[ As with a proper trainwreck, Gray can't look away from the carnage. She's never watched herself eat, which is a normal thing even when you aren't averse to your own face, but she feels vaguely self-conscious now about how she must look if she has even a chance of appearing like Mordred. But she doesn't think it's a bad thing either for Mordred to have so little care for how she looks.

Gray blinks, jostled from her observation by the slam of the cup. Mordred is complaining about olden British food... It seems like a petty complaint, but then again Gray doesn't know anything about the medieval culinary condition. ]

So he wasn't the kind of king who demanded expensive ingredients...

[ A surprisingly likeable trait in a king. ]

The royal family of my Britain lived in luxury in every way, so it's strange to think of a king satisfied with poor cooking.