"Oh, Maker, here we go." Cullen laughs and rolls his eyes. "There's a bird deep in the wilds of Ferelden. Blue and purple plumage with red on the outer wings. Whenever it perceives it's getting attention from a desired prospect, it puffs up and lifts its crest, spreading its wings, showing itself off to the very best advantage. Are you showing off now? For me? Should I be flattered?" He suspects it's his way of trying to get under his skin in turn, and he has no intention of making that easy for him.

His next move is quicker than his last, because he already plotted what to do on this contingency. He's still smiling, already enjoying the fact that it's more than a straightforward game of moving pieces. They're jockeying for psychological advantage, the same cutthroat way he has been taught to play and part of why he likes the game as much as he does.