Eyes shut, Anne allows her head to roll back as she lets out a husky laugh, one without abandon or concern for those it might enflame or disturb. There are none it could bring joy to, because it's laughter born of a bitterness that has been years in creation. She takes her time in relishing it, foot slipping past his cheek to kick up in a mockery of merriment where there is none; or perhaps there's a twisted version. The only kind she can cling to in times like this, where she thinks there's no air in the room; there is only fire and water.

"I think I would wager differently, sir. But this is no competition. You are not my peer, nor ever will you be."

Her legs cross, then, in a flurry of the skirts of her shift and robe, and one hand rests to her breast as she recovers from her fit remarkably fast, but a little smile remains there, even if her eyes glitter with an intent that is not kind.

"You have betrayed me as swiftly as any other; your lack of intent matters nothing to me. I care only for results. So what will it be in this case? Do things change, or do they not?"