If Edgar's eyes had been closed, he never would have known that Setzer had pulled free a section of his hair, holding it gently between thumb and forefinger.
Setzer inspected the hairs with a furrowed brow. "Going gray, your Majesty." He smoothed the hair back, gently tucking it back into Edgar's ribbon. "Thankfully I don't have to worry about that." He flourished a point at his own silver hair with a smug grin.
"Right."
"So nobody recognized you, all this time? I find that hard to believe."
"It was probably the eye patch," Edgar said shortly. "And the... gray."
"Hah. Well, as long as you never really forgot who you were, I suppose it doesn't matter."
"I'm not who I was."
"You're the King of Figaro."
"I'm the king of a rock pile in a desert."
"And I'm the pilot of a million burnt and scattered bits. You could look at it that way. But we're more than that." Setzer's voice gained an edge. "And for me to be saying that right now... well."
"Well," Edgar echoed, pulling free the section of hair in which Setzer had found the offending gray. He sighed.
"Do you think we could dye this?"