Rhonda
He placed a hand over his temple, pointer finger and thumb resting over his temples. He looked back down towards his work. He hadn't expected Mikhail to be in the office. All he wanted to do was write a simple letter. "If I could dedicate tha time to studying your particular ailment, I would, Mikhail." He didn't want to feel this uneasy. "No one knows vhat you're 'ere. My eyes and ears are telling me vhat most uff tha people in mainland Marin will probably not even believe tha story uff your resurrection." He didn't blame them. He could still already believe it himself. The Pirate King stood from his desk, making his way over to the drink cart. He had been thirsty the whole night, but with the advent of this conversation, his tastes turned more from water to whisky. The bottle was removed from the cart and the cork popped off the top. "I will send a messenger to tell your _wicked bitch_ of a muvher to not brag about 'er newfound magical prowess to anyone and—" Slowly, the glass was filled with a dark amber. He brought it to his lips and, what at first appeared to be a gentle sip evolved into a long draw that left the cup empty. He let out a long, breathy sigh. 

" 'ow do you feel about Azarya?"
Steven
Mikhail raised a brow. No one knew he was here? Althea had snuck him in under the cover of night, and since then he'd spent his time within the manor. He supposed he just _assumed_ word had gotten out. Something about it made him uneasy, and for a brief second he wondered if he should have come here either. Mother was overwhelming, Bradai was... Drinking malt whiskey at the early hours of the morning just to handle a conversation with him. 

He pressed his lips together, some soft of temper flaring at hearing Bradai call his mother a wicked bitch. "I would give the woman more credit than that. She doesn't even know what she can do, when I was home she didn't seem to act on it at all and from what I could tell no one knew outside the castle." 

He paused, and cocked his head to the side, a crack sounding with it. "I don't have any opinions on it, I've never been. Why?"
Rhonda
"She's a damn fool. You know vhat as well as I do." He poured himself another glass. " 'ow could someone like Vivayn send 'is men all tha way down 'ere? Especially after she let your murderer slip frough 'er defenses? And now she's blessed 'erself wiff some kind of terrifying dark magics? She doesn't 'ave tha f— the faintest clue." He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated.

"If I sent you to Azarya, would you resent me? Its so far out of the way of mainland Marin. No one would be able to find you, and you could come 'ome if you pleased. But..." He closed his eyes in frustration, sipping from glass. His sigh made the surface of the whisky ripple. "Vhey would know, tha Academy would know 'ow to give you tha best quality uff life. You know vhats what I want for you."
Steven
He didn't know how to answer his questions. Obviously, he hadn't been around to see things play out, he just knew he woke up in the North. Vivayn had dragged him out of a happy afterlife and into the hands of a brute as a chess piece. And he'd won because of it. He remained silent as Bradai pushed his hands through his hair, and his heart stopped when he continued on.

His eyes widened for a second before he intentionally pulled them away, over to the bookshelves that lined the wall. Suddenly the emptiness in his chest turned to a pounding, and he swallowed thickly, trying not to let that temper that had already flared a bit rise any more. He was hungry, and lonely, and he'd returned to the Isles _at his fathers request_ only to now be sent away. Of course he'd resent the man, he thought he would always have a home here. The bond they'd had before must have been temporary, exclusive only to the Original Life and not the undead being in the corner of the man's office now. When he finished speaking, Mikhail kept his eyes locked on the spines, though his gaze was distant.

"No." He said, his voice tight. "Send me wherever you please."
Rhonda
Bradai watched as Mikhail grew distant, his gaze faltering and moving past him. "Don't do vhat." He stood from his desk with glass in hand, extending his pointer finger and sighed. "Don't act like I'm not taking care uff you. What do you want me to do? Because I can't be a favher to you. Not now. Not while you're in obvious pain. I watched you fuckin' die. I watch you get run frough wiff twenty different blades and because uff tha world's foolishness you'd 'ave me do it again. I don't want you dead, and I don't want you 'ere collecting dust. You came 'ere to study and to be a ruler, vhis isn't tha end uff your journey, not if you don't want it to be. But I can't 'elp you wiff vhat you're stuggling wiff. I don't like vhat. I 'ate vhat I'm unable to. It's not like reading or maffs or 'istory. Its magic. My court mage isn't a necromancer. 'is bruvher is."

He polished off the glass and sighed, "You would've been excited at the prospect uff vhis adventure. Now you're scared. You 'ave every right to be, you've experienced tha worst. But I will protect you vhis time. I will not leave it up to chance, or anyone else to protect you. I want to send you where you can be safe and you can continue your studies, I'm not giving you away. When you were injured, your muvher sent you to someone she knew could take care uff you. I'm doing tha same, because I know she doesn't 'ave the sense to do it again. So don't get pensive and brooding. I know enuff people like vhat."
Steven
His gaze shifted, but it was hard as Bradai explained himself. He didn't need it, but admittedly he was glad the man gave it. The blonde boy gave the man a long look, and blinked in surprise to find tears in his eyes. One rolled down his cheek and his lips parted, a hand moving quickly to wipe at it. He hadn't cried since he'd come back. He hadn't felt _anything_ as intensely as he felt the worry that he'd disappointed the man. Being scolded wasn't exactly the feeling, but it was the first time since he'd woken on that table that someone was being honest about what the hell was happening to him.

"Don't think this is limited to you. I cried when mother sent me from Vincentien as well. I didn't know who I would be on the other side of the world alone. I don't know who I am _now._" He glanced at his hands, one wet from the tear as he let the others slide down his pale cheeks freely. "This body doesn't feel right. It's too tight, it hurts to move most days, and I don't want to look like Anyanka Durkhan's weak son before another stranger. Bastard is a fairly new title, but it's beginning to feel fitting between all of this." He cleared his throat and pushed his hand through his chopped locks. They'd never grow back to their original length, and he assumed it was for the better.

"I'm not getting pensive or brooding, I'm trying to process starting over once again. Don't fault me for wishing otherwise. I'll go to Azarya, and I'll do as I always do." Mikhail gave a tired twitch of a smile, but it didn't last long before it disappeared. "When?"
Rhonda
He shrugged, running his fingers along the side of his desk and opening up the top drawer. His fingers shifted through two stacks of crisp handkerchiefs. He took the one from the top and placed the embroidered black cloth on the desk. He took the one underneath it, white with gold edging, and handed it over to the boy. It was, in a strange way, nice to see him cry. A bit of humanity. "I'm sorry if it comes off a little 'arsh. Its not the intention. You know vhat." He pursed his lips, "You really shouldn't know 'oo you are. Not now. You're young." He worried about the boy, that his body would stay the same age and he would die inside of it. It would be a relief to know that he was in more capable hands. "Whenever you fink you're ready and tha proper arrangements 'ave been made."