[ Impossible for him, to not take notice of her hesitation; her first and foremost reaction to the offering of his hand: the delicate curl of her fingers presented in turn, and for an instant, when he looks to her, he sees a Lady of his court, aglow with a smile as he bowed his head to press his lips to the backs of her knuckles in a gesture to appease his vassals, his subordinates who feared that their King would never take a Queen.

But it disappears a moment thereafter, and Sion is privy to the look which crosses her features when she allows for him to take her hand, his fingers enveloping her own with the warmth of mana exchange. She is, perhaps, much too polite, but it does speak volumes that she'd taken his moral sensitivities into account.

(As though he possessed such a thing to begin with.) ]

So your maiden battle is to be by sea. [ In a defense of a country which is not her own, and so shortly after her arrival—hers is a face which is fresh among those who had arrived one and two months prior, leaving the King to wonder at how many more would be drawn into a conflict they were neither suited to nor prepared for. ] Where was it that you learned to fight? If you are familiar with the drawing of wards, then perhaps you are no stranger to magic? The experience will serve you well.

[ Gently, his fingers curl about her own in a soft squeeze of reassurance before his touch falls away, leaving them to sit side by side—truth be told, he has no wish to impose upon her. ]

You also did not have to oblige me.

[ By taking my hand, he does not need to say. ]

And so, I believe it is my turn to offer thanks.