"I need to speak to Anora first."

Anora wasn't sorry. She wasn't sorry for betraying her, for not respecting their agreement or for speaking unfair false words about her in front of the landsmeet, for all the nobles to hear. She was even angry at her, for considering not holding her side of the bargain now. She believed she was in her right, that she was doing what was best for her country. She did everything wrong, betrayed everyone, for reasons she thought were just but were not. Like her father.

She could not be queen. It would be like putting Loghain on the throne. Someone who couldn't admit mistakes, or defeat. Also, she would certainly have Alistair killed, since he was the one who executed her father. She had been standing so close when he dealt the final blow, her dress was still stained with splatter of her father's blood. Her elven maid had wiped her face clean, though.

"I want to talk to Alistair as well."

There was no convincing Alistair, because he knew and understood all of her arguments. He understood duty and honour, the importance of the royal blood in his veins, the need for unity. He just didn't think enough of himself to believe he could be a good king. There was also that which they never talked about, always delaying the discussion for another time, a less critical time (as if they ever had those). He knew, as well as she, that their relationship could not survive his coronation. He would let her go, he would do the honourable thing. If she forced him to accept his duties, he would be dutiful to the end. As she was talking to him of blights and crowns and traditions, he stood before her, his eyes widening, his gaze pouring into hers: " I don't want to be king,", his eyes were saying. "Please don't make me king". He looked for all the world like the boy he must have been, caught in politics too big for his young age, lost and alone and desperate, and suddenly she gasped in recognition:

"I have seen you before," she whispered, so low even he didn't hear.

Kaylee burst in her father's study, her eyes aflame.

"… and so I'm bringing him to Denerim to…" an old man was saying to her father, but she interrupted him. She had important things to say.

"Fergus says I'm not a princess!" she yelled, closing her little hands into fists. "I could SO be a princess! You always call me princess! Aren't I a princess, father?"

The teyrn of Highever gave a little smile of excuse to his interlocutor, then rose from his chair and bent to catch his little girl. He lifted her up effortlessly and put her down on his work desk, taking in the sight of her. She had put on her best dress (the one made with foreign silk that was reserved for welcoming honoured guests of the castle), had one of her maids do her hair in an elaborate fashion (it had taken hours of patience) and had even stolen a bit of makeup from her mother's room. Her feet ached in the tight uncomfortable shoes she had to wear with the dress, her pulled up hair hurt her scalp, but she knew she looked royal. At least, how royalty should look, according to her.

"Mmm…" said Bryce Cousland, looking thoughtful. "No… no, I don't think you could be a princess."

Kaylee gaped, wordless, at this betrayal.

"You see, young girl," her father continued, not entirely able to conceal his smile, "princesses are always very polite and composed and welcoming to guests. They do not burst into rooms or yell at their father. Now, isn't there something you should be saying to someone right about now?"

She looked at him with a blank expression, but then comprehension lit her face. She whirled around and bowed in the most profound and perfect reverence in front of her father's guest.

"Welcome to Highever, most honourable sir. I am very thoroughly profoundly sorry to have interrupted your meeting with my father, but, you see…" ( she paused, chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully, but stopped when she realised this was not very princess-like) "… I had a matter of the utmost importance to bring to his attention."

She had heard a messenger said that once, and had been impressed by the gravity of the expression. She thought it appropriate in the circumstances.

"It is quite all right, my dear lady." The man smiled at her. "A matter of this importance could not, in fact, be delayed. I understand completely."

She turned around to look back at her father and arched an eyebrow questioningly. He laughed and caught her again in his arms, gathering her and all her silks in his lap.

"You sure have the manners down," he smiled, "but I'm afraid you're still only a Teyrn's daughter. Isn't that enough?"

She thought about that, but finally shook her head.

"No," she said stubbornly. "I want to be a princess."

"Well, then, I guess you'll have to marry a prince! Do you know any princes?"

"What if…" she began, thinking hard. "What if I married prince Cailan!"

"I'm sorry, pup, but prince Cailan is already engaged. He has been for a long time."

Both men were smiling then. She frowned as she went deeper in her thoughts, not ready to give up the dream.

"What if… what if Cailan had a brother? Would he be a prince too? Could I marry him?"

The smiles faded slowly from the men's faces, and they look at each other with a strange expression.

"I suppose you could, couldn't you? You're a Cousland after all…" said her father's guest. "But… I'm very sorry, young girl, prince Cailan has no brother."

She thought about that for a while, then got up.

"I can still be a princess," she said, "if I really want to." She did not want to sound as though she was giving up. "But now I'm going outside to watch Fergus train."

"You better get out of that dress first, or your mother will have your skin… and mine," her father advised, smiling again.

She started running out of the study, then slowed down, composed herself, and got out in her most dignified manner, leaving behind her two men staring at each other intently. In the corridor leading to her room, looking at her feet and still trying to pace herself, she almost bumped in a young boy, sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, playing distractedly with a wooden sword. His clothes were not as good as hers, but she could tell he was not a servant either. Still trying her best to be a princess, she bowed deeply and smiled her most polite smile:

"Hello, kind sir. May I help you today?"

"I… well I…" he stammered. He got up. "I'm looking for… ah… no matter."

He bowed his head and kept his eyes on the floor, walking away slowly, but she had caught his gaze for a split second…

Her head snapped, and she looked at arl Eamon. He couldn't have remembered. But then… was that a small smile on his lips?

"I am ready to choose."

Alistair bowed his head and took his place slowly, looking at his feet. She almost laughed, but bit back her smile. It wouldn't have been appropriate.

"As the arbiter of this dispute, what is your decision?" arl Eamon asked, and because she was listening for it, she heard it. The smile he was biting down himself, she heard it in his voice.

"Who will lead Ferelden?"

"Alistair will be king, and I will rule beside him."

She kept her face straight, looking right ahead. If she looked at him and saw disappointment or anger on his beautiful face, she would crumble helplessly.

"Really? You will?" he said, and hard as she tried she could not read his tone. He mumbled something to himself then, something she did not catch.

"Anora, the landsmeet has decided against you," she heard the calm, assured voice of arl Eamon say.

The rest of the speech was lost to her. It was all she could do just to stand there and not run wildly out of the room. Her breath was quick and ragged, her heart was pounding so hard she couldn't hear anything anymore. When Eamon nudged her subtly, she realised Alistair was talking now. Half turned towards her, he shouted in the most artificial tone, not meeting her eyes:

"Shall we finish this thing together?"

She dropped her head, hiding her troubled face in a deep bow.

"I could do no less, my king," she managed to answer, her tight throat letting the words pass with difficulty.

Someone grabbed her hand then, and she was dragged out of the landsmeet with the rest of the crowd. She tried to get a look at Alistair, but Arl Eamon was taking him aside to talk some more, and she only got his back. Once outside, Wynne gave her hand a last reassuring squeeze before heading for the arl's estate. She waited for a while, but he didn't come out, so she started walking.

It took her a while, but she found her way back. She entered the estate to find everyone sitting at a table, waiting. Unable to settle down, she began pacing the room restlessly. Leliana appeared beside her and slid her arm under hers.

"I saw him, you know," she said. "When we left? I saw his face."

Kaylee just looked at her, unable to speak, to ask…

"He was smiling," she said. "Grinning broadly. Like a fool, some might say."

Kaylee pondered that for a second, then did some foolish grinning of her own.

The door opened and Alistair stepped in, looking radiant in his kingly armour.

"So, strange story, tell me if you heard this one…" he began, smiling shyly. She smiled back.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked her. She slipped her arms around his neck.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I've always wanted to be a princess."