You speak as if regret is yours alone, and yet you have never woken up in a bed with Orlesian triplets, covered in what you can only hope is foul ale and soft cheeses, with a headache like a slap from the Maker himself and no memory of the night prior!

[Zevran laughs, shaking his head.] I must wait to see it, alas, but I already think it suits you well. [He plants a kiss on her cheek.]