Teren doesn't answer. She crosses the room, her clothing beginning to shift from the familiar Warden leathers to a dress dull and plain in silhouette, the sort of thing a servant would wear. The bottle is set on a table as she steps toward the king, her eyes fixed on him and filled with grim purpose.

He flickers as she grabs him by the hair; it's not quite him anymore, and yet it is, his eyes widening in startled desperation as Teren yanks his head back and punches a hidden blade into his lower back.