Weakness. It had been the wrong thing to admit to, to admit that he was mortal, that he did not know, that his respect for her — and his uncertainty — was allowed to take hold. Weakness, to not know what course he wanted to set, to ask her what the tempest wanted, where the storm fled, without trying to steer it. Rooted up, snatched away, and he felt himself crumble as the night air grew frostier. Silver-black eyes grew distant, her voice a cold lash against his strained soul: nothing. He could feel her slip away, move away, even if her hooves remained rooted to the ground; slip away, and push him away, and he rocked back half a step. She had seemed so ready to speak, to have a dialogue, to settle this, yet now her voice was the frosted bite of someone scorned, or disappointed, or, or.. his mind find nothing to liken it to, and with pain in his blue gaze he felt the door close and the lights go out. Her voice didn't rise, but it was final, in a way, and part of him wished to spiral into the trap and disappear, to take that easy route out and just wallow alone in his misery instead of try to make a stand and salvage what he could.

He had always cared. Even if he hadn't meant it, he had cared — had trusted her, by showing his soul, his bones, his colors, the man behind the mask. He had trusted her, and it felt like she had trusted him, too, and he had cared.. he'd just not been smart enough. He'd been too stupid to break it off, but he kept caring, but she was slipping through his grasp and out into the cold night, and he wasn't sure if she wanted him to follow.

Whore.. bitch.

Oh, he could well hear Snö's contemptuous voice, the scorn in it if she knew it was her father, Mauja, who had sired yet another child.. he could imagine her cold ire, the possessive jealousy, the haughty dismissal, and how the schemes would unfold in her mind. Snö was, in so many ways, her parents' daughter, whether she wanted to, or saw it, or not. "If anyone is the whore, it is I," he said with bitter regret even as she moved away a step, not knowing if she would understand it for what it was, or if she'd only see it as an attempt to garner pity — but it wasn't, it was the truth, and her words left him cold, and alone, as if it wasn't she who had disappeared into the night and left him behind, but the other way around. "No, Faelene, wait!" he called, even as her figure flickered out of life. Frosted hooves shuffled over the ground, his eyes straining in the darkness but seeing nothing, and he didn't have the heart to scatter ice just to pinpoint her location. Was she even here still, or was she running away? Did it mute sound, too? Tentatively he reached out, but found only air.

"Don't go," he called into the darkness, his gaze roving the trees frantically as he spun in a circle, wondering if she'd cast a shadow in the moonlight, or if she was well and truly gone. "I just — I just feel like what you want matters more than what I want.. I just..." Talking to the shadows, talking to a dream; his head was raised gracelessly, the long tendrils of his white mane falling like wisps against his neck. Black-rimmed ears fell back in defeat, sorrow lining his eyes as he swept the place where she had stood once more. Gone was the regal monarch, gone was the honest man, left was the broken, the confused, the slightly boyish look upon his face that only a few brought out in him. "I never wanted you to leave," he whispered to the darkness, knowing that if she wanted to elude him, she could, and he was chanceless.