Colwort was not pleased. The Pooka has been content, working alone in the privacy of his personal lab, tucked away far from any unwanted interruptions. He had been content taking care of the Tsar and his family, attending to their needs when one of them fell ill, or they had their annual check-up. It was his pleasure and his pride, assuring that the Tsarina’s pregnancy did not end in grief- how the Royal Healers before him failed he couldn’t comprehend. When he held the newborn Prince, he too felt happy, and could almost feel tears stinging in the corners of his eyes when the boy survived and grew to a mature young man. That didn’t mean he had any obligation to teach him anything. (but of course he had obligations- it was only thanks to Tsar’s goodwill that Colwort didn’t rot somewhere, starving in a ditch, or  that the Brotherhood couldn’t get their self-righteous paws on him)

He was aware that his expression wasn’t friendly now- he was scowling, he was grumpy, and had many doubts that this will even work out. The Prince’s equally doubting look did nothing to improve his mood, and all the Pooka could think is this was a bad idea.