"Witchcraft?" Richard hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits. He had never paid any heed to his brother George's ramblings about witchcraft and curses but he was beginning to doubt himself in his disbelief. Whatever was going on here seemed to be very real and, although he was ashamed to admit it, even to himself, very unsettling.
"I am the Duke of Gloucester," Richard said stubbornly, subconsciously puffing his chest up and pulling himself to stand at his full height. "I will have no part of any show. I demand for this Management," he spat the word, "to send me back to from whence I came. Immediately." Somehow, Richard feared that no amount of demanding was going to help him in his current situation. Perhaps threats would work better. "Or my brother, the King, will send a force so strong that these tents will be trampled to dust beneath Yorkist feet while each and every traitor pays with their lives for their crimes against me." He wasn't sure that was strictly true, since he could not even be certain where he was, let alone that Edward and his armies would be able to find him. Still, Richard was no coward and, when backed into a corner, he would fight his way out or be damned.