[ ...There's loyalty, and then there's this. Wriothesley remembers what it meant to obey his foster parents, what happened when he didn't. The things endured by his siblings who tried on defiance for themselves. He's not in the market for more avenues of comparison between them--no, he's had quite enough of those, pushes the thought down again knowing it'll rise to the surface later--and so he won't assume too much. But no amount of tea could displace the bad taste in his mouth left by Lyney's insistence. The Fatui really are an underhanded bunch. ]

That's 'Your Grace' to you. [ Said with all the urgency of relating the weather. He's not looking to heighten tensions between them--not now, when things are...simpler, for once. ] But, if you're certain of her convictions, then I have no reason to doubt you.

[ Assuming he is certain. Lyney is prone to sweetening his words when it suits him--this much Wriothesley knows, if not the extent of it--and no doubt he'd do it for someone who has him so firmly under her heel. But that's not for him to dissect, not now, over tea and late into the night. What Lyney says, Wriothesley will take. No matter how he doubts it inwardly. ]

Then, let me rephrase. [ So as not to spit in her face, as Lyney puts it. ] This Father of yours. How did she come to be the hand that feeds you, anyhow? Surely I'm allowed to ask.