Vega makes a little squeak at the term fucking their cousins but aside from that tiny outburst she's silent, thoughtful, making her way through this next bit of drink which she dislikes more and more and more as she sips. In a way it is good because it is so terrible. There is a sour taste in her mouth that suits the conversation.

"That is barbaric," she comments, into the cup. And yet they're talking about the same thing and using different words. We agree to be kidnapped; we agree to be betrothed. She glowers for a moment at nothing and then sits up straight again, placing her cup on the ground away from herself where it can't hurt her (liquid still inside).

"Because they never intended for me to actually be a magister." She has never been told this but she figured it out herself. "The second my brother was born it was to be him and so they weren't looking for any good offers. They were going to pawn me off on anybody, anyone who would take me."