Anna raises her eyebrows briefly at the use of the word "intimate" -- habit, really: she can't resist acknowledging his choice of words. Then a pause, and she nods once, deliberately. She isn't sure how to feel, yet, about the idea of something that will "become a part of her mind and spirit" -- she's got enough extra parts there already, thank you -- but the Princess recommended Martel, she reminds herself. And she will have control. Control is why she is here. It becomes something of a mantra in her head.

Perhaps she is successful at seeming confident, certain in the face of what she knows intuitively is going to feel like a loss; perhaps not. It's a reasonable attempt at it, at least.

"...Tell me what I need to do."