When the tray is placed within his reach and the shawl wrapped around him, Salem shifted to arrange his pillows and blankets until he could sit up and recline against them, rearranging the shawl when he had the chance so that it wasn't irritating his ears. He reaches for the cider, cupping it in both hands to draw away some of the warm and inhaling the steam. He coughs some, grumbling some at the cold that's settled into his chest that he's been able to ignore for the most part, but before issue can be raised about it he takes a sip of the cider. His eyes close, a pleased flush creeping up and helping to even out the mottled red in the hollows of his cheeks. Just what he needed.

"You are far too good to me, vhenan," he murmurs, voice full of affection and very grateful. He doesn't even seem to think much of giving her such an endearment.