Ben tensed when she started across the room towards him. If she noticed the expression on his face, though, she didn't seem to be reacting to it, so he did his best to look less guilty. The mirror being so close at hand gave him a tool to use in schooling his expression: move the frown to a straight, tight line instead; easing the way his brow had wrinkled; blinking that look out of his eyes. He swallowed. There was no way not to tell her, at this point, but at least he could keep himself from looking guilty about it. Confessing to a duel was probably less damning than confessing to a duel he'd intentionally hid from her, when even Art had told him he needed to tell her.

"Got hit by a spell," he answered tersely, which was true but of course didn't even begin to answer the question. "I'm going to be alright. A healer's already had a look." More like a passing glance, while he was busy trying to keep Macmillan from bleeding out on the hilltop, but — again, not a lie.