[His jaw stiffens, weeks of hard-won progress on the verge of coming undone in an instant.]

Then leave.

[The cloth sweeps over the beginnings of a crisscrossing of scars that extend to his inner elbow, the tendons in his arm flexing and unflexing and his hand one word away from snapping out to grab a fistful of Hector's tunic.]

You would do well to remember that my business is my own, as is this castle in which you sleep. [Crisply.] My purpose here is not to make life more comfortable and convenient for you.