She was not going to let him get out of this. He was frustrated and sore about this. While it was difficult for her, and he respected that, he knew it shouldn't be possible. Still, it was. It happened, and attempting to ignore it was only going to make things worse.
Her reaction though, to his father's-Lucius' new choice of masks was comforting. It was the same reaction he'd had. He'd hated the idea that he was willing to deface his mother's name, even more so than his father's. No matter that the name belonged to him. It was an insult, and were it not for respect to his mother's insistence that she control the situation, he would contemplate drastic measures.
"Yes, I understand perfectly, Mother," he responded in crisp tones. He wasn't a child. He had made a mistake in thinking her weak, needing more time to heal than he perhaps thought she would need, but he would be twenty-one soon, and he'd survived the war.
"Shall we discuss something perhaps a bit more pleasant then? Blaise will be hosting a gala next month, and I think we should host one here in August. The political climate being what it is, I think we've, I've, remained silent long enough."
He turned to her then, tilting his head and hoping beyond hope they could leave the topic of the walking dead. True, he hadn't focused on its un-naturalness since first dealing with the return of Lucius, but he hadn't simply thought it natural. He was simply...adapting. HIs newest motto.