[His eyebrows hitch up at her admission, surprised by how candid she is about it while she'd purposely been avoiding outright talking about sex. The contrast makes him chuckle quietly.] By atmosphere, you mean the curses? The food at the last party was all laced with magic, and I think I could venture a guess as to what the curses would encourage. Not to mention the mistletoe.

And you... you aren't bitter? I can't help but feeling as though our options are either to find a partner we don't truly want to bed, or at least not immediately, or be drugged or cursed into doing it.

[His frown deepens at her advice. None of it is alright, and yet obeying is better than death. It was a sentiment he'd used to understand very well. His expression shifts to something blankly resigned.] Both options seem equally horrible.