Aili heard Solas take a sharp breath through his nose as she trod on his foot for what was probably at least the fourth time. She winced before glancing down at her feet, trying to keep time with the music without tripping all over herself. These Shem dances were so clunky, and the thigh high boots she had been forced into were not helping matters.
"Sorry," she told him with a sympathetic grin. "Apparently, I am only good at courtly intrigue when it involves smiling at people as they insult me, climbing garden trellises, and breaking into rooms no one is supposed to be in. If closing rifts required me to waltz, I'd be seriously concerned about the future of Thedas."
"Dancing with Duchess Florianne did not seem too difficult for you," Solas noted, his voice a mix of mild exasperation mingled with amusement.
"I was leading," she explained sheepishly. "That made it easier to hide the times I stepped on her dress. That dip I did at the end wasn't actually supposed to happen. Luckily, I caught her before she hit the floor."
"Is that so?" Solas laughed. "I was about to be flattered by the notion that all this flailing might be induced by your current partner."
"Oh, believe me, that is definitely part of it," Aili flashed him a smirk, "though I'm probably distracted by your interesting choice of headwear more than anything else. Its ridiculousness makes it hard to focus on dancing."
"I like this hat," he said defensively, his brow furrowing slightly.
"You sound like Cole," she said with a snort of laughter. "Did he help you pick it out?"
"No." He frowned at her, but there was a distinct sparkle of mirth dancing in his eyes. "I told you, it is the helmet of-"
"I know, I know," she chuckled as she cut him off. "You and your quiet rebellions, silently mocking our gracious hosts." She heaved a dramatic sigh. "What am I going to do with you?"
"I can think of a few suggestions," he informed her helpfully, quirking his lips into a roguish grin. She rewarded him with a laugh, but the distraction also caused her to step on his foot again, making him grunt in mild pain.
"Oh! I'm sorry, Solas," she said through her giggles. "I'd offer you a kiss as an apology, but I'm afraid your hat might stab me in the eye."
"Perhaps later, then," he suggested warmly. "The helmet is an obstacle easily removed, but it would be scandalous for the Inquisitor to be seen fraternizing with her serving man."
"Nonsense!" she replied, with a falsely affronted air. "What do you think an elven serving man does in Orlais?" Aili waggled her eyebrows at him. "He is there to service his mistress's every whim." He laughed and shook his head at her.
"When did you become such a minx?" he asked, pretending to be shocked as he slid his arm more securely around her waist. "I could have sworn that less than a month ago, you were blushing every time I glanced in your general direction."
"I must be learning from someone," she replied smilingly, stepping even closer than the dance required. "Is it a bad thing?"
"Not at all," he assured her in a low voice, leaning down to kiss her.
"A-hem!" A nasally voice interrupted them from the doorway before their lips could touch. A barrel-chested man with a well-developed paunch that could not be completely held in check by his richly embroidered doublet was standing there with a sneer that could not be obscured by the opulent mask he wore. He offered Aili a frilly little half bow, which somehow still managed to seem arrogant.
"My Lady Inquisitor," he began in a simpering tone, "there is no need for someone as beautiful as you to end the evening dancing with a servant."
It took every last scrap of social grace Aili had to step out of Solas' arms in order to answer the nobleman's bow with a slight curtsy. It was a little thing, but she hated the knee-bending, especially here, the place where her people were supposed to have built their own nation, and especially to fat useless men who had never thought beyond their own personal gain and when the next meal was going to be served. She forced a smile.
"You flatter me-" she began, hoping the man couldn't discern how badly she wanted to tell him to go shove his head into a privy.
"Vicomte Jean Renald de Bouchard," he interjected in a grandiose manner that clearly indicated that he expected her to know who he was. There was a pregnant pause as Aili scrambled to think whether there was some reason this man could be of some importance to the Inquisition. She drew a blank.
"You are very kind, My Lord, but…I'm afraid I have already promised this dance to my friend here," she informed the Vicomte in a tone that she prayed came off as diplomatic and disinterested.
"To a nameless serving man with terrible taste in clothing?" the noble scoffed. "Do be serious, My Lady. Despite your unfortunate origins, you are now a woman of rank and respectability. You have won peace for Orlais this evening, and rallied a great number of allies to your cause. Do not ruin it over something as ridiculous as consorting with the help."
"Solas is-" Aili started hotly.
"More than willing to release you from our engagement, My Lady," he said smoothly, bringing her hand to his lips and giving her a meaningful look. "We shall have to save our dance for a less auspicious evening."
"Quite right," the Vicomte sniffed haughtily, oblivious to the coldness in the elven man's eyes as he passed him the Inquisitor's hand.
She allowed Vicomte de Bouchard to lead her away a few steps, but then she hesitated, biting her lip as she looked back over her shoulder. Solas' face would have looked almost expressionless to a stranger, but it was plain to Aili that he was just as indignant as she was about having one of their few moments of romance spoiled by some fop with an inflated sense of self-importance. Her lover was not typically one for jealousy, but his hands were clenched at his sides and his blue eyes burned into her, wanting. He was too controlled to act on his desires, but that didn't mean that she had to be.
Aili wrenched herself free of the Vicomte and strode imperiously back towards Solas with her head held high. He furrowed his brows and shook his head at her minutely, trying to signal her to stop, but she ignored him, walking right up to him and yanking off his pointy helmet in one smooth movement. She lobbed the offending headwear over the banister and out into the night and, before he had a moment to complain, she grabbed Solas' face with both hands and kissed him soundly.
Solas gave a surprised grunt, the Vicomte gasped noisily in offense, and a distant splash followed closely by a startled shriek sounded from somewhere in the garden below them. Adapting quickly, as he always seemed to, Solas wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer, a pleased hum rumbling up from his throat as she slid her tongue into his mouth. The nobleman let loose a string of rapid disgusted-sounding phrases in Orlesian as he stomped back into the ballroom. Solas broke from their kiss with a breathless laugh.
"That was...less than subtle," he snorted in mild disbelief, a wide smile scrawled across his features. "Josephine will be lecturing you for weeks to come."
"Perhaps," she admitted with a blush and a toothy grin, "but was it worth it? Now we can dance the rest of the evening." He leaned down and kissed her again.
"Then I suppose it is fortunate I am wearing closed-toe shoes." he said glibly. Aili laughed, and lightly knocked the toes of their boots together.
"At least they're good for something."