The Prince was, at first glance, utterly lost within himself and drunk with arrogance. But a second look confirmed that his general appearance was otherwise very ordinary, especially when the self-indulgent luxuriance of his attire was ignored. He appeared dangerously average, if that may be said, for there was a hidden strength about him that spoke of a rabid, unbridled ferocity, when and where it could gain expression; from the shifty looks he cast about, it was obvious to all that seeking an outlet for his murderous ferocity consumed all of his attention. If the soldiers went along, the monster within the Prince would come out and show itself. If the soldiers did not, the monster would remain concealed, at least until another opportunity came along.
Doc groaned inwardly the moment the Prince began to speak. Some non-scientific instinct told him that the Elf before them was a psychopath: Doc had twice before met the acquaintance of serial-killers; one in a high-security mental facility, the other who had stalked a girl into a corner grocery store where a young James Irving Wallace was a customer. The killer was thwarted by Doc and the clerk, neither of whom had known what they were dealing with, until much later, when the killer had been caught and brought to trial.