The prospect of an unhappy political marriage had played into his own desire to leave. It's strange, now, that he's forgotten to be sensitive to it.

Amazing, though, to have carved his own path so thoroughly.

He can't help but chuckle at the way she takes his hand, so serious. Maybe it's the memories, maybe it's a fondness for how much she's changed these past few months. Regardless, he squeezes her hand back, feeling more at ease with the gesture than he'd have anticipated. And maybe wanting to see if it flusters her.

"I have an informant we can't see for a few hours. I want to restock my tea and spices, and I want as many people as possible to see us. Is there anything you want to see to while we wait?"