[he doesn't move away, doesn't fling off her hand or give her a look -- and it is so very easy for witch kind to give looks. but he does say:]

Are you referring to eating my roast chicken, chucking the bones in my face, then showing up at my beheading to see me roll?

[and there is a little bite to it, perhaps. but the embers in his eyes are low, if they're burning at all, and there's an odd smile on his face as he studies her through it. he thinks he understands. she's skeptical of her father now. that means something. a great deal.

but exactly what remains to be determined, and he isn't afraid to poke the snake. gently.]