The more he thinks on it, the more his mind tries sink back into old habits, the thought processes that saw him through it. The Favourites were hard to dethrone. Especially the one with the uppity valet.

George holds his cup close to his face and inhales deeply, enjoying the smell of the steam and the warmth of it against his cold marble skin. The tea isn't anywhere near the quality he's used to, but it's serviceable. Or at least he can convince himself it is, which is enough to pull himself back into the present.

"I certainly like to think I'm a better man now, despite my detractors, but I'll leave you to be the judge of that," he says with a smile, "You seem a very charitable young man, Dimitri, I won't let misfortune of circumstance sully my opinion of you either."