His smile, well-trained, didn't waver as his maimed copper hand fell to the side and his warm left extended itself forward. "Business above all, then!" he began, from the convivial greetings of a courtier to the firm, rogue friendliness of a mercenary in only a moment, giving one agreeable shake before releasing. "No warm embraces, no kiss upon the knuckles for the ambitious like yourself, eh? Just so, dōna! Now -"

And he waved invitingly towards the hearth-heated hall, stepping back inside.

"- what is it, exactly, that the... ah... exciting, the passionate, the regal House of Targaryen has to do with its dearest and most reputable of Nikovos?"