Anger
It hadn't started out like a storm. Things like this never did, naturally, and he had come to realize that.
When he hit the floor in the empty room, his siblings tumbling after him, he had been shocked. The shock had lessened with each dreary day he spent back in England, slowly bubbling into mild frustration. The school was different, and he was constantly reminding himself he was a sixteen year old boy.
A sixteen year old boy with thirty years of wisdom and experience on his hands.
But what good was the knowledge of how to rule a kingdom? Who needed to know the tales of the nymphs and dryads? How could he know all of it wasn't in vain?
His frustration bled into a growing anger, and he found a way to unleash it day by day. The fights were stupid, he knew that. His siblings didn't understand. He wasn't sure he did either. But it was a relief. He was in motion, just like he had been back there. Power surged through him, mixed with adrenaline, and he enjoyed being the victor as his opponents cowered before him. It was stupid, but he never felt so alive during those weeks than he did when he fought.
He was the Magnificent, and no one stood before him.