She says I'm engaged and Alistair's eyebrows go up, and his mouth opens—not in shock, but to say, to who—to whom?—whatever, whichever. His first half-formed thoughts are of the men he's seen her with here. In any capacity. He had no idea she was even seeing anyone—

But: oh. Not that sort of engagement.

He's not outraged on her behalf, exactly. Marriages for money and politics are hardly new or exclusive to any one race. (For better or worse, he doesn't know how narrowly he avoided one himself; Cousland never floated the possibility before making arrangements for his own future.) And she had a say at all, it sounds like, so that's better than some.

Still, it's a little sad.

"Heeeey, what? It's not unimportant," he says instead, sitting up straighter and not eating more cookie to show just how important it is. "It's your life. Who is he? Did you meet him?"