At eight o'clock in the morning Briala entered Mademoiselle's bedchamber like she always did, carrying a tray bearing a pitcher of fresh water and clean linens.

As was expected, the room was still dark, and the sounds of quiet breathing were still coming from the ornate bed in the center of the room. Briala set down her tray and walked over to the thick drapes covering the windows. "Mademoiselle, it's time to get up!" she announced, pulling on a velvet cord.

Celene Valmont groaned in agony as her curtains flew open, bathing her bedroom in light. The morning always came far too early. "No, Bria," she moaned, pressing her pillow to her face. "Can't you give me five more minutes?"

"Not today, I'm afraid." The elf moved to the other side of the room and opened the next set of drapes. It was a beautiful day; Celene's room looked out on the palace gardens, and on a day like that you could see all the way down to the lake. "Your parents want to have breakfast with you in the Blue Room."

Celene sighed and kicked off her silk sheets. She had a splitting headache and her mouth was terribly dry. Anticipating her request, Bria handed her a crystal goblet of lemon water, which she drank greedily. "Merci," she gasped, handing the glass back to her servant. "Saint Créateur,why do they always want to eat so early? I'm still hungover from last night, Mother's sure to notice."

"Oh, it'll make her happy. You know there's nothing Madame Clarisse likes more than to criticize," Briala said, smiling. "How was the ball last night?"

"Long, hot, bad wine." She smiled and stood up, stretching towards the ceiling. "Nine marriage proposals, though."

"Nine?" Briala laughed. "That's a new record, isn't it?"

"One that doesn't need to be broken, either." She winked and stood up from the bed, examining her face in the gold-framed mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Pushing back a strand of stray hair that had fallen out of her chignon, she quickly kissed the elf's cheek as she walked past carrying her gown from the night before. "What do I need with a husband, after all? I have my Bria, don't I?"

Briala rolled her eyes, though Celene noticed with pleasure that her ears had flushed. "You shouldn't talk like that, Celene," she muttered. "You know very well that I can't stay with you forever."

"Oh, bah." She threw off her nightgown, which Briala swiftly replaced with a new undershirt. Celene pulled her head through and examined how it looked in the mirror, adjusting it so that it fell evenly on her shoulders. "What good is being a member of the Imperial Family if I have to marry whatever halfwit makes the best claim for my hand?"

"Personally, I think it's about time you royals were made to do a few things," Briala said, slipping a corset over the dress and beginning to tie it. "How tight today?"

"Very," Celene said, sucking in her stomach. "Otherwise Mother will think I'm getting fat." Briala nodded and yanked the stays together, making Celene wince. "And I don't know what you're talking about, Bria, I already have too much to do," she continued, holding in her breath. "Parties, the theatre, hunting, balls, cotillions, talking to nobles, pretending to like nobles, juggling marriage proposals from nobles…" She winced again as Briala yanked again tightly. "Par le souffle du Créateur, wearing this corset is pain enough already."

"You know I sympathize with you," Briala said, finishing with the stays. "I do have to say, however, that in the grand scheme of things 'having too many parties' isn't the worst thing that could happen."

Celene rolled her eyes as Briala tested her face cream for poison with a small enchanted spoon. "I'm fully aware that most people go through much worse," she said as the elf began applying her makeup. "But it's not like these parties are just to have fun. It's always for the blasted Game. One wrong move and the entire family is shamed in front of the whole empire."

"Mmm-hmm," Briala said, setting down the cream and applying rouge to Celene's cheeks and lips. "At least you always have food."

"I got your point, Bria," Celene huffed. "Not too much makeup, I don't want to look like an actress."

"Speaking of which," Briala said, setting down the rouge and wiping her hands on her apron before pointing to the gowns laid out on Celene's bed. "What color will it be today? Red, and have your mother think you're a harlot, or blue, and have her think you look tired?"

Celene considered those two options for a moment. "Blue," she said finally. "At least I actually am tired." She sighed as Briala picked the gown up. "Maker, she's a monster."

"She just wants what's best for you," Briala said, pulling the gown up around Celene's ankles.

"No, she wants what's best for the family," Celene said, putting her arms through the blue silk sleeves. "It's different."

"In this country? Not really," Briala said, starting to tie the gown's laces. "It's not her fault that your success is also her success."

"Well, if Duc Prosper is right, my success will be very important to her," Celene said. "Let's face it, in her mind we've already moved into the Imperial Palace."

"Celene," Briala whispered, face suddenly grave. "Don't—"

"I know, Bria," she said, smiling. Briala sighed and clasped a diamond necklace around her neck. "But if I can't talk about it to you…"

"You can't talk about it to anyone," Briala said, stepping in front of her. She put a matching set of diamond earrings in her ears and stepped back to check the symmetry. "Not even me. Here, I should let down your hair."

Celene shook her head, pulling out a diamond clip that let her hair fall out of its twist in a cascade of gold curls. "This is all I need," she assured the maid. "I should just put on some perfume and go."

Briala nodded and picked up the bottle of rosewater Celene liked to wear. Before the princess could protest, the elf had matter-of-factly sprayed some on herself, checking for poison there as well. "Bria!" Celene said. "Stop doing that! I can bring someone else in here to check the perfume!"

"And then everyone would start wondering just why Mademoiselle Celene is so attached to her little elf maid," Briala said calmly, spritzing her neck with the bottle. "We don't need anyone asking any questions. I've already been working for you for too long as it is – I don't want to set any more tongues in Val Royeaux wagging."

"Mmmm," Celene said, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward. "What's this about wagging tongues?"

Briala giggled in spite of herself and rolled her eyes. "You're filthy," she teased, pretending to pull back. "And I don't have time for this."

"Time for what?" Celene asked innocently. She leaned in to kiss her, and this time the elf reciprocated. It was a kiss that smelled strongly of roses, and by the time they split apart a ray of sunlight was falling in through the window.

"You should get to your breakfast," Briala said, looking down to hide her flush. "I have work to do, anyways."

Celene sighed, taking a step back. "I wish I could give you a day off."

The elf shook her head. "I told you, it would only make things tense among the other servants – besides, I like the work." She smiled and grasped Celene's hand. "I have my responsibilities, too, you know."

There was a loud rap at the door. The two flew apart, Briala immediately busying herself with the laundry. Scowling, Celene grabbed the golden mask lying on her bedside table and tied it to her face. She then relaxed her jaw and assumed an imperious expression. "Entrez."

Her bedroom doors swung open. She could smell the estate's steward before she could see him, practically gagging on the stench of musk and pomade. "Mademoiselle Celene," he said, bowing before her. "I am to escort you to breakfast."

"Merci, Gaston," Celene said, acknowledging him with a slight incline of her head. She had immediately shifted to the stiff language of the court, letting her voice become less expressive and more clipped. "I shall be delighted to enjoy your company this fine morning."

"It is quite lovely, is it not?" He offered her his arm, which she took as he led her out of the room. Elven servants swung the doors shut behind them. She almost looked back, as she hated having to leave Briala without saying a proper goodbye. Still, she was able to stop herself in time. No one could know about her relationship, not even the family steward. Gaston was speaking again, and she quickly focused on what he was saying. "It seems that spring has finally returned to Val Royeaux," he said. "The capital is coming back to life once more."

They were walking down a beautiful hallway lined with marble walls and floor-length mirrors. The light made Celene's head hurt. "Val Royeaux is always alive, no matter the season, Gaston," she said. "Though I am anxious to see the flowers on the Champs d'Urthëmiel bloom once more."

"Indeed." The steward was sweating under his mask. It was a bit unsightly, which made Celene wonder if he liked the warmer weather as much as he claimed to. "It will still be pleasant to pass more time outside." He yawned, loudly, and stopped in horror. "Forgive me, mademoiselle."

Celene's smile didn't falter, but she instantly made a note to report it to the chief housekeeper. Servants of the Imperial Family did not have the right to yawn, especially ones ranked as high as steward.

He eventually led her to a set of doors manned by four servants, who bowed before Celene and pulled the doors open for her. Nodding at the steward, she walked into the Blue Room with her back straight and her head held high. As the name suggested, the walls were painted in various shades of blue, giving one the impression of being among the waves of Lake Celestine. Large windows looked out on the grounds, and off in the distance the spires of Val Royeaux could be seen just above the trees surrounding the park. A large mahogany table covered in fruit sat in the middle of the room, where her parents and a man wearing a familiar mask were already having breakfast.

"Duc Prosper!" Celene said, taken aback. She curtsied, glad that her mask had hidden her surprise. "Forgive me, I was not told you were here."

"He just arrived," her father, Prince Reynaud, said. His beard had been dyed bright red that morning and was curled to touch the underside of his chin. Eyes shining from underneath his golden mask, he motioned for his daughter to take her seat to his right. "Our cousin has come to invite you to the Grande Royeaux tonight. There is a premiere for a new play, and the whole city will be there."

"Oh?" She cursed internally. She had hoped to spend the night in. "What is its name?"

"'The Lion and the Dragon.'" Her mother was perfectly dressed, as always. That morning she was wearing a gown in green silk that was delicately embroidered with silver jasmine buds. Madame Clarisse was toying with a few pieces of fruit, careful to keep the juices off her fine silks. Being a Montfort, her mask was silver and shaped like a fox. "A fitting play for you to be seen at."

"I believe you say that about every play I'm invited to, Mother," Celene said carefully, taking her seat. A servant placed a small pile of fruit on her plate while another poured her a cup of tea. "I don't see what makes this one particularly special."

"It is the history of our family, Celene," Clarisse said firmly. "What's more, Duc Prosper tells us that the emperor himself plans to attend. There is no better way to emphasize your status as a member of the Imperial Family than to be seen in the same theatre as His Radiance, all while watching a play about your shared origins."

Celene took a sip of tea, and already her headache seemed to fade. "Very well," she said. "I promise you, though, if one more man proposes to me, I shall shave my head and join the cloisters."

"Ah, you have received even more offers?" Prosper asked, leaning forward. As always, his silver fox's mask looked strange and mocking, as if he knew something you didn't. "How many, if I may ask?"

Celene inclined her head. "You may, Cousin, they were all done publicly enough. Nine men proposed last night." She paused. "The Marquis of Serrault made an offer as well, but seeing as he is already married I took it to be a joke."

"Nine offers?" her mother said. "Saint Créateur, Celene, that is wonderful news! You should be quite proud."

"I would be prouder if I found any of them satisfactory," Celene sighed, swallowing a grape. "Forgive me, gentlemen, but at times your sex can be exceedingly dull." It was a line she used often, one that rebuffed her suitors yet made clear that she was waiting to be impressed. Her mother had come up with it for her, training her to say it in just the right tone and with just the right gestures.

"If you wait for a man to pique your interest, you shall die an old maid, my dear," Clarisse said, another old line she had written. She motioned to the nearest servant for more tea. "Few women have ever married men for their wit."

"I believe that was directed to me," Reynaud said.

"I have been far more fortunate than most women, mon cher," Clarisse said, tilting her head. "Thank you for the invitation, Cousin. Celene would be delighted to accept."

Celene took another sip of tea; in Orlais, the parent always accepted or rejected an invitation for the child. She hated it. Duc Prosper, however, bowed his head and said, "Excellent. I may even be able to gain her an audience in the Imperial Box."

"You are far too kind to us, cousin," Clarisse said, smiling as broadly as decorum would let her. "We accept with pleasure, don't we, Celene?"

Celene would rather toss herself from the White Spire than spend any more time in front of the depressed, tired emperor of Orlais. "It would be a great honor, Cousin Prosper."

"Then I shall make the proper arrangements." The duc stood up and bowed. "Forgive me, Cousin Clarisse, but I must be off. Business calls me back to the capital."

"Of course." The Valmonts rose as well, bowing to their cousin. "I shall see you tomorrow, Prosper," her mother said. "I do hope you enjoy yourselves at the theatre."

"Thank you, Clarisse. I shall call for Celene at dusk." Clarisse snapped her fingers. The servants leapt to their feet and opened the doors for the duc, who bowed once more and left the room.

The family sat in silence for a moment. "I do not like the theatre, Mother," Celene said, looking straight ahead out the windows. "And I would rather not be presented again to the emperor."

"That is not your decision to make, Celene." Her mother's voice was as cold as the marble floors. "If you wish for our plans to succeed, you must do as you are told."

Celene rolled her eyes, grateful for the mask that kept her mother from seeing her. "Their plans" only meant one thing: seeing Celene become Empress of Orlais. "If that should happen, I will need to know how to make decisions for myself," Celene said, trying to keep herself calm. "How can you expect me to do so if I can't even make the simplest ones now?"

"Luckily, you will always have your parents for that," Clarisse replied. "And after we are gone, your husband will make your decisions for you."

Celene looked up, horrified. "Mother!"

Her mother cut her off with a look. "Celene," she said, picking up her teacup, "do not speak to me in that tone of voice. You have clearly lost your sang-froid. You shall never master the Game with an attitude like that."

She was right, of course. "Forgive me, Mother," Celene said, bowing her head. "I am tired this morning, that is all."

"Ah, yes, I heard that you had perhaps a bit too much to drink last night." Clarisse shook her head. "Never have more than two glasses of wine a night, Celene, any more and you could forget yourself. But no matter, take a turn in the gardens today. It will clear your head, I am sure of it."

"I shall." Celene finished her tea and stared out the window towards the towers of Val Royeaux. How nice it must be to not have to worry about the throne, your family, or how much wine you're drinking, she thought. "What are your plans for the day?"

"I shall be meeting with Ser Jehan, from our estates in Val Aubin," her father said, twirling his beard. "Evidently the wheat harvest has been less fruitful than we had expected."

"And I am to go riding with la grande catin Calienne," her mother sighed. "She thinks that because she is a Ghislain she can look down her giant nose at the rest of us. She is too much to be borne."

"And yet we must," Reynaud said. "Gaspard has become remarkably cocky about his plans for the throne, we must all try to convince him that we are no threat to his ambitions."

"I know, mon cher," Clarisse said. "I will play my part as I always do, all for the sake of Gaspard and his horrid bride. I shall have that horse Calienne eating out of my hand." A bell rang in the distance. "That must be for me – I should be off. Reynaud, remind Ser Jehan that his family owes ours everything, and that if he cannot solve our harvest problems we will find someone else who can."

"Of course, ma chérie," Reynaud said. "I wish you luck with Madame Calienne."

"I shall need it." Clarisse rose from the table. "I wish you all a good day – and Celene, remember what I said about the gardens. Farewell."

"Farewell, Mother," Celene murmured into her teacup. The servants opened the doors for her mother, and with a rustle of skirts she left the room.

Celene and her father sat in silence for a moment. "Your mother has your best interests at heart, ma puce," Reynaud said finally.

"I know, Father," Celene said. The walls of the room suddenly seemed to spin; she wondered if her stays had been drawn in too tight. "Forgive me, Father," she said, setting down her teacup. "I feel somewhat faint – perhaps it would be best if I took to the gardens immediately."

"Very well." Her father clapped his hands, and a team of servants came into the room and began clearing the table. She rose to her feet and walked towards the door. "Celene?" She turned around. Reynaud's golden mask was glinting in the sun. "Do not forget your duty to this family, my dear."

Celene Valmont curtsied, her own lion's mask gleaming in the morning light as well. "I could never, Father." With that, she turned around and walked out the doors. "Call for my lady's maid," she murmured to the nearest servant. "I wish to take a walk."

Briala raced through the back halls of the Palais de Valmont, Celene's gown bundled in her arms. The fabric smelled strongly of rosewater, a scent that had long since been Briala's favorite. The cloth itself was smooth, like water, ten times better than the scratchy wool she wore. There were days when she longed to wear clothes of similar quality – those were the days she had to remind herself not to be silly.

A group of lesser maids were crowded around the entrance to the laundry room as she approached. "Well, girls, look who it is," Dosette, the leader, said. "The knife-ears."

"Glad to see you're improving your vocabulary, Dosette," Briala replied coldly. "You might even work your way up to 'elf' one day."

"You're always smart, Knife-ears," Hanine, the second-in-command, said. "You'll be taken down a notch one of these days, I promise."

"I'm already shorter than you as it is," Bria shot back, "how small can you possibly want me to be?"

"Yeah, you're short!" Maligne was without a doubt the least clever of the three.

"Scathing, Maligne," Briala said with every ounce of contempt she could muster. "Now ladies, I would love to stay and chat, but as you can see, I have Mademoiselle Celene's gown with me, and it desperately needs washing. You know she won't like it if she hears that you kept me from doing my work."

Scowling, the three girls stepped aside, letting Briala walk through. "Elf bitch," Dosette hissed as she passed by; Briala clenched her teeth and kept moving forward, head held high.

The laundry room was a massive pit underneath the palace, poorly lit and filled with men and women both elven and human. One side of the room was filled with large brass tubs filled with soap and water; the other side was devoted to drying, with hundreds of pieces of fabric hanging over vents that pumped in dry hot air. Briala instantly felt dehydrated. All around her, people were flushed and wet, taking great care not to sweat on the family's linens.

Wading through the crowd, she made her way over to one of the larger tubs where a tough looking elven woman was scrubbing a nightgown clean. "Maman," Briala said, kissing her cheek. "I have Mademoiselle's gown for you."

"Ah, finally." Her mother stood up and stretched her back, rubbing her weary eyes with sopping hands. Her simple wool dress was drenched with soap water. "Are there any wine stains on this one?"

"Not that I can tell," Briala said, placing it on the stone table near her mother. "Though she did say that she drank too much last night."

Sirini shook her head and began examining the garment. "She shouldn't take so many risks. The Game's hard enough as it is without drinking."

Briala shrugged. "She says it relaxes her, makes her more confident."

"Then she should learn to find her confidence elsewhere," her mother said. She sighed and tucked a strand of Briala's hair behind her ear. "But that's for you to tell her and not me."

"Maman," Briala sighed, "I don't have the sway over Celene you think I do. And even if I did, I wouldn't want to use that sort of influence."

"Don't be a fool, Bria," her mother said, lowering her voice. "We're elves. We mean nothing to these people. Whatever power we can find, we have to take."

Briala bit her lip. She hated when her mother spoke like that. Not only did it discredit her love for Celene, it discredited Celene herself. Sirini saw her expression and sighed. "That's enough of that talk for now, though," she said, touching her shoulder. "Did you have enough for breakfast?"

She nodded. "Porridge and butter – a bit of syrup as well." Her stomach grumbled slightly. "I wouldn't say no to lunch, however."

"Nothing I can do there," her mother said, sighing. "They might be clearing their breakfast soon, see if you can—"

"Miss Bria!" someone called from the door; she looked up to see one of the kitchen staff looking through the room for her. "Miss Bria! Mademoiselle wants to see you in the gardens right away!"

"Of course," she called back, bowing. She flashed her mother a quick grin. "No rest for the wicked, I guess."

"Maker preserve us," Sirini sighed, going back to her work. "I'll see you tonight, my Brialig."

Twenty minutes later, she was walking in the gardens, three steps behind Celene.

"She's the most aggravating, inconsiderate, condescending woman in Thedas, Bria!" Celene was saying, gesticulating wildly. Briala could only see the back of her head, which was glowing brightly in the sunlight. "She treats me like a child and expects me to listen to her every word from now until the day she dies!"

"Your mother only wants what's best for you, mademoiselle." Briala was careful never to address her by her first name in public.

"Oh no, that's where you're wrong," Celene said. Her long mane of hair shook violently as she spoke. "She doesn't care a jot about me, it's the family that she's interested in – a family she's not even a part of!"

Briala was shocked. "Mademoiselle…"

"You know it's true! She's a Montfort, what does she know about the Imperial Family?" Celene kicked at a rock and sent it skidding across the garden. "And then my father just sits there and says 'Oui, ma chérie' or 'Bien sûr, ma chérie', doesn't give a damn what I think or what I feel…Maker, my life is miserable…"

Celene often liked to pity herself. "The life of a Valmont is easier than most, mademoiselle," Briala said. She thought it was important to remind Celene of that; it usually gave her a bit of perspective. They were walking by the fountain now, the water shining like diamonds as it splashed through the air.

Celene laughed bitterly. "Stop saying that, Bria, it's not true. This is miserable. With my life signed away to every noble in the bloody continent and all the parties and ambition and these damn masks…" With a gasp of frustration she tore her mask off and threw it into the fountain, where it sank glimmering to the bottom. "I hate the Game sometimes, Bria," she said, sitting down at the fountain side. "I just wish I could walk away and leave all this mess behind me."

Briala sat down beside her. She had the sudden, crazy urge to say what she had been thinking for years. "You could, you know," she said, her heart beginning to race.

Celene frowned, her skin radiant in the morning light. "What do you mean?"

"You could give it all up now," Briala said. "Marry one of your suitors, have a few children, rejoin the Game when you're ready." Retire to the countryside, spend the rest of your life with me. They were foolish fantasies, but wouldn't they make everyone so much happier? Her heart beat even faster. "I imagine that'd be fairly easy, even."

Celene reflected on this for a moment, trailing her hand in the fountain's water. Briala was once again struck by how beautiful the Valmont girl was, and how lucky she felt to be loved by her. How could she ever listen to her mother and try to manipulate her? "I guess I don't hate it as much as that," Celene said finally, a small smile spreading across her face. Briala smiled back at her, masking the disappointment that immediately gripped her heart. "Maker knows I could never live in the countryside, and at least there's always lots of wine at all the parties. And besides," she said, stretching out in the sun, "I do like the sound of 'Empress Celene'. If I can keep that bastard Gaspard off the throne at the same time, then all the better."

"Spoken like a true Empress of Orlais," Briala said.

"You may be right." Celene stared at her warmly. "Oh, Bria, what would I do without you?"

Briala knew that Celene could never dare to kiss her in a place as public as the gardens; still, she couldn't help but wish that she would. "You won't ever have to worry about that, Celene," she murmured, letting the rush of the fountain cover up her transgression. "And you'll only have to listen to your mother for a little while longer. Once you're empress, no one can tell you what to do."

Celene sighed. "And I suppose in order for that to happen, I need to go to the theatre."

"Indeed. And in order for that to happen…" Briala stuck her arm in the fountain, letting the cool water go up to her elbow. The delicate gold mask shone like the sun as she pulled it out, making both of them look away. Drying it on her dress, she made sure it was warm enough before tying it tenderly around Celene's face. "There," she said gently, taking a step back. "Now you're the Lioness of Valmont. Time to let them hear you roar."