"No," he agrees at once with an inside-joke kind of grimace. "Definitely not."

(Is that wholly in character for rank-climbing Sward…? …It's fine, it's justifiable. Anyway, too late now. Just move on.)

He reached out to lightly touch her elbow, to guide her to the archway he'd been seeking. A sit-down restaurant Grendreef had introduced him to; perfectly suitable for an Imperial couple of their station, but also with an outdoor informal area, and a widely held disinterest in being on duty (for their purposes: less likelihood of being monitored).