She heard the gold circlet give a musical clang as it fell from her head and hit the floor. Nergal had her by the hair, and it took everything she had to keep from lunging up to meet his mouth with her own as he forcibly pulled her from her throne. It was not the first time his hand had fisted in her hair. And if she had her way, it would certainly not be the last.
As she was drawn up, she was careful how her arms moved, keeping them limp and lose at her sides, much of her arms and hands hidden by the feathers of her dress. His gaze was on her face, she she knew he hadn't seen what she had in her grasp. So she smiled even as she felt the cold metal of his blade against her throat.
"A coward and a thief," she pronounced, disdain dripping from every word. "What else do you call a craven wretch that sneaks out in the middle of the night, rather than facing his lover in the morning? Coward! What do you call a fool that feels he must take something that he would have been given had he stayed? Thief! I would have shared all this with you! But now? Now there is nothing you can offer me that would make me share my throne with you."
The sharpened and polished hook she held in her right hand was turned at such an angle that when she drew it forward, the point tapped against an area of his anatomy that she had thoroughly enjoyed. The tap did not puncture anything, but neither was it gentle. She reiterated with a leer, "Nothing."
He would look down now. Or step back. Or shift his weight. He would do something. And when he did, Ereshkigal intended to swing up the hook held in her left hand to catch his blade and pull it away. And then she would have the advantage.