"Hm?" Ramsay feigns confusion at your question, tilting his head. His hands temporarily put the cutlery down. "Have I seen your beloved house pet?" He pretends to think really hard, a finger tapping at his chin. Eyebrows furrowed too. "Actually..." He slowly begins, lapping up the forming flicker of hope on your face before he unfeelingly shatters it, "I have not. I am so sorry, my dove. But I am sure wherever it is currently, it is unscathed."

His hand reaches for a goblet of wine on the table, taking a sip. Of course he knows where that damned pest is. You just had to bring that bothersome thing with you when your mother was forced to marry his father just a while ago. A piece of comfort in a new environment, you said, he patronizingly repeats in his head. 

As you keep on staring down at the untouched food in front of you with that sad, pathetic look, he revels in it. It's always such a sweet sight to see for him. Delicious, even. That broken look. Unlike his hounds, who had quite the comforting snack yesterday. Ramsay could groan, remembering everything.

With the same finger from earlier, he dips into the corner of your mouth a little bit too sharply. He frowns at your immediate wince. A poor, poor delicate flower the gods have placed in his grasp. Ramsay playfully suggests, "Come on, give me a smile. If you're being good, I might help you look." He then drapes his cloak over your shoulders, so deceivingly caring. Maybe he should start with the courtyard. Then the kennels. Just a small taste of showing his true colors.