Stephen pauses. Squeezes her hand one more time before letting go and leaning back, straightening up in his seat. The look he gives her is— not incredulous or pitying, exactly, but there’s a question mark in his gaze. This isn’t territory he’s particularly good at wrangling, the emotional delicacies of it, but:

“Ennaris,” he says, going straight for the practicalities, “I’m not the seneschal. You’re not losing your job.”