"We can cut the cake now," Lancelot confirms, and pointedly keeps hold of Faolan. He isn't escaping, not while Lance has a say in it. "There's a few different types, you two can have first pick since you're here. Come on --"

He shifts a hand to draw the small of Faolan's back to gently but firmly guide him along, pacing back into the kitchen and steering him to the chair he was in before and the abandoned plate of sausage rolls. It gives him the chance to free up his hands so he can begin tugging the cake boxes out of the fridge and setting them on the kitchen table.