"I didn't ask if you were interested." Still quite serious, but nonetheless seeming mollified, more by the surprise in Ralston's reaction than by the assertion that followed it. Aware, too, of the depth of curiosity likely to be reached by his sudden demand—and that look is as good an indication as any that it was. Now closing his eyes, "You will keep your hands to yourself."

And that's the last of what he says before making himself tranquil by rolling his shoulders, giving his head a little shake—less birdlike than if he were to nestle down into the thick fur-lined layers he so often wore in Ravka, but not by much. The awareness of his own fists seems to come on a delay, as after a moment of silence he stretches his fingers wide, turns his wrists, and leaves his hands newly relaxed where they lie. Last of all—even after the deep breath that seems like it ought to be final—is the brief flexion and scuffing of his toes. Then he is still.

After not too long, his jaw loosens behind his lips, his spine loses its formal stiffness, and he seems to relax against the headboard.