[He mulls it over for a long moment in return. She's right on the mark with most of that. He'd never felt like a king because he really wasn't one. "King of what," he'd asked Cor the first time anyone called him Majesty, and after that it barely happened- none of his own people used the title, there'd been no coronation. He didn't command like a king, he took orders from the marshal or from the word of the gods. The Nifs showed him more deference, even if it was with a side helping of mockery. For the most part he was fine with it, even preferred it. But on the other hand everyone expected him to behave like a king without ever bothering to treat him like one. How could he lead by example when he'd never truly been taught how to do it?

As for feeling free... again, it was a complex situation. Freedom came with terms, limitations. There were always rules- he could go out in public but had to watch how he behaved, he could wander as he pleased but there were eyes on him wherever he went, through a network of guards and Crown informants, or journalists and paparazzi if he was open about his identity. The rules are different here, but they still exist: they're stuck in the city, they have to live here and not home, any of them could vanish on the fly, they're subject to strange (or in this case, upsetting) random circumstances every month. A limited and conditional freedom is in itself familiar, and familiar can be reassuring. That makes it less... scary. He can take comfort in that and just roll with it like always, right...?

He inhales, exhales, quietly rolls the words around in his head a few more times, then mumbles,]

I don't know. I hope not. Knowing just means I shouldn't stress about it, that I don't have to come up with any kind of plan or tactic or whatever to win. I just have to fight, and... die. That's easy. [He blinks rapidly, then clenches his eyes shut.] Anyone can die.

[Enough, he's done. He's done crying about it, he doesn't want to anymore.]

What does freedom mean to you?