I can think of nothing more deserving of my eagerness than catering to your whims, Your Grace.

[His words are honey on a serpentine tongue. On another man's lips, the statement may have sounded insincere but Littlefinger considers himself better than any mummer. After all, he's part of the biggest farce of all.

As she extends the bloom as her favor, he sinks to one knee.]

You honor me too much. Surely, there is another far more deserving of such a token.

[He hates to simper but one does what one must. Bow your head to keep it.]