[The violet of his eyes is drastic and dramatic--as are most things, where Charles is concerned. He's always bombastic in some way. He blinks his eyelashes, damp eyelashes, and they stick a little when they flutter. When he breathes again, it's smoother, deeper, slower. It's a balancing act, even though he's so lopsided.

He's still touching her hand. Now he steadies it so that he can turn his face into it, nuzzling into her palm, careful not to sob. He does whimper just a bit, but he's so careful. He could be very young, looking at him now. Never mind his face in the first place; he could be young for how he seeks her love right now.

That's just as shameful as anything else, of course. He only allows himself a moment of that, while he says,] I had... I had a bad dream, Diva. [A nice nap? No, way more hellacious.] I had an awful, frightful, godawful dream. That-- That I was without you, and... there was so much...

[Just a moment of that. He only allows himself just a moment of that. Then he opens his eyes, looking past Diva's fingers to a sad middle distance, before he gathers himself up to the fullest of his little bit of height. He's still holding her hand in his. He wants to make sure he can kiss the back of her hand--and he does that once he's standing, once he can incline his head in reverence.]

Thank you. You're always the kindest queen. I'm-- No, don't mind it. Don't mind it, Diva. Don't mind me. Rather than that... [He lowers her hand and then releases it, respectfully. He's courtly.] Dragons. Dragons? What have they gotten you into? Who has tended to your beauty in this awful fucking place, my queen?