Rarity though the invitation may be, but he's found himself meandering in that direction more than once by sheer force of habit. He's spent a lot of time riding out about Camelot with the knights, traveled from end to end of the kingdom, but he's never had to share a tent. His suffering is unmatched, truly.

Arthur's expression is cool, carefully neutral, as he ducks into the tent. He's not unused to showing deference after years of serving the last king, but at the same time -- this Count isn't his father. His posture is all straight lines, alert without, perhaps, quite the soldier's stiffness, and he nods as he's addressed. His hands remain at his sides for now, gaze steady. He's wanted the chance to get a measure of these Barrayarans they're to fight for since he'd arrived, and it'd seem he has his chance.

"Is that so? I wasn't aware I'd kept you waiting."