Formality | pridefulheir
Formal, detached, polite, the mantra chanted in his head. But it was so, so hard with all those royals around him, all those pampered pigs giddy with wine and power. They held everything in their hands, their countries, their soldiers, their people's lives. It was disgusting.
And it was ones like his king, who sent Lethe in his stead simply because he was too lazy to travel to another country, for a meeting of royals.
Endure, he must endure it. It was simply his job, simply a formality--don't get personal. With his hate forced down and rage tempered, he held on to a mask of distant coolness, thankful it lasted through the meeting. He almost sighed in relief, when he was dismissed, the abrupt dismissal did not even faze him, where usually he would be seething.
All he wanted to do, was find the training area, and poison some training dummies. He doesn't think poisoning real people would be quite allowed.
As he turned a corner in the red carpeted halls, he came face to face with the prince of Cinaed, and groaned internally. Great, the little spoiled brat of a prince. Just who he wanted to see.
"Your Highness." With the tone he said it in, it sounded more like an insult than an formality. Lethe knew he should bow; but his king should also be here instead of him. If one didn't happen, why should the other?