One slender brow arched in amusement as he called her a 'complication.' Silke noted both the subtle and obvious flirtations interwoven in his response, though she was careful not to outwardly react. Galt was handsome and, paired with his heroic story of saving a duke from bandits, could have won over many women. Neither of those were what made him particularly dangerous to her. It was his wealth of charisma that would be her greatest challenge to gently rebuff. She liked what she had seen and heard from him thus far; he was direct, honest, witty, and humble. The newly appointed count was a man that deserved a woman that was still able to dream and hope for a future of marital bliss.

A wry smile twisted upon her lips at his assessment that she didn't seem to want anything of the nobles. He was both correct and incorrect. For the nobility, the vast majority of them assumed that she was secretly as selfish as they were, and was simply more adept at concealing her agenda than they were at uncovering it. They and Galt and were both wrong in very different ways. Silke did want something, just not for herself, and all of her manipulations were her orchestrations for the benefit of her father and brother. On a larger scale, they did impact her positively, though that was a side effect rather than the intention. One day she would be gone, her life at eternal rest, and she needed the peace of mind they would survive beyond.

"You're already playing in a great game," Silke asserted smoothly, unbothered by the fact he had refused her implied offer. "As the king's attention shifts off of you over in another fortnight or two, other men of the realm will increasingly invite you to dinners, hunts, and other such engagements. Nobility with riches and titles are almost engaged in form of politics. You could, of course, reject their social overtures and try to keep to yourself, but make no mistake, absolutely neutrality is not easily maintained. So long as you remain close to Valdemar, his unassailable duke title will protect you, though it will not be absolute." She didn't want to breed paranoia in her companion; however, she felt compelled to impart on him that being a count for the rest of his life wasn't as guaranteed as he might believe.

"You may also be required to turn a blind eye to those more like your seven-year-old self as well, and those in worse plights, to maintain that neutrality," she mused aloud casually. It was true she didn't understand the hardship he endured as a young child. Silke had been born into a loving family where all her needs and wants had been met. When her mother and second-eldest brother had died she learned how trauma could make one incredibly aware of similar suffering in others. She attended [i]every[/i] funeral she went to and found herself hyper-aware of girls without maternal figures. She strongly suspected that Galt was the same way when he saw boys that reminded him of himself.

"You are still alive, are you not?" she then asked, without waiting for an answer. "Only the dead and buried are incapable of being taught. I suppose one could argue that an invalid also could not learn, but it's too late to be feigning stupidity, don't you think?" Silke teased.

Reaching over, she took hold of his reins with one hand, clicking her tongue to stop his mare as her own stood in place. She had an important point to make and she wanted to make absolutely certain he listened without the distraction of his horse. "We both know you didn't tell the whole story of the duke's rescue. Can you honestly tell me, and yourself, that escaping him with easier than saving just yourself? That in the moment you calculated for how Duke Valdemar would thank you, how the king would thank you, and that was your only motivation? I will concede I could be wrong, but I believe you acted on instinct," she said as her steady gaze locked onto his unflinchingly. "You took a risk. How many of your former friends would have done the same? How many of the men you met tonight?"

Silke released the reins and pushed a wisp of hair out of her face that had fallen across a cheek. She laughed lightly to herself with a hint of bitterness that bled through. "I assure you I am not what many men are looking for, though I thank you for thinking I am worthy of such attention. They want the idea of me, a wife because they have need, or a prize to be won in a challenge where all their friends have thus failed. If you think I am too severe, at the next social event ask any of them my favorite color, or flower, or constellation, or instrument, or hobby."

She was jaded before she was eligible for courtship and marriage. It became worse as time wore on. Men of lords, barons, counts, and dukes expected women to be enamored with the prestige of their upbringing, to be awed by the sheer consideration of someone of their status. Silke had been smitten with a few here and there that were handsome and charming like Galt, but her feelings usually faded as it became apparent any relationship would be her bending and yielding to their desires, and letting them make every decision without input.