucky he is, to be so ignorant and free of the burden of self-doubt (now if only he could realize it). My blood runs cold to think such privilege has been given to a unicorn like him, that he is not suffering as I am— that he runs free of worry or fear, that the hand that feeds him does not mar his face and bruise his sides.

He calls my future position cool, at least acknowledging that I had the potential to be a king of kings— that I had at least earned a sliver of respect from the idiot babe. He looked ridiculous with a gaping maw and awed expression, like he didn't expect me to be anything more than a commoner among the mortal fools roaming this earth. Fool, to think that I would ever be anything less than a king, such a stupid thing to think. I oozed the air of a king, the poise and grace of royalty— how could he not have noticed?

And he preaches quietly that he is just Rein, a nobody from nowhere just as he should be. But he is hopeful in the way he concludes his dull speech, telling us that if he finds out something else, he'll tell the hybrid woman. My brow narrows, whispering to myself, "how boring." What a pathetic display, with a coat like his and an audience like this I would've expected a little more wow factor in proclaiming that he was something mighty, perhaps even rivaling my title as future king— but no, he is just Rein. "You'll never get anywhere with that attitude. Be more assertive," I tell him, lax expression pausing for a fleeting moment over the golden scaled woman before taking it back to the golden boy (I didn't get the memo, obviously). I was simply trying to help (I do need some competition, it's pitiful to run against yourself), to see if this Rein could blossom into someone with more potential— if he could gain enough confidence to make direct eye contact rather than staring down at his hooves and proclaim things with more enthusiasm and really mean it (I mean c'mon, that little performance there was pitiful).