A little ill is still ill. [ —he half teases, half chides, golden eyes softening as he regards her with a look, thoroughly unwilling to veil his concern. Now that they've stopped, he sets about clearing a space so they might be able to sit comfortably, in full view of the storm and all its ruckus. And though he is uncertain if she'll take it, he extends his hand to her for it is a gesture which he wishes to make. ] Please, take a seat, lest you take the great and terrible risk of collapsing were you stand.

[ His voice is playfully hushed, then: ] You realize I would have to catch you, after that.

[ And she would wake in the safety of his arms, her rescuer the Hero King...! Truly, that would be the most foolish path to take (if only because Sion would do it, to laugh, to smile, and hopefully bring some measure of ease to Alice in turn!). For a King, he really is much too gentle; too kind when he is absent of a country to rule. And here, in Chantes, he is obliging, curious as he is to know the hopes and dreams of those who surround him. ]

It isn't too late, you know. To grow used to something other than the dreary cold of your home.