Blackbeak Bluff touch my loot, feel my boot

Her gaze was settled openly on his face, but his own baleful eyes travelled down to stare predatorily at the thin curve of her throat, before they flicked up to peer out from beneath his brows as his muzzle tipped toward the snow. "So, ye fancy yerself a jester?" He prowled toward where she sat so queenly, but here she was without her throne, and without any court appointed guard, either. For each step he took his lips raised, brazenly displaying his fangs in a grin most malign.