Initially Silke tried to mumble an objection to Galt's assistance. She was a fiercely independent woman that wasn't used to accepting help. There was a passive, pervasive stereotype and bias that all members of the female gender were weaker in almost every sense of the word. To be recognized for her mental prowess she had to be twice as fast with witty remarks, impossibly composed, and smarter than half the room to stand a chance. If a man was slow to answer, or stumbled over his words, or said something mistaken, it was much more likely to be overlooked. In addition to battling for recognition in the court for years, by necessity she had to be 'strong one' for her family. When her father and elder brother fell apart, [i]she[/i] was their emotional pillar, their accountant, their assistant, and household manager. Circumstances forced a transformation to happen what felt like overnight.

Having someone genuinely concerned, that actually sprang into action with good intentions (rather than looking uncomfortable), and doing so without any judgment was... both nice and odd. As he pressed his cloth against her nose to stem the flow she murmured something about this occurring somewhat often- which was true. Silke had learned the hard way that when she failed to skip multiple meals and sleep properly the stress she felt on a daily basis manifested through an increased chance of developing a bloody nose. Once, a couple years ago, she had pushed her limits to the degree she ended up in bed with a wretched cough and lasting fatigue as well.

Her heart fluttered.

It wasn't the proximity to him that gave her butterflies, though he was ridiculously handsome. That he was so effortlessly charming was what made her want to compromise her vows to herself to never indulge a romance. His touch was gentle, his tone was light, and he smiled at her with more earnest feeling than half of the court combined. Silke knew how to steel herself against the swagger of attractive faces with equally large egos; they did not make for the best of partners she knew. Galt, however, was a breath of fresh air that she didn't quite know how to resist as sternly as she did others.

He was giving her an out. For someone allegedly unused to the games of the court, he was giving her an excuse, an opportunity to save face. If she agreed to lunch they could both pretend it was for his sole benefit rather than hers. It was a peculiar thing to feel flattered about. She couldn't remember the last time- if ever- a man had accommodated her sense of pride rather than passively demanding she bow the figurative knee to his. A tiny hint of pink rose to her cheeks. Silke was sincerely unsure whether it was because she was flustered by him or still embarrassed by the nose bleed.

"It happens to me occasionally, you needn't be concerned," she answered, delicately side-stepping his question. She didn't have the heart to deceive him, regardless of the potential for success, after he was so kind. Galt didn't deserve her half-truths when he had shown such care. Silke wouldn't pretend she magically felt wonderful when, in fact, she felt as if she could eat a horse or take an hour long nap on the spot. "Very well, let's have lunch then," she decided.

There was a long pause while she waited for him to call on someone to deliver their meal. After he did so (or unless he waited for her to say more), she asked him with a raised brow, "How good are you with a bow?"