"…I thought you had appointed Amon as your official spokesman in your majesty's stead." Robin's eyes glimmered with a tempered, dangerous fury. His tone was measured and composed, steady as still water, but the sarcasm that dripped from his words was like venom, impossible to ignore.
Sakaar's entrance this time had been conducted with his usual formality, armored in discipline, yet he did not move to dominate the atmosphere as was he usually does. He had not claimed responsibility for the discussion, nor had he cast even a single glance toward Robin since taking his seat.
The air surrounding him was taut, as though shackled in invisible chains—perhaps he was consumed by thought, or perhaps he was restraining himself, holding back from an impulse that threatened to break loose at any moment.
"No one is worthy of that title but you, my lord." Sakaar inclined his head ever so slightly, even while seated, the gesture subdued but not without weight.
