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Mordred grunts, his eyes fluttering open after a few seconds and he smiles. “Good morning” he mutters, moving into a sitting position “you didn’t have to.”
“Sweet?” Edward’s brows fly upward. “Are we speaking of the same lady? My sister is in no wise sweet. Rather say quicktongued, even cruel at times, distant, and enamored of unwomanly pursuits. I ask you again, what has a knight of Camelot to do with my sister’s happiness? It is not her place to be /happy/.”
A small smirk danced around the man’s lips but he dared not allow it to show. “Oh really?” he asks, cocking a brow, “you clearly then do not know your own sister.” Mordred turns his full attention to him. “Is it any of your business to be in my business?”
“Where that business concerns my sister, surely!” Edward replies angrily. “It’s easy to see why you are a knight of Camelot and not some other place, you dodge questions like a fae. For the last time, lest I beat it out of you: what have you to do with my sister?”