There are... so many things about this that rub her the wrong way. From the boasting arrogance to the very warrior-male thing of literally flexing his physical prowess, from the use of the words 'impose my will' to the disparaging way he mentions prayer and miracle like they are useless.

This arrogance. This pride. It's sickening. But it's the bit that feels like an attack on the things that she holds dearest to her heart that strikes hottest. It's a slow simmering thing low in her belly. She doesn't like him, not one bit. No matter how true some of what he's said rings, nothing good could come from conversations with him. "Greater men than you have been brought to their knees."

A beat passes.
And then-

"Shevrati," she bites the word out sharply, no she will not be offering translations at this time. As easily as she'd sidled up to him earlier, she slips away, between shadows and bodies in the crowd, refusing the give him any further time of day to ruin hers.