He was glad he was so good at keeping his face in check, for the mere thought of doing what he knew from his father's experience was expected had him so utterly repulsed.
For a moment he considered not doing it. The silly boy was seventeen, perhaps he did not remember such - No that was a foolish thought. Rabastan was returned, which meant that if he hadn't known before, he would know now.
"Yes, my Lord," he answered, his voice not betraying the absolute repulsion he was feeling. Forcing himself, he moved, doing the actions he knew was necessary knowing that if he'd not already been so determined to kill the boy before him this was enough to put the thought in his head.
How had anyone been able to stand this at any point? He touched the hem of his robes to his lips, vowing to shower the moment he returned home. "Thank you, my Lord."