More than you can possibly imagine. "But of course," Byerly answers easily and cheerfully. Then, tilting his head towards her, he lifts an eyebrow and purses his lips. "This will shock you, I think," he says, "but I have actually been involved in a scandal or two in my day." And then he lets his head fall back and sighs. "I got out of some of them by being five times as clever as the people around me...though by no means all. Alas. It's difficult, being as thoroughly disinherited as I am."

Translation, he hopes: I am precisely no one to pin any hopes on, milady, unless your hope is for a life of drunken poverty. Not that he expects she will, of course. But he is Vorrutyer, and of suitable bloodline, if not of suitable levels of degeneracy...And it's wartime. And the poor girl seems desperate for a bit of fun. God, though, imagine if Sonia Vorbarra fell in love with him, Byerly Vorrutyer, scourge of all right-thinking Vor. Ivan would shit.

"So," he says pointedly after a slight pause. "Princess."