"It's fine."
Viktor sat.
Directly, without inspection, the way a man sits in a room he's comfortable in. He looked around once — the window, the mantelpiece, the portrait of a younger Eliantra above the fireplace that she'd stopped noticing was there — and then settled with his elbows on his knees and looked at her.
"It's good enough."
Eliantra straightened.
Looked around at the sitting room with the eyes of a woman suddenly aware that she has guests and no household to support the fact.
"My bad," she said again. "There's not even anyone to— wait, let me go. I'll bring some cakes. There should be something in the—"
"No."
"It's really no trouble, I just need to—"
"I'd rather," Viktor said, "have the cake I can see."
She stopped.
Turned.
He was looking at her.
Not at her face.
