At this the man's brows shot up. He smiled back at her with amusement and waved a hand. "You don't have to censor yourself on my account," he said. "I know plenty of people who are like that, too." Politely, he left it at that. The blush on her cheeks was so much nicer to think about than the antics of some Illyrian he had only vaguely met and didn't care for. Idly as he took a slow sip of his drink, enjoying the cool but curious taste of the 'fresh water' in the space station, he wondered how else Feyre looked when blushing.
"No," he then said after he swallowed his gulp. "My father died to a sickness about twenty years before Amarantha. He was admittedly rather old, all things considered. My mother was taken and tortured like many of the court."