"Well, yes."

"Huh."

"- what?"

"My son moved the prisoners. The day you arrived. I wondered why."

"Ah."

He puts his charts away, unbothered.

She goes back to her room. She patrols when she is meant to patrol.

She starts a gate, under her bed.

If anyone observes this they do not object to it. 

The gate behaves totally normally, except it still hasn't settled after a week.

A subjective week, that is.

Well.

He walks by her one day while she's returning from patrol, passes her a note.

I offered you some more answers once we'd evened a little, have any come to mind?

"I do not find myself in very urgent need."

Nod.

"If we're closer to even does this affect my patrol schedule?"

He pulls out a notepad for this one. 

Yes, if you want to take fewer just let them know and it'll be no problem.

She nods.

He keeps walking.

She cuts her patrol schedule - flying on nothing but dew is no fun, doing everything on nothing but dew is not getting any pleasanter, though it's leveled out -

She starts some more gates. She's not sure whether instant is really instant, but a thousand times a split second is still not very long. She isn't that lucky.

It starts to get dark. She gets notified that there'll be a feast, with songs and stories, people are encouraged to sign up for a few more shifts so they can cover it but welcome even if they don't.

If a few is really a few she might as well.

Yeah feasts aren't unaffordable or people'd hate them instead of enjoying them. 

She flies a few more patrols.

The feast is enjoyable. There's several courses of interesting food and wine and nectar and there's beautiful singing, and dancing, and the telling of the story of three lovers and the absurd political shenanigans that they contrive to end up together in a nice stable happy court.

Promise doesn't touch the food, or dance, but she sways along to the songs and listens to the stories.

"Why don't you eat?"