[ Must she do this to him. Every time she spares a moment to level a kind word about absolutely nothing at all, Claude feels that inherently wary part of him start to ring the warning bells: "what does she want from me, what does she need me to say?" There has to be an ulterior motive— people aren't tolerant of him without a reason.

Meals have always been tiresome, diplomatic affairs where people are trapped around a table and forced to converse without telling the truth. And she's thanking him for it?

Preposterous. How trite.

(How dare she make him enjoy these things, the nerve.) ]

...Of course. I don't often let my guests starve.

[ The reply comes after a beat, as if she's caught him off-guard. And despite how snide the words are, his expression borders on semi-sincere.

Ugh. ] I don't expect it was as good as Oren's cooking, but I appreciate your flattery.