There is an old koan. "Dragons have no word for peace." 

Han slams blow after blow at the umbrella, and she doesn't dodge the first one, it knocks her umbrella wildly out of line and the masked lady is looping in close with an elbow aimed for Han's chest. The best defense against a blow is to not be there. She's inside Han's reach and is circling, forcing reactions by getting closer and closer. Elbow-blow into shoulder block into feint her-left-Han's-right into fingerjab, and she's laughing and laughing, joyous, green eyes flaring bright behind the mask. 

How to get her to kiss you? Fight, and win. Fight, and lose. But fight like you are, and be interested, and she wants to already, she's in your space like it's a threat and a promise both that's coming due.

But you're good with that sword of yours, Han and while you don't have the formal training you've been in brawls with the N'yari. The opening passes and the woman in the mask dances back out of reach, with a few singed edges, but no fresh injuries inflicted or received.

And she is still carefully, deliberately leaving Lotus equidistant from you and her, still laughing. It's a dance you two are playing out, who is the stronger, better, faster, tougher, and she doesn't mind losing. But she's not going to throw it. Earn your victory, or know you tried your hardest and still lost, Han.

There's no word for peace, but there's words for balance, harmony, dancing, and duels.