As had become habit, Alistair found himself abandoning the long list of duties he was supposed to be attending to, and wandering to his wife's favourite drawing room. The one that faced the sun in the morning, with the red satin couches that wouldn't show blood if she came in wearing her armour.

His stomach flipped with jittery excitement. Being King meant he was constantly kept busy, but going through a day without annoying Cousland was simply out of the question, and most of the jobs he was given could wait a day or two.

Besides, that infuriating woman had started dealing with all the important work. Typical. Stupid, tricksty -

"Alistair," he had entered the room without noticing, and Odette smiled at him from behind her desk, eyes crinkling with amusement as he blinked stupidly. "Shouldn't you be in court?"

"Oh. Is this not the court room?" The jokey façade came too easily to him around her. There was something about Cousland that made him want to act like the fool if it meant she would laugh, even more so now that she was back. Maker, but he was glad she was back. It had been two months since the Queen's emotional return, and the sight of her sleeping next to him once more still made his nose fizzle in that way that meant you were about to cry. "My apologies your majesty," he gave her a low bow, complete with an overdramatic hand flourish. His cheeks heated at the enticing giggle that rewarded him, "I appear to be lost… again."

Odette tutted, abandoning her papers and leaning back in her seat as he prowled closer. "Don't be ridiculous. A king is never lost. The court will simply have to come to you."

"Oh I don't think we need them here, not with what I have planned."

"Uh huh. And pray tell, my king, what is it you have planned?"

His grin turned positively roughish, or at least, he hoped it did. Wooing her didn't always pan out like he hoped, and Alistair had come to accept the maddening fact that his wife would always be two steps ahead of him.

"I have many things planned… naughty things… naughty… planning, er, things. That I have planned. Myself."

"Alistair?"

"Yes?"

"Stop."

"Right," he chuckled and moved around her desk. Odette sat up in order for a kiss, but he ignored her lips and moved straight to her neck, nuzzling into the soft skin as he reigned little pecks up towards her ear.

"Hmmm," her hands slid over his shoulders, tugging him further down. Her hair smelt like lemons, a vain attempt to dye the locks a lighter blonde, a fact he loved about her. Cousland could stomp into an important meeting full of waiting ladies, wearing dented armour, face bare of orlesian paint nobles were always buying her, and sword swinging at her hip. Yet she looked after her hair like any pampered lady, brushing it into soft waves, spending forever trying to keep each lock that golden colour he'd grown to adore.

With her hair in mind, he gave into temptation and sank one hand through the silky curls, teeth nibbling on her ear lobe whilst the other hand stroked across her tummy.

A mistake.

Odette's mood quickly changed for the worse, and she sighed, twisting her head from him. The peaceful bliss slid from her face and was replaced with a weary sorrow. She grasped his hand on her stomach, glaring at the table whilst Alistair looked on, perplexed and still pouting.

"That reminds me, my moon's blood started this morning."

"Oh." He rose to his full height, shrugging. "Theres still plenty of other stuff we can do, Cousland."

"That's not what I meant." Odette snapped out the words coldly, and flashed him a rare glare she usually saved for politics and darkspawn, not him. The tension turned cold, but her anger was quickly replaced once more with exhaustion, and Alistair felt his own features begin to mimic.

"I know what you meant." He said softly, stroking her back.

"I just… I thought without the calling… the taint…"

"That you'd get pregnant straight away? Give it time."

"You've been saying that for years. I've given it time. I'm sick of giving it time."

In his humble opinion they'd worn this conversation to death. Babies were constantly on her mind. And they were on his too, Alistair simply took the job of optimist whenever they were both upset over the same thing, no matter how much effort that took.

"Advisers been nagging you for an heir again?" He asked, walking back around the desk and pulling a plump chair up. He collapsed into it, perched his feet on the desk, then frowned as they were immediately pushed off.

"No. Well, yes. But that's not why I'm sad. I just… I really want one. Or two. Or half a dozen." Her hand was twirling faint circles over her abdomen, and Alistair fought the urge to announce how he wanted the same. She had enough pressure already. No need to add to it.

He needed to distract her. Bring up a different topic. Any topic.

"What were you working on?" He tried poorly, nodding to the papers on her desk. "Warden business?"

Amazingly, it worked. Or maybe she knew what he was doing and had taken pity on him. That was more likely, but Alistair would take any win he could get. "No. I had to go through the invitation list again. Ugh. I hate balls. Why do we have to have so many?"

"Because I lurve party food."

"Oh. Right. Of course. How could I forget? It's clearly not because your ambassador bullies you into having them." She wiggled one eyebrow, and his cheeks flamed red.

"Yes, well. Just because no one scares you. Who have you invited anyway?"

"I wanted to play it safe, so pretty much everyone. Duke Ashford. The Inquisition. Empress Celene…"

"Wait. Who?"

"Empress Celene. I don't think she'll travel all the way for a such a simple function, but Lady Visgray says we have to invite her any – "

"No. No. The Inquisition? You invited the Inquisition?!" He scoffed, shaking his head and grabbing the invitation list, holding it close to his nose. "Does that mean The Inquisitor will be here? In our home?!"

"No, Alistair. I invited the entire Inquisition apart from the Inquisitor. Honestly," Odette leaned forward and snatched the piece of paper back before Alistair could meddle with it. She'd had too many important documents marred with silly doodles from her man-child of a husband. "You know you mention her an awful lot. You talk about her more than me. And you're always talking about me." The look she gave him next was dangerous, but Alistair noted the small playfulness that crinkled her eyes and so didn't start sweating nervously, too much. "Have something to tell me, dearest husband?"

"What? No! I just… I don't like her. She bullies me… more than my advisers." He whined, childish voice earning him a very satisfactory eye roll.

"How much on a scale of one to ten? One being Wynne, and ten Morrigan."

"A solid Zeveran."

"Ooh. That bad eh?" She laughed again, rising to her feet and walking closer. As soon as Cousland was in reach he was grabbing her hand and pulling her onto his lap, noting smugly how he received no protest. "Be that as it may," Odette said, trailing his jaw with one thumb, "shes invited. Her husband too."

"Hmph. Well, you're dealing with her then."

"That's fine by me. She can't nearly be as bad as you make out. Do you know, I hear she has children already? A girl and a boy. Apparently she was pregnant mere months after the wedding."

"I went to their wedding. She gave birth mere months after. We're not meant to talk about it."

"Oh it sounds so… perfect."

"Patience, Cousland." He captured her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, heart wrenching. "Patience."