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Summary
Lady Harkness dragged her eyes slowly down the stablehand’s body, taking in the state of her threadbare clothes and most certainly not lingering on the silhouette of labour-hardened muscles beneath the loose fit of her shirt. She carried a dagger. Sheathed at her hip. When the Lady returned her gaze to the dark stare of her subject, she made sure to pierce her with a look of haughty disdain, “Lucky for you, I reserve foul-mouthedness for the destitute.”
Her comment, whilst intended to offend, instead coaxed a pleased smirk from the younger woman, “Hmm, I suppose I should not be surprised that nobility such as yourself would be so partial to hypocrisy.”