"They can't." Pressing his forehead to the door doesn't help. His voice still crackles unhappily with hurt. He still can't stand up. "Rach, they-- they can't. I don't-- I don't want to-- just be King and have good Club sons to-- treat the way my father's treating us."

Charles has, generally, been a good father. It's just that Edgar can't imagine, sitting here against this door, ever raising a child under this heavy a burden of expectations. This many demands that went against finding actual happiness.

"I want you. I want-- to make things work with you. Rach, I-- I want to-- get a place in Town so we can-- both go to our own Castles in the morning or-- or live here so it-- won't matter, just-- Rach--"