[ It takes her a little bit to respond. She's quiet and her breaths are still just a touch too shallow but that horrible stiffness and the bone-deep terror it implied seems to ease. She doesn't exactly relax in his arms but that tightly drawn thread of tension goes slack enough for her to lean back into him, back against his warm chest. Almost at once, his familiar warmth seeps through her, eases the tension from her muscles. One of her hands comes up and settles gently on his wrist.

And yet the way she leans into him and the way her fingers curl into his sleeve is still just the slightest bit hesitant, as though she's expecting him to yank himself away from her any second, like he did this morning. But the Mors King is warm and his arms are strong and steady. His scent is familiar and soothing and even if her heart is still racing, her breathing still too fast, the Saintess still manages to speak. ]

If... if I do something wrong, you can tell me. If I misbehave or I make a mistake, or... anything. You can tell me, and I'll apologize and do better next time. You don't have to threaten me or scare me, so... please don't. I...

[ Her voice wobbles just a bit. ]

I don't want to be afraid of you.