One day, maybe soon, Rhys would be just as thoughtful to the politics of the kindred world as many of the others around him. Maybe not as much as Joseph, or Amadeus, but he would be a far cry off of what he was at the moment. He was starting to learn just what it meant to move through kindred society. The downfalls and ups of having a lover who was in the court. He didn't feel like he was bottom rung like he had just a few months ago, but he was still low on the feeding charts. If he made it through the first few decades of his life, that would change. For now, at least, people didn't just over look him like they used to. He'd proven things to not only those around him but to himself, as well.
Once again, he could only wish Henry was there to see it, to know that he had been proven right in his belief that Rhys would be worth turning. If he hadn't gotten him when he had, would he even be there? Knowing what he did about the Roses, most likely. He would have been wasted there, the way he was.
There was a moment where the younger of the two hesitated before choosing his words, a smile that didn't match what he was going to say coming to his lips. "I've noticed, mon bel homme." To both things. He was gaining confidence, and though it was slow, he'd come up with a couple lines, here and there, that he hoped put pause in Joseph. It never seemed to quite work out the way he intended, as if he knew everything that was going to come from him, but Rhys knew that was mostly experience. He'd get him one day, he had hope.