She hesitates, unsure on manners, on what is polite, as she looks over his face in invitation. It hadn't been her place to eat in front of men, and it wasn't often she shared meals with her husband either. Eating for women was privately done where they did not have to wear veils and could be comfortable. In recent years, of course, it hadn't mattered worth a damn. But they weren't in a brothel in slums, were they?

By the same, she supposes he wasn't the kind of man to trick about that, so she nods, and reaches for a small portion of food for herself in a murmur of thanks. Something dry and light that she can pick at, as much as is respectful to the offer. ( Always aware, Queen she might be, but not Queen of nothing much anymore, and she was ever at his and his wife's grace. ) So she's careful with it, some habits of royalty never quite went away. Her bites are small, easy gestures, raising a hand to her mouth to cover herself as she swallows.

"I can imagine so. His risks much - but I suppose we all do for family."