[ Bastien’s cocky smile lingers, but his cheeks turn faintly pink, the traitors. When he realizes that they have, he rubs his thumb and fingers over them, like he can wipe it off, and averts his eyes to nod. ]

I trust you.

[ He could argue about most handsome, except of course it’s subjective. All he could ever want is for Byerly to think so.

He leans in and up to By’s ear. Whispering is silly, but it’s easier. ]

With all my heart, for all my life.

[ Sealed with a peck on the cheek.

Then he needs another scrap of bread immediately, to replenish his strength after the Herculean feat of saying that sober and fully-dressed and in the daylight, and he needs to keep moving along. ]

It was only a metaphor, though. I’m not worried about—it is just, not everyone sees it the way you do. They say someone like your Calenhad, he came from common stock, alright, but he became a king because there was something special about him, and all his children after him, and now that we are not all barbarians we have found all of these special people with their special blood and elevated them to where they belong.