Her hands fall away. Rolling back from him. Choking on his question - how even to answer it? But he has a blade to inspect and the long khanjar was beautiful to behold. Set with gold filigree, with a lion that roared on the pommel. It's eyes rubies, it's mane a solid weight in the hand, though its teeth years ago dulled. A working blade, rather than a decorative piece. There were knicks and cuts from its duty. A duty that was obvious, one press of his thumb to the edge, and it would draw blood.

"Not... exactly.." She takes her breath, steeling herself. She doesn't return his grin, only takes it as confirmation that all he thinks he has, is a knife. "Only the royal blade of the house of Newalker. To sum that is worth much, others, nothing at all." Which is grand enough in and of itself. But that wasn't what it truly was, what it meant.

"But you must never show any of my people that you have it."