Drawing his blade does not appear threatening unless you view a sword as inherently so; it's done casually, a movement he's actioned thousands of times in the past. It is handled well, but not with particular reverence; almost loose, like it was a mere extension of his arm and treated as such, which may or may not work in his favour.

He is watching her, too, her amusement almost matched by his own visible in green eyes and the constant verge-on-smirk shape his mouth generally takes. He knows there's an audience, but really, this victory won't be one to take to the tavern to brag about.

"Might I have this dance, my lady?"