[The press of her lips against his forehead is soft and warm. As she commands, he rises but the flower still has yet to find its way into his hands.]

And how should I carry such as a favor? Am I to take it in hand? Pocket it? No, such a thing should be displayed proudly, shouldn't it? Shall I leave my fate in your delicate hands?

You Grace, you are far from small. Take it from a man who bears Littlefinger as his other name.