“Good. Thank you.” He believes it too, coming from her. It takes a weight off his chest.

He breaks his own tension with another sip of wine, letting its warmth slide over him. Not much more for him, alas; he’ll be asleep all too soon. “I should be fine on a horse,” he says, waving a hand. “Genetic memory, apparently.” Complete bullshit, more like, but he won’t be able to hide his skill if he has to ride. Better she has an excuse ahead of time.