"Blind goes to Zev this bout. Go on, elf. Fork out the bits."

"Ahh, my dear Jessica, that haste is going to earn a cut across that pretty throat someday. It will be a great shame when it happens." Across the table, the fine-haired blond pulled two of the tiny bronze coins from his meager stack of copper and silvers. He tossed the bits in casually, clear brown eyes glittering mischievously.

"Was that a threat, spilling from your herpes-laden lips, Zev darling?"

"I assure you, m'dear. If these lips carried disease, you would be the first I'd share it with."

Jessica's eyes narrowed dangerously, almost matching the slitted points of her ears. Her dark eyes roved over him, feathery brown eyebrow judging the jest. Zevran shared an easy smile with her, own brow lifting in suggestion. "What say you, Sica? Share the danger for a taste of these lips? Brenk can assure you, they are sweet."

Brenk, one of the newest assassins to their branch of the guild and terribly teasable flamed to color easily, cheeks matching his firebred hair in confirmation of Zevran's jest. "Who's turn is it? H- Hawke's up, isn't she?"

Marian Hawke broke eyes from Stella, their assigned dealer for this set. She eased three silvers off the top and tossed the coins into that middle stack on Zevran's blind. "Raise."

"Ouch," Zevran held a hand over his heart, turning to the stunning woman beside him in agony. "You wound me, Madam. Must you always do that on my blinds? I've not even the chance to cheat your hand yet!"

Hawke's mouth quirked. "Then quit."

"Ahh, you underestimate my favor, love." Zevran winked at her, eyes flitting to Stella with a tiny lick of his upper lip. Stella lowered her head, shuffling dedicatedly.

"Love," Hawke mused, hand crossing over Zevran's silkily, where her forefinger and thumb lightly grazed his pointer finger. "Must I snap your filthy finger again, Zevran?"

"Ahh, but the touch of Divinity is worth the pain, no?" Hawke's fingers clamped down over his. Zevran quickly retracted. "Ahh! Slip of the tongue, dear. You know how dirty my mouth can be." Hawke slicked that finger back ever so slightly. "Not from experience, of course. That lowly me should have the pleasure…" Hawke's eyebrow lifted. "Is a ridiculous notion from such a fine lady, me."

Hawke released his finger, smile taking the edge of her mouth. "That's a boy."

"Lady," Zevran grinned, open to mixing his pleasure with pain around this dangerous creature he'd grown to know and love, even if she wouldn't permit the carnal act. Not with him, anyway. Low the day Zevran was born a male, he often cursed. Hawke only took female lovers, for shame.

Raynor tossed up his hands in aggravation, as one who'd played with them quite often, he knew when to stay out. "I fold. Enough of this. I've better to do than lose further dignity to you connoisseurs."

"Do you prefer I see you on the lakeside or in the bedroom tonight, precious?"

"In the bedroom, you lawless scoundrel." Raynor grumbled.

Zevran licked his lips. "Over the banister for your punishment tonight, if you will."

"Yeah, yeah," Raynor waved him off on his way out, "Just finish up early; I've to be away to Fereldan tomorrow."

"Ahh, satisfying earnings when one's poor, aren't they?"

Brent quietly folded his hand.

Jessica pursed her lips, tossing in the necessary coin to play her blind hand. Zevran called with a smirk, easy grin floating between the two ladies still in the hand to the one about to deal out their cards. "Stella? Grace us, please."

Stella dealt, providing each player with four cards, two of which they'd be able to utilize. The highest and the smallest, or the two middle birds, whichever they chose without additional ground, so were the rules of Wicked Grace, a game that could often have a player afterwards smacking themselves for choosing the wrong pair.

Zevran and Jessica both caught Stella's eye immediately, catching the half-squint of her left eye. Both set their two stacks of two, the right being the one they'd choose from, the left, the discards. Stella panned out two middle cards of which they may play their hand from. "Jessica," Hawke's fingers moved deftly, palming a card to slip back her griffon behind a hand. "Why do Fereldans trump Orlesians in passion?"

Jessica's eyes narrowed. "You're cheating."

"Ooh, I love when she's like this." Zevran leaned forward eagerly.

Hawke held up two cards between her forefingers, amused smirk coloring the blues of her eyes. "It's because our Val Royeaux glistens in the heat." With an easy flick of her offhand wrist, Jessica cried out suddenly, gripping her wrist where a sharp sliver of a dart had slid through the tissue of her hand to palm. Jessica gawked, reaching for her hand, but Hawke snatched up her wrist first, dragging her half-across the table to turn it palm-outward, revealing the Angel of Death card, which had just been dealt upon the table. Hawke's eyes sparkled. "No one likes an easy bleeder."

Zevran chuckled, likely cheating himself as Hawke shoved Jessica back to her chair. Wicked Grace was an easy enough game on its own, but when played amidst assassins, everyone cheated. They'd leveled their own version just for that purpose; cheating was permitted, as long as the assassin was sneaky enough not to get caught. To avoid calling out the cheat every hand, therefore, a player who wrongly called out a cheat would be forced to forfeit their hand mid-round. To make it advantageous to call out a fellow assassin, the rule was instilled that if an assassin correctly caught another cheater, they won the opposing player's whole stash and, if no stash was to be had on the loser, they became slave to the caller for a week.

Hawke eyed the three pennies Jessica had left; not nearly enough to save her from slavehood. "Sica," Hawke licked the bottom edge of her top lip. "Prepare my bedroom when you're done dripping on our table."

Jessica, who'd ripped the dart from her hand with a small cry and was now frantically clutching the wound, glared at Hawke so heatedly, her eyes might've melted ice. She shoved back from the table vehemently, flinging her leftover three bits at Hawke in rage. "This isn't over, Hawke."

"Hold the knife from between the sheets this time, if you will." Jessica glowered and stomped off.

Zevran grinned. "Oh, she is a firebred tonight, Hawke. You do a man jealous."

Hawke didn't bother correcting him, merely turned back to their game with an expectant air. Zevran grinned, raising his turn. "Fifty bits." He painstakingly started counting out the cash.

Hawke flipped a silver in easily. "Save your mind the trouble. I raise to a piece."

"Ooh, a woman of expensive tastes, neh? I will call, Madam. Let us see the second flop, Stella."

Stella burned two cards and flipped two consecutively, revealing an eagle and a nug.

"And the hawk shows herself," Zevran added dramatically, eyes sparkling of mischief. "I'll check this round."

"Raise," Hawke repeated. "What's your count?"

"I have a fifth stack of your great number, lady. Shall we simply put it at that?"

Hawke was unamused. "Count."

Zevran started the trying task. "You know, Hawke. I could have a great deal more to bet with if we permitted my body into the pool."

"I wouldn't touch your body, Zevran. Not on a bet, not on my life's worth."

"No? I'm trained in the art of flexibility as a courtesan. You won't even notice I'm male until I've slipped between those pretty thighs."

"Your neck, Zevran. So slender…" Hawke stared, watching Zevran flex back the tunneling muscle languidly to stretch its length.

"Like a woman's, yesss?"

"Like I could break it with one hand." Hawke mused, eying her hand for measurement.

"Maybe I'm just disturbed, but that sounds so deliciously alluring somehow, even directed at me. Is it just me?" Stella shook her head, but stopped quickly when she consciously realized it. Brent merely shied back, eyes wide at his companions. The boy had a ways to go in their guild yet. "I count twelve pieces, and sixty-two bits." It was about a tenth of Hawke's stash. "Is there nothing else you may wish of me to bet, Hawke?"

Hawke started to deny, but paused when the thought hit her. "Zevran. You've been assigned to Orlais per next mark, haven't you?"

"I have. To kill the Antivan Duke of Rialto, no less. The Crows see worth in me, no?"

Hawke's eyebrows lifted. "That. I want your contract for the Rialto Duke."

Zevran's eyebrows lifted to join hers. "My contract, Hawke? For Arrigo?"

Hawke almost rolled her eyes at the name. "If that's the Duke's name, yes."

"It is an extended stay contract, you know. I'm supposed to find and collect the ring before he dies. Supposed to be some enchanted piece he keeps hidden away that the buyer specified."

"I know the assignment. I want it."

This job would attract great notoriety…" Zevran mused. "Such a thing is not cheap." Hawke plucked up her single gold sovereign and flipped it into the center, which gathered Zevran's undivided attention immediately. "I usually hate to steal from such a beautiful woman, but I may have to make exception tonight. Very well, Hawke. My contract."

"Let me see it." Hawke demanded ruthlessly, knowing better than to trust any of the assassins within the Crows, even friends. Zevran hesitated, but complied to pull the small scrawl from his inner tunic pocket. Hawke gave a pointed look to the pile, where Zevran then laid the parchment.

"You may regret this, Hawke."

"Stella," Hawke ignored him. "Flip the last card."

Stella complied and burned another card, flopping the last one face-up, the silver fox. The slightest of twitches caught the corner of Hawke's lip. She looked to her opponent expectantly. "Zev?"

"Sorry, Hawke." Zevran turned over his hand, revealing a Griffon and Snake, both cards he'd be able to utilize off the Angel of Death, who complimented his total point score to 20 without fail. Zevran reached for the gold pile with a smirk.

But it wasn't enough. Hawke touched his arm to stop him, flipping over her first card with the other, revealing a mabari. Zevran paused, aghast. "No." Hawke's mouth quirked further as she touched the last card's edge.

"Zev?"

"You are such a cheat," Zevran covered his head in pain, "You've gotta be kidding me. Stella!"

"Apologies, messre. I've no idea what you're alluding to." Stella glanced at Hawke, who gave her a rare smile.

"See me in the parlor, Stella."

A beautiful smile took Stella's lips. She inclined her head, then turned to leave. Hawke dragged her new coin stash over and pocketed the contract. "Next time, Zev. Maybe I'll leave you with a few bits."

Zevran grumbled dilutedly.

Brent watched her go, then looked to Zevran. "She doesn't sleep with men?"

"Not a chance, kid."

XXX

A fortnight later, Hawke straightened the scuff of her leather armor, flattening it down with a roll of her hands down the smooth fabric. It wasn't exactly ceremonial armor, but the stuff was glossed up enough to look it.

Not for the first time, her pretty features were to be utilized in the versatile fashion to pass off as a 'pretty boy' for this particular charade. It was to be Hawke's first attendance at one of the Duke's casual parties and she intended to be memorable enough to make an impression. That was the goal of this first charade after all; she would become his casual acquaintance to friend and confident, attending any number of these meaningless gatherings or other events to learn him; his schedule, habits, dislikes, and faults. All were pertinent to sculpting the perfect accident. Unlike a usual mark, a duke had to go down quietly. It was Hawke's job to assure this all went to plan.

Glancing over to the girl on her arm, Hawke remained silently grateful for Stella's attendance. The girl was a wicked one with her magical arts, a rare find for the Crows, and helped Hawke sustain her disguise by keeping an active spell sustained to hide the blood tattoo over her nose. She could do little to make Hawke appear more masculine, but it mattered little. Hawke had carried this guise before and knew her mannerisms, how to blend, even as a particularly stunning 'male' among the crowd.

Stella smiled at her, but Hawke didn't return the gesture. In her brown leggings and heftier-fitting leathers, hair slicked back in a traditionally male, greasy manner that was supposed to be fashionable, Hawke entered the open courtyard of the gathering with Stella on her arm.

Immediately, the two guards at the door bowed respectively, while Hawke contemplated how easily her knives would push through the back of their lazy necks. If this was the security, the job could be over in a day, much less drawn out. Hawke passed into the courtyard with Stella, easy strides taking her to the middle, where Hawke's eyes darted over all present in a flash, measuring. More harmless guards stood at every entrance; an array of boring nobles spoke in groups of two to four respectably, none forming a crowd while servants waited on the royalty. Other hunters similarly suited spoke in their own groups near the far end. Hawke's eyes roved to those she found most pompously outfitted, searching for her mark.

Hawke imagined how easy it'd be to kill them all, one by one, teach these ridiculous dossied-up people even a measure of the fear their lower classes faced.

Hawke eyed a bushy-bearded nobleman in flagrantly assaulting brights. Her eyes burned. She envisioned the casual flick, a small cut at the back base of the neck that could even go unnoticed, if sliced correctly. Watching as the man bled out on the stone, frantically trying to find and staunch the wound… her eyes switched over to his companion he spoke with, a wiry little man. The length of her dagger would equal just enough to slip through him hip to hip while he screamed. And that other man, the one with haunted, hung over features and the backside chin cleft of an obtuse nug. The point of her throwing knives would slip ever so graciously through those wide, clueless eyes. Or even that hag next to him, who- whoa.

Hawke's eyes caught on one of the Orlesians she currently daydreamed of slaughtering. She was as fine-dressed as the rest of them, in high heels and peach silken gown with her hair let loose and flowing, fine red tendrils as silky as her clothing. She was tall, slender, and beautiful. Too beautiful. Not as laden with billowing layers like some of her fellows, the dress she wore was elegant, classy, and could be ripped away in an instant of true danger. Andraste's tits, that was arousing.

Hawke had found herself a bard.

So maybe one of them is spare-able…

She turned then, as if sensing her stare, and she probably did as well. The woman had the perfect body to match a rogue's skills and Hawke could tell there were more than just legs under that silken outfit. She caught Hawke's eye immediately, perhaps seeing more than she ought to of Hawke's guise as a hunter.

With long-legged strides that could be better used wrapped around her waist, the woman strode over to them in quiet confidence. She curtsied to Stella. "Madam," then tilted her head just slightly in incline to Hawke. "Ser- Ahh, I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar."

"Amell," Hawke supplied for her, "Gamlen Amell."

"Gamlen?" The disbelief was well hidden from her features, even if showed in her voice. "I had no idea you were still so… youthful, Ser Amell." That sparkle those shard-grade eyes dripped seduction; Hawke could guess where this bard's specialty rested.

"It's amazing what a good diet can do for one's health," Stella interrupted before Hawke could respond.

Hawke gave her an once-over, stepping back to introduce. "My wife is quite right. Nyssa only gives me the best of care." Hawke retained the deeper tension of her vocals, too expert to slip up on such an error.

"Wife?" The question hung. "How… unusual, Ser Gamlen."

"Indeed, she is my sparkling diamond." Hawke agreed easily, mouth quirking at the scan of her curious eyes. "And you, Serah?"

"Oh, silly me," the woman reprimanded coquettishly, her Orlesian accent tinting the words. "Forgetting to introduce myself. My name is Leliana."

Hawke took her wrist without her realizing it until it was held up, Hawke half-bowed before it. "Of the lilies," Hawke kissed the back of her hand. "A beautiful name for a beautiful maiden, Serah. How fitting. If you don't mind me saying, mistress, you've a face far more gorgeous than any canvas; one I would anxiously hang upon my wall, if such loveliness could be captured."

Leliana watched her distractedly. "Wha… " Leliana's hand drifted back to clasp over her chest, fingers brushing the spot abstractly. She gave herself a little shake. "I mean, thank you, Ser… most kind." Hawke smiled, white teeth glittering, almost feral in delight. Leliana glanced to Stella, but the woman merely scanned the crowds present without care or notice of Hawke's flirtation. When her eyes turned back to Hawke, Hawke could practically feel the impression heavy in the air. Leliana, whether she knew or not what Hawke hid, and Hawke would bet the former, was taken with her. She's created the moment of unbalance and deftly utilized it.

"Leliana," Hawke's smile had gone easy, careful to maintain the favor with which Leliana had taken over her. She was the seductress now and it was a spot she wouldn't give. "I recall the invitation. You're the Duke's mistress?"

"Me?" Leliana startled, "Oh no. I'm just the hired minstrel."

Hawke's amusement was only colored by the confirmation. "Ah, a woman of dark secrets and music."

"Oh Ser," Leliana flustered. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean by that." Hawke was much too professional to openly smile, but the delight shone clear through her eyes.

"Which one of these fine gentlemen may be our good Duke, Serah? I would but have a word, if I may."

"Ahh," Leliana summoned up her returned posture in light of her error. Hawke couldn't blame her, really. Even well-trained as a bard, Hawke had years of experience since childhood on Leliana. It was truth more than arrogance that few stood a real chance against her charm. "Ser Arrigo entertains his hunters, mostly." Leliana gestured towards the back, where the posh nobleman with a face perfect for her throwing daggers stood conversing with two huntsmen demonstrating a bow.

His features were sunken, not emaciated, but the skin laced over fit bones pronounced in an unseemly fashion with an unattractive jutting chin, sprinkled lightly with dark hairs across the chin and dotting back into his hair, which was greasy enough to triple Hawke's own oils at the moment. It wasn't that he was horridly unattractive, but to Hawke, he might as well have been a fish for how appealing he appeared to her. "The Duke appreciates the finer conversation of the hunt, and does not approve of the feminine addition to such manly things, but for show."

"Ahh," Hawke had found an unexpected ally, at least for the moment. Leliana knew her indeed. "Then I shall present myself to him, it seems. Leliana, thank you greatly." Again, Hawke ducked slightly, but this time the chaste kiss touched her high cheek. "I'm most appreciative." Hawke departed quickly, Stella falling into step. Behind her, Leliana touched her cheek gently and glanced back, watching Hawke depart.

"Dear Maker," Stella whispered quietly as they made their way, "That turned me on. Are you always this arousing?"

"Only around beautiful women." That subtle quirk took Hawke's lips. She said nothing more until they drew near the Duke. Stella, though proving extremely valuable in all missions thus far, was still relatively new in her first year of field work. "Don't flop now."

At the sound of approaching footsteps, the Antivan Duke looked up from his demonstrators to greet the newcomer. His brow fixed when he looked about them, from Stella in her elegance to Hawke, who greeted him in a deep, masculine tone, long ago mastering the art of manipulating her vocals. "Duke Arrigo," Hawke tilted her head only enough to pass for politeness, refusing to bow to anyone. Stella faithfully curtsied, which quite evidently pleased the man.

"Greetings," the good Duke took in her armor before his eyes roved back to Stella again observingly. "I'm afraid I've a terribly many guests and I don't recall our meeting before?" His eyes swiveled back to Hawke expectantly.

"You wouldn't," Hawke admitted, "It's been some time for me. Duke, if you please, I'm Gamlen Amell. This is my wife, Nyssa."

"Gamlen?" The Duke's surprise was evident. "There's a name I've heard before. I thought your family fell into misfortune, Ser Amell, with a runaway bride and several bad investments?"

"Ahh, it did," Hawke confirmed, "I've since been building my fortunes back up, which is why I've not the chance to attend one of these fine hunting parties yet before."

"So I see," The Duke took in her leathers again, "You hunt yourself?"

"I do," Hawke confirmed, then paused. "Nyssa, perhaps you should go converse with your lady friends. This discussion is not suitable to your frailties."

"Of course, messre." Stella curtsied dutifully. "It was my pleasure to get a moment to meet you, High Duke. Thank you." Hawke was rather proud of the performance. She was, of course, completely mocking him, but done so in an elegant, most convincing manner.

The Duke was pleased. "By Andraste," the Duke declared, "What a lady. If only my wife were so obedient. Come, Gamlen, you must tell me your secret to how you got her that way."

"I purchased her young." Hawke allowed, "She's been trained and grateful all her life, the lass. I've made sure of it."

"Ahh," the Duke shook his head. "I've my own back home. She's a wily one; she'll take my orders and generally knows her place, but with a spirit too free. Sometimes she requires that extra kick into action. Born with all a manner of silly notions that women should be equally sated in the bedroom and learn skills unseemly to her place." Arrigo shook his head gravely, "I once took her to the Gnawed Noble Tavern in Denerim, where she watched a knife-throwing by me and my fellows. Afterwards, when in private, she asked if I could teach her!"

"The. Aud-acity." Hawke mocked.

"Yes, can you believe it?" The Duke agreed. "By the Maker, I had to lock her up a solid two weeks before she learned the ridiculousness. As if I would show her the skills of a Bard!"

"Quite outrageous," Hawke agreed solemnly, envisioning the knife she could slide through the back of his skull. "Women are much too frail for that."

"Oh, they have their uses," the Duke sighed, "when they know their place, like your good lady, if you don't mind me saying."

"Quite true." Hawke agreed again, wondering what Thedas exactly this man lived on. Perhaps he belonged to the Qun. "When they are tempered."

"There, there," Arrigo put a hand on her shoulder, motioning one of the waiters over. "I like you, Gamlen. Here," the server bowed with the plate, "Let us drink."

Hawke took the tall champagne glass that held merely a swig at the very bottom. "To quick and efficient punishment for those unworthy."

"Cheers," Arrigo clinked her glass and downed the little sip with her, making a face before he put the cup back. Hawke followed suit. "Come now, Gamlen. You are a hunter? Let me introduce you to my hunting band. This way."

Hawke could barely wait to slit his vile throat.