He felt her hands on his, looking down at those soft white fingers touching hands that should be rougher than they were. So much of his own scars had healed when he'd made his deal with the demon. Scars that had become a part of him. His sword callouses were still there, though. Bumps of harder skin forged from years of swinging a sword, of building up a roughness to handle hard labor. Vlad's hands were not like other Prince's she might touch.

Looking down at her, he took in a slow breath, ignoring the thrumming of blood he heard under her skin, under the skin of the bodies in rooms all around them. Anger always made him lose that tenuous control for a moment. "I still should have known. You are not the kind to be silent when you have issue with something. Ah, Lady, I am at your mercy."