[ She leans forward in expectation, looking to warm herself on the fires of his indignation. What she's rewarded with is little more than a smolder, though she can taste the embers that flare in his chest — a patient, gnawing burn. This one will take more than idle taunts. Her pride grows; yes, he is worthy of her. ]

You bow the same false head to me. You offer the same lying knees.

[ Drawing one pale leg up onto the bed and the other, she perches unladylike upon her pillows, the folds of her robe opening to reveal white skin and the downy trail of red hair found nowhere but the sharp crease of her thighs. ] Is your worship half as false? Lie to me and I will devour your tongue.