His face bears all the same softness, eyes tender, expression open in a way he seldom shows outside this room -- the way he looks when Galahad sketches him when he's seated at his desk, or lying in bed and thumbing through a mystery novel. Even when Claudius is sincere, he still schools his expressions, studied smiles and exaggerated eyerolls. Now, with Galahad's eyes on him, he summons up a flickering smile meant to reassure, gentle in a way Galahad should know well. He draws their hands apart, with fingers still laced, so Galahad can touch his palm if he chooses. He leans in for a kiss.