"You turned," Adaar said, "into a fucking dragon." It was good that she said it, because someone should, and to be honest the Bull was feeling a bit beyond actual words at that exact moment. "A small dragon," Dorian said, as though this was somehow relevant. He was quite a small dragon, it was true—he stared down at them now, but most of that height was the arch of his neck, the curve of it covered in shimmering black and gold scales. "A small dragon! Who saved your life!"

"To be clear," Zevran said, offering his own glass to the Iron Bull on the correct assumption that he wouldn't much care what he drank from, "I have nothing against bedding married couples. I find it can be quite exhilarating."

It isn't even an accident, precisely—that might be the most humiliating thing about it. Lan Wangji had tasted the tea, expecting it to be precisely what it revealed itself to be; Lan Wangji had wanted to feel its effects, to gauge them, although he had expected them to be mild. He had brewed the tea himself. An entirely uncoerced and foolish act. Lan Wangji has a misadventure with an aphrodisiac. It works out for everyone.