He followed her gaze to the spread on the table, then glanced back at her with a furrow in his brow. Was she talking about the sweets, because he rather had the impression she wasn't—or, at least, she didn't mean to be. Drystan wasn't as socially inept as he made himself out to be, but neither was he the most perceptive of wizards (the case for that one had essentially made itself with his sister). But Bess loved a good party, and this was certainly that, so he wondered why she seemed rather subdued. Usually, her good mood was enough to distract him from his inevitably poor one.
Now that he was dwelling on it, Drystan did think there had been this same strange quality to his wife for some time now, but he'd chalked it up to their recent fight. Was it possible that even that might have been caused by some other underlying reason?
"I do," he said, folding his hands behind his back, "but she seems a bit distracted at the moment."
For a moment, Drystan paused, then added in a hopeful voice, "Is it that you want to leave? I can't make any promises, but I am a very important person. I'm sure if they throw enough of a ruckus, they'll find some way to let us off."
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