His laugh is sour and dark. "I'm sure that works on all your other victims," he says, his voice a sharp snap of judgement. His own eyes crawl over Satine's body, drinking in the sight of her sitting so demure, so alluring. A little serpent underneath the blooming flowers.

"But if you really did miss me, I doubt you would have been so careless as to forget to see me last night."

Stiva bends a knee upon the bed, slides his fingers through the intricate lines of Satine's necklaces, letting the silver strands lace around his hand before he tenses his knuckles, curling them into a fist and jerks the courtesan forward. "Or were you trying to test me, mon chérie?"