The smile on her lips has an edge of honesty that was absent earlier as she pulls away, reluctant to leave his proximity but knowing she's not going far.

"As you desire, my lord." The title is said with enough flippancy that he'll know there's no deference implied, only playful banter.

She strips leisurely, as she might have at home - not so much so that it becomes a tease, but comfortable in letting him see. The unveiling of how her freckles really do go everywhere, the exposure of her skin, her form, what a life lived by fighting does. The scars that are healing, that will fade when battle is no longer such an overbearing force in her life. Older and newer. And the mark left by the vivisection, uneven and arresting across her abdomen - hastily and sloppily stitched in anticipation of undoing it all the next day - but something that doesn't hurt. Just a foggy, distant image.

Fever casts her clothes to the side, knowing she can always get them later. Finally, she's bare before him save for the circlet, which she reaches up to remove infinitely slowly. This much, she'll tease with.