[Merely a permutation of a title he's far too tickled by not to repeat to her. He'd overheard a soldier muttering it to his fellow as she arrived; Death's Heart with a troop and a half of leeches, gods help us.

He tch'ed in mock disapproval.]

Think this is cold? I forget you're living, sometimes.

Speaking of, you have eaten, haven't you? The good stuff we keep for guests? I did say that you should be well catered-for. I've wine, should you want it.