The young king had already assumed a battle-ready stance, weight shifted and sword gripped to be swung in an instant. Everything made sense, as long as he held a blade. The pommel became some sort of grounding rod for him, his own grip on it maintaining his eerie level of angry calm.

"We're prepared," was all that he said, blue eyes narrowing into chips of ice as he glared down the hall. Nothing would stand in their way.