Alpine Lake dannedd wedi'u carthu

Her tone does not warm him, her titles do not impress him, and her attitude does certainly not endear him. His lips curl in the slightest of snarls, shaking his head at each and every one of her questions, the rage that had built up in his chest in the days since the rebellion finally boiling over, a volcanic mountain blowing its top.

"I would have liked it better," he says through gritted teeth, "if you had left me alone, to begin with. Why engage me in idle conversation unless you wanted something? My God, woman, spit it out--beth ydych chi eisiau?" His anger manifests itself, finally, in his mother tongue, the words clipped and curt and not at all the lilting poetry that he'd once offered his courtiers. He is a changed man, molded by trauma, and this girl, this princess, is receiving the full brunt of his new, abrasive personality.

A little voice in the back of his head reminds him that she does not deserve it. Not his words, not his gaze of blue fire, not the way his pelt bristles along his spine, nor his raised hackles. But the beast cares not for pleasantries, only for solitude, and Minori has robbed him of that. There is no going back--he has committed to prickliness, and so prickliness he will provide.