If he were entirely himself perhaps he'd manage something more clever or strategic to say in response to her increasingly confusing words, but instead his heart is getting tighter in his chest. His eyes are fixed on her face, like he'll be able to peer into her head and somehow understand, and his mouth opens in silent incredulity. His knees feel like they've gone to flan and the ground is spinning again.

"I was sure they would be rejected," he blurts out, immediately cursing himself. If only he had a fraction of Balthier's tongue. "It's not proper for a knight to-- I wish to serve you to the best of my ability." Gods, now he's flushing again. Double entendre will be his undoing. Drat Balthier. Drat this entire evening.

But her hand hasn't moved from under his, and he tightens his fingers ever so lightly around hers. Did she want him to...? How did he even go about...?

"Balthier said perhaps it would help, for you to relax, if-- Not that it was only his idea. Not that I'd been considering. But now that I have, I--"

He has the simultaneous urge to run down this street and never look any of them in the eye again, and to dip his head and kiss those frowning lips, and so he does nothing but cling to her hand, heart hammering and tongue running away with itself.

"If you want me to ask you again, more composedly, I will. And if you never want to speak of this again, then it is forever sealed."