The villain crumpled to the ground as the butt of his opponent's sword smacked him in the shoulder. That's going to bruise. His eyes drifted up to the man standing over him, whose muddy boot now stained the chest of the velvet robes beneath it.

"Too cowardly to actually turn your blade against me, and yet you've smitten me still. Well done, O Noble Knight."

The knight raised a brow, wary of any distraction and yet unable to resist. He knelt, letting a little more of his weight fall on the other man's chest.

"I think you mean smote. Smitten is not the past tense of 'to smite.'"

Two velvet-sleeved arms unpinned themselves quick as lightning, though they did not reach for a weapon. Rather, deft fingers tightly grasped the collar and chin of the knight and tugged him closer.

"Oh, foolish hero," the villain purred as he locked eyes with his assailant. "I meant smitten."