[Underneath the veil of his bangs, Sheik's expression tightens. She's not... saying anything. Is she angry? Upset? Anxious? He can't tell, not from those two short syllables, and it eats him up inside, along with all the questions he burns to ask but knows he can't. Not now, while his nerves are so frayed - while he's not sure how to get the answers he wants without revealing all the things he's kept secret for seven years.

Not now, while she's reeling about ancient evils instead of joyfully dancing the night away like she should.

She says she needs to sit down and finally, he dares to lift his head to watch her find her seat, only to see her hesitate instead. It takes him a moment to consider why, and when he does, well, if the atmosphere were any lighter, he would have had to laugh. Protocol is in such disarray on so many levels, and she isn't even aware of a solid third of them. What an absurd situation. The Goddesses must be laughing.

He decides for her, pulling himself upright without waiting for her command. And then he decides to eschew protocol even further by taking his godmother-granted suit jacket off and draping it around her shoulders, shielding her against the cool air.]

... I am sorry to have burdened you with this, Princess.

[He's not a knight or even a gentleman, but he is a liar, and if this is the only comfort he can offer her, then he can pretend. It might even fit her decently, save for being a little broad in the shoulders.]

If... you would prefer to be alone with your thoughts, I would understand.

[He has a hard time imagining his presence being helpful even in the best of times, and these are very not the best of times.]