If Benedict is offended, he certainly doesn't say so, or give any indication otherwise. He's fixated on the broth, only barely slowing down to blow on each spoonful before eating it, a precaution he learned to take by scalding his mouth in desperation on his first night back.

"I heard about the Seneschal," he says in a rasp, after he's polished off the bowl, "was he badly hurt?"