Gillian boggled as Sult well…assaulted the court mage. Something told him the iron knights weren’t likely to be invited to any future Royal Balls anytime in the future. He sighs, watches as the embarrassed knight retreats out the door. “I…apologize about her. She normally asks permission first.” He says, figuring it was probably better not to lie. 

Gillian glared daggers at the man who entered with the stacks of pancakes, not trusting him. Wasn’t he one of that glorified mirror from the balls second rate knights? He didn’t like the way his gaze lingered hungrily on people, it felt too much like a snake staring down a rat to him (forgetting that earlier this evening, he wasn’t behaving much better). Still, forcing him back out the way he came seemed like it’d be more trouble than it’d be worth, and he’d secured his position with them by offering to regale the princess with stories. “You can tell stories from the other side of the room.” He says, bluntly, hand resting on his hilt. 

He sits in silence for a moment, eyes darting between the intruding rogue and the windows and occasionally watching for the shimmer of Christna’s work. He hoped the rest of the knights were doing well in dealing with the conspirators, though he’d not have any way of knowing. It took a moment before the hundi’s request registered. “oh, uh…Yes, sure. Feel free to stop by my room later.” He says, barely looking at his fellow knight. “You’re welcome to keep it, if you’d like.”