When we left the building, I felt my breath push out of my throat, as if I had been holding it the whole time. Meeting a king, who didn’t state his title aloud, was strange; I would have thought that a king would be more...outgoing and proud, perhaps. This place was very strange and alien to me. Though...I didn’t even know who I was.
Pyrros turned to me and said, “Alright, where haven’t you gone?”
“How am I supposed know? I didn’t know you were all formal and proper,” I replied with a smug smile as his fiery hair flared up.
“We’re supposed to honor the king. I don’t think an outsider like you would understand.” He sniffed at me, and then walked away, probably expecting me to follow him. I looked towards Sky, but he shrugged, and seemed to stifle a glare. I didn’t think Pyrros had much power over Sky, but I suppose I was wrong.
“Pyrros is the king’s right-hand man, and is, unfortunately, powerful in rank.”
“But...–” I thought for a second, “–but he doesn’t have wings.”
“Not all people of Aryll have wings. We usually find them fighting for the Phthorians. Usually, they’re forced to fight, but some actually believe they’re meant to be Phthorian. I don’t understand that.” His eyes lingered on my wings for a second, and then turned away, following Pyrros. I shook myself, feeling suddenly contaminated, as if his look had infected me somehow. I followed, a bit reluctantly.