Dorian doesn't ask, or begin to try to. As much as he does absolutely wish to know as well as nudge Benevenuta into the comfort of saying what is ordinarily held in secret from the unwashed masses, Herc included, that did sound awfully sincere. He leans in place, attempting to align slightly inebriated instincts to get a better sense of whatever's happened behind guarded reticence.

"Foolish doesn't sound like you," he says, still light, irreverent. "Foolish angry? Foolish besotted?"