She laughs, bright and easy, far from being offended.

"Not in the slightest. I'd make an absolutely terrible royal. Or noble, for that matter. I'd make some grievous social error and then wind up fighting whoever tried to take me to task for it."

There's an ease in her, nothing hasty. He's handsome, but she's decent at being patient when the time calls for it. For now, she'll just keep her arms around Erik, close but without pressure. Give him time to breathe, to be himself. It's hard to fuck up something like this, when it's for one's own pleasure and it's understood.

Strange, she'll ponder later, that of all the people to confess a wish for vulnerability to, it's to the woman who may as well leave bloody marks on everything she touches. Someone smarter than her could make meaning from it.

"...There are other scars on me, from different sources. Nothing hurts, and nothing is off limits to be touched. Figure I should give warning - it's raised some eyebrows in the past when I haven't."

Live with them long enough, you forget they're novel to other eyes.