Lemm goes... quiet. Quieter. His hands pause their increasingly nervous fussing and go still in his lap, his head turned to read their paper but - he's done reading it, and he does not need to read it again, but he doesn't look away. Or can't.

It doesn't make sense to him. These things have never made sense to him, but he does know one thing with certainty:

"No," he says, a little hoarser than he meant to. Then again, differently and with growing agitation: "Absolutely not."

That sounds - it sounds like he's telling them what to do, but that's not it, he -

"Does she know?" Sorry, Knight, he is already sliding off the rails, and he doesn't leave any room for that to be a proper question to them. "She doesn't know," he reminds himself, after racing to collate the likely facts. "About you."

Lemm sits back in his seat and hooks a hand over the back of his long horn - it sort of hangs there like he's putting pressure behind it.

He should clarify.

"She's not to ask you that." He wasn't saying no, don't. He was saying no, she can't. "I won't let her ask you that. I don't care who she is. Knight -"

He remembers himself, that the Knight should be allowed their space, and wrenches his attention back to them.

"Are you - sorry." He sags, forcing the restless tension out of him for the time being, and gestures at their page, to indicate they should keep talking. "Sorry."