There it was, the moment Zevran knew his oath of loyalty was not finished. As he watched the newly crowned king list off the things he would be willing to bestow upon Isabelle, there was one thing missing. What she wanted. She wanted to be with the king. Isabelle loved Alistair, and Zevran had been graced (cursed) with front row tickets to the spectacle that was their courtship. Part of him had been entertained by the simplicity of it, a mage and ex-Templar. They were young, inexperienced and clumsy. All the winks, coos and purrs warmed a weird forgotten place in his heart. When it came time to choose a new king, Zevran had thought Alistair would sweep Isabelle into his arms and they'd ride off into the sunset. All those dreams came to a screeching halt when Alistair came into the gathering room and, in front of all of her friends, shattered her heart.

Up there on the dais Alistair asked her to pick a boon. Her answer was not audible, Zevran could see that the air has been sucked out of her lungs while she stammered something. He watched as Alistair leaned over and whispered so only she could hear. You didn't have to be a sneaky assassin to know what he was asking of her, but it helped. The rose tint that came to Isabelle's cheek and the tiny hint of hope and an unsure smile danced on the edges of her lips. He'd asked her to meet him upstairs after everything was over.

Prick.

Zevran watched as Isabelle stepped down and made her way around the room. She looked stunning. Her auburn curls had been stacked loosely on top of her head with a few left around her face to soften the features. The curl he'd watched her blow out of her eyes countless times still taunted her face. Someone had poured her into a lovely golden gown with blue trim. The crinoline under the skirt gave her a floating appearance. The dress accentuated all of her positives. He'd tried to see if she'd had any negatives over the last several months and had come up short. Isabelle was sweet, giving, funny - she had a wit about her that would make a Silent Sister laugh.

Despite his constant coaching, Zevran had yet to be able to teach her how to separate her heart from her nether regions. Over time she'd come to confide in him. The gesture at first had confused him, but who could refuse the company of such a beauty. They'd spend nights around the campfire talking about life and dreams. He'd spent those same nights trying to come up with ways of convincing Isabelle to let him bury his...dagger...in her, but eventually there came a time when he cared for her more than just a lustful icon. She became his friend. She was innocent and quite possibly about to make the worst decision of her life. Maybe second worse. She had just made Alistair king. Zevran knew he had to do something. She deserved more.

"Ah Bella." Zevran said as he swooped in next to her, his right arm going around the small of her back to rest his hand on her upper hip. "That gown looks absolutely ravishing..."

Isabelle gave a little eye-roll and a devious grin. She tucked herself into his side. "Oh and I'm sure your next sentence will be..." She cleared her throat and used her best Antivan accent, "...it would look even more ravishing in a pile on the floor of my room."

"Actually I was going to say cut off your body in thin strips by a very cold dagger..." Zevran looked at his fingernails examining them nonchalantly. "...and then left in a pile on the floor in my room..."

Isabelle's breath caught in her throat. Blink. Blink. Sigh. "Thank you, Zev. That was absolutely awesome. I'm going to remember that one."

"Anything for you Bella." Zevran laughed. "Oghren and I are going to be leaving shortly to go to the Pearl for a little drunken debauchery. This courtly business is best left to the nobles, yes?" Zevran watched for her to cringe slightly, which she did. "Come with us. You can even wear that fantastic dress..."

"I...uh..." Isabelle's eyes shifted nervously. "...have plans for after...this."

"My dear Bella, you should be standing up there with him, not sneaking upstairs afterward." Zevran said, leaning in close to her ear. He took a quick peek over his shoulder to see if Alistair was watching them. He was.

Correction, Royal Prick.

Isabelle's face fell. "How did you...?" She started to tremble slightly.

"Do not let him see you cry." Zevran hissed. "There will be time for tears later. Now, quickly, smile and laugh like I just said something roguishly funny." He quickly spun her around and faced her towards him, placing his hands on the sides of her hips.

Isabelle brought up both of her hands to cover her lips with her fingertips. "Well, your use of the word 'roguishly' is kind of funny." She laughed. Then, as if she finally realized the plan, she twittered and placed an 'oh stop it' hand to his chest. Through very clinched teeth and a pressed giggle she said, "Maybe I should stay. Maybe things will change."

Zevran leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "Bella, look at him. He is a boy made king. He lacks the bravery to face an entire kingdom for his heart. Do you really want to stay here and have your heart broken every night?"

Isabelle turned to look over her shoulder at Alistair, "Zev, I don't know if I can just walk away, I'm not sure I have the strength."

"Then we will find your strength," Zevran said as he gingerly turned her face back towards him and brushed her rogue curl from her eye. He could feel Alistair's glare burning. "Even if it means drinking the entire store of ale in the Pearl." He brushed the side of her face gently with his thumb. "If tomorrow you're still content to be his secret, you can return. Let him sleep alone tonight. Now, go. See your adoring fans, Hero of Ferelden. After the crowd clears grab on to Oghren's beard and do not let go. I don't want him wandering off and drowning in his own vomit and I don't want you sneaking upstairs."

"...but my things..." Isabelle started to protest.

"Leave that to me." Zevran winked. As Isabelle turned to leave, he gave her hindquarters a smack. Her squeal of pain made his grin wider. He turned around and gave Alistair a very level and smug look.

Now if I were a mistress...how would I sneak upstairs?