Phantom Hollow A Shadow's Mirror

At the lie, Slade took to shaking his massive crown disappointedly, thick mane flowing with the movement. He wasn't really disappointed, but 'all the more to make you feel, my dear' was at work here. He had a mild flair for dramatics, and the King murmurred to his less-built and cold eyed mirror.

"Shame, Cry, I thought we would be over debauchary at this point in our relationship."

Slade canted his head, void shaded ears facing the youth as he studied the words. Cry was still attemping to deny his might, it seemed. Refusing to unfurl the wrath Slade had worked to build in his muscles, his heart, his loins. He was a prize, this boy, and it angered Slade a degree that he refused to atleast take to it. Hell, it angred himself that he wasn't able to do the same, but who said he wasn't allowed to be a hypocrite?

The silken voice slid over the explanation the dark prince gave, instead chosing to weave around the older subject.

"What is it you are searching for this time, boy."