"Of course I do, he's my father," He let out a surprisingly light-hearted chuckle. "It was only a matter of time before this conflict between us all broke out."
"No I don't think--" February started.
"Your technically still a prisoner here, I'm not going to let you--"
He sighed as Rye began working, "Fine, whatever."
March just shook his head. "He'd better not make more trouble for us."
"I have it handled, you just finish the job," February told him.
June had crumpled to the floor after Arke had broken his arm, holding it close to his body and trying not to cry too loudly. July, still being held back by a guard was watching him raptly, looking sick.
"Do you really have to kill him March?" August asked from the table, "Surely you could--"
"Would you people STOP STALLING ME!" March suddenly yelled, patience run dry.
He swung his sword at June, the blade arching towards his shoulder.