[ come on laurent it's called a smile, or something like. gideon has extensive experience in being horrible and disappointing to other people, mostly in self-defense, so she's out of practice for anything else.

also, of course he's a prince. of course he is. she's just drowning in bloody aristocrats these days, isn't she--

isaac had been a baron, and now he's a pincushion something whispers, absolutely nonsensically connecting the two thoughts, and her terrible smile becomes slightly fixed as that spot between her lungs starts to hurt all over again.

she is not going to keep bawling. she is not. she's not really technically a nun and she's not really technically a cavalier, but she is, absolutely, one hundred percent-- as her absent necromancer liked to reminder her-- a fucking cockroach that got back up and scurried onwards every time you thought you'd squashed it flat. ]

Oh, thank you, your Highnessness, for distracting me from my overwhelming grief suspiciously brought on by weird puppet shows. [ sarcasm will get everybody through this. ] I thought it was the acting and the profound narrative.

[ a beat. ]

...also don't compare people to whores when you first meet them, that's rude. You're ruining all my childish expectations of princes, and the bar was already set pretty low.