Etty's shaking by the time she exits the orchard. She trembles her way in the direction the curse pulls her.
She does not - quite - stop, till she's about five feet away.
But it's clear - at least in terms of what she is meant to be doing right at this moment - what he wants.
And she'll find out the rest of it.
She edges closer, shuffling step by shuffling step, keeping wary eyes on him.
She swallows, considers which ones will have the least effect on her ability to experiment with others effectively later, and says, "Yes."
She links her arm with his, swallowing.
They proceed in this way up to a dining hall, where he seats her on his right; he, of course, takes the seat at the head of the table. At a careless wave of his hand, all the dishes fill themselves with food.
So she's not going to be consistently obliged to live on fruit from the orchard, nor will she have to work out what swans eat. That's - well, she'll decide how good it is after he's done with her. She watches him, waiting for instructions or an example to follow; she has never eaten at a noble's table, let alone this one's.
Etty concludes that she can serve herself, so she takes samples of everything and tastes them.
This is reasonably likely to be the pleasantest part of the whole evening. Etty makes sure she's got enough food in her to last, and then slows down but diligently continues to interact with her meal.
Etty ducks her head in a manner that could be interpreted as acknowledgment.