Greta's expression wavers somewhere between gratitude and mild exasperation. It's nice to be understood, though coming from someone as generally unfathomable as a unicorn, it doesn't make her feel less small, or less ridiculous. Seeing Amalthea, even for just an instant, would have felt like an impossibly rich gift. Speaking with her, touching her, keeping her company, having her sympathy and understanding... there has to be a point where it's too generous, and Greta suspects they've already gone miles past it. At what point does it become a joke, with her own unworthiness the natural punchline?

She's not sure the Prince's attentions had her this hung up, quite honestly. But then again, the Prince had still just been a man, beneath all the charm and swagger and finely tailored clothes.

"It's probably why I was so keen to go in the Woods in the first place," she admits as she picks her way over some tumbled logs. Despite the dangers, she'd never been as afraid of the Woods as she should have been. The thought of their lives never changing -- that had been terrifying. "Well, that, and I knew my husband would need help breaking the Curse we were under. But even the last time, with the Giant storming around, it was--it was exciting." She glances over at Amalthea, a bit sheepish, like she shouldn't have enjoyed mortal peril so much -- or in preemptive apology for what she adds: "I'd expect living in a castle to be exciting, too, but it sounds like even that gets old."