His heart is still racing, adrenaline crashing through his veins, and it doesn't slow at all with Mab so close. Lancelot can tell easily enough if she took a dislike to him that he would know it well, and he lifts his chin a little -- tries to stand strong even as she eyes him.

What would he do with an arrested fae? If a creature died in prison it would be more trouble than it's worth. He flits his eyes to the creature, takes in the concern on its face. If he was a crueler man perhaps he might want to take revenge for the cuts on his face. As it is, he doesn't care so long as the thing is away from him.

"He does not answer to my laws," Lancelot says finally, lifting his eyes back to Mab and lofting an eyebrow. "He answers to yours. His fate should be yours to decide, not mine."