Dark Armor: Inquiries and Impressions

So what do you think of my fiancée? 

Pallian had shut his brother down when he'd tried to ask that question at dinner, but back in his room -- and finally alone -- he found himself struggling with it. What did he think of her? And was her oldest sister, to whom his own troth was theoretically pledged, anything like her? 

How serious was any of this? Was his father planning some sort of betrayal? Was the High Magister? How much of a disaster would it be if they went through with it? How much of a disaster if he disappeared from Teregor at the first viable opportunity?

The servants had brought water for a bath, at least. That much had been a welcome relief, and Pallian had sunk himself as far down as he could manage in the hot water. He was clean already, or near enough, but simply soaking in the warmth had been a welcome relief after the dinner had finally ended. And his father must not have been terribly displeased; at least, when Pallian had proferred his farewells, the Wizard-King had dismissed him with nothing more than an absent nod. 

He was utterly exhausted. So why was he lying here in his old bed -- softer than he remembered -- tossing and turning and asking himself difficult questions? He would need the sleep he was missing. He would need to be alert to survive his father's attention, let alone to navigate the rest of the court. 

How would he answer Ravaj?