She's had time, since their first and slightly disastrous (in her opinion) encounter in Skyhold, to get her bearings on the idea of him; less tightly wound, the precise primness of that exchange has been shed in favour of her more usual blandly serene affability, the small hint of a smile impersonal and not to be trusted.

"I'm not an Empress," she observes, separating the bandages out til she has a clean strip she can use to wipe aside the blood and see what she's working with. Steady at her task, but attentive; if she ever relaxes enough not to be acutely aware of what's going on around her, it's not often and not in company. "And," with a flare of fire around her fingertips that she applies deftly to cauterize where he's still bleeding, giving him all of no warning that she intends to do it, "I am not unfamiliar with the reputation of my profession."

Benevenuta thinks of herself as politician first. But, summoning flames to her hand with such ease, she is probably in the minority on that.