[He watches her reaction, and can tell, immediately, that it has the intended effect. He cannot see the magnitude of which she really feels about this request, nor can he read her mind. But if he can, even by the smallest measure, make her understand that what he asks of her is of the same magnitude to what she's asking of him, then perhaps they shall remain on even ground.

All of this, hinging on the hope of fooling Prompto.]

You asked for an hour of truth. I've granted no one that, not in nearly two thousand years.

[He smiles, but his words are heavy and weighted. They may as well be a hundred pounds each, pressing into her with their intensity.]

It is the same. Perhaps you simply don't realize what it is you ask.