Well, practically.

Celene was wearing a bright red outfit that Rowena recognized as a tantric dancing gown from Rivain. Her midriff was completely bare, as were her shoulders, back, and arms. A long slit ran up the length of her "skirt", revealing finely toned legs, among other things... In short, she looked exactly like something out of an adolescent boy's deepest fantasies.

Leliana's jaw dropped. "Wha…What the…She looks like a…"

"I know," Rowena said disbelievingly. All throughout the room, eyes fixated on the empress, unable to believe what they were seeing. Celene, clearly enjoying the attention, seemed to be taking her time walking through the crowd. An infatuated nobleman's mouth quickly dropped open, and he began gaping at Her Majesty; however, his infuriated wife quickly snapped him out of his passions. With a death glare at the empress, the noble lady dragged her husband back into the crowd.

Rowena was disappointed—she had been hoping for a bit of hair-pulling at least.

Beside her, Alistair turned to her, eyes wide. "Sweet Maker,' he said in horror. "Does she even know where she is?"

"How disrespectful," Wynne said in distaste. "It's a good thing you tailored that gown, Leliana—otherwise, Rowena'd—"

Leliana gasped, cutting her off. "That explains it!" she hissed angrily. "She gave you that dress on purpose so you'd look like a bronto while she's being all seductive!"

Rowena swore loudly.

"Charmant," Celene said coolly as she approached the dais all of a sudden. "Tell me, Queen Rowena, do you always show such appreciation to someone who has thrown a magnificent ball such as this?" Before Rowena could answer, Celene looked closely at her, sniffed, and said, "Well, never mind that. It seems that you do not care for my opinion in any case."

It's taken you this long to realize that? Rowena thought dully. However, for appearance's sake she cleared her throat and said, "I'm sure if I don't know what you're talking about."

Celene's eyes narrowed. "My gown, Queen Rowena. You have modified the gown that I so generously gave you. I did not comprehend that Imperial taste was held in such little regard in Fereldan."

"On the contrary, Your Imperial Majesty, Her Royal Majesty loved your gown very much," Leliana said calmly, coming to the rescue. "However, I managed to convince her that there was too much material for tonight, with all the heat, of course. It's all my fault. But, it's for the best—these parties can get very overheated—you absolutely have to wear something light."

"As I see you've noticed, Empress," Alistair said, still bug-eyed.

"Oh, yes, King Alistair, do you like my gown?" Celene asked delightedly, doing a quick pirouette to show off the "back" of the "dress". "It is straight from the streets of Llomerynn, in Rivain—you know, the City of Sin?" Here she winked wickedly, causing Alistair to blush bright red and mumble something about spoiled Rivaini food.

"But what are we doing?" Celene said abruptly, standing back. "We are at a ball, are we not? One does not talk at a ball! Come, shall we not have some music!" She waved hurriedly at the musicians, who quickly started up a lively Remigold.

"Shall we, my king?" Rowena murmured slyly; with a grin, Alistair moved to take hold of her hand. Suddenly, however, someone coughed quite loudly from below the dais.

"King Alistair," the empress said, looking at him a little tensely, "surely you do not wish for me to be without a partner."

The two of them froze. "B-but…I-I…" Alistair stammered, caught off guard.

She raised an eyebrow. "The dance shall start any minute, my King."

Alistair looked back confusedly at Rowena, who felt a familiar mute rage blossom inside her. She opened her mouth to snap at Celene—however, she felt someone tug gently on her arm and turned around to see Eruestan, Leliana, and Wynne all glaring at her, telepathically telling her to back down. Stunned, Rowena slowly turned away from Alistair and sat down on her throne. Reluctantly, Alistair stepped down, grabbed a beaming Celene's hand, and assumed the starting position. Then the music intensified, and the two twirled away, leaving Rowena stewing behind.

While the nobles danced overheard, a young boy slipped through the kitchens towards a giant vat of soup bubbling over one of the many fires. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he pulled a small vial of clear liquid and quickly dumped its contents into the cauldron. With a smirk, the boy ducked back in the crowd, his deed unnoticed in the chaos.

Meanwhile, Rowena was so angry she was shaking.

"I'll kill her," she swore blackly. "I don't know when, and I don't know how, but I will kill her."

"Stop saying that," Eruestan hissed. "You know as well as I do that we can't afford to go to war with Orlais!"

"I don't care anymore, Eruestan!" Rowena snapped. "If she does something like this again, I will take her out, mark my words."

"Oh, don't let her egg you on like this," Wynne said wisely over a large burst of applause—the song had ended. "She just wants to show off a bit, that's all. No sense in blowing things out of proportion."

Suddenly, as the last bits of applause faded away, Celene raised her head cheerfully and cried, "But do not stop now! Gentlemen, a habanera, please!"

Rowena sat straight up in her throne. Habaneras were extremely sensuous dances from Antiva, full of gyrations, grinds, dips, and bends—Rowena believed a common phrase for them was "walking sex". Surely not even Celene would have so little tact as to do that right in front of Rowena?

Alas, Rowena was wrong—instead of stepping aside and letting Rowena take over, Celene began to perform a very seductive belly-dance, jiggling and twirling in front of a VERY uncomfortable Alistair.

Rowena spun around to Leliana. "By the Maker, where IS my swo—" However, she stopped as she realized that both Leliana and Eruestan were staring longingly at the dance floor.

"I-I'm sorry, what?" Leliana asked, shaking her head.

Rowena scowled, mood blackening even further. "Nothing. Go and dance."

"YAY!" Leli leapt to her feet and grabbed Eruestan, who managed to give Rowena a grateful smile before he was dragged onto the dance floor.

Still desperately needing to vent, Rowena turned to Wynne to see her frowning at a group of teenage nobles hanging out in the corner.

"One moment, dear," Wynne said, raising a hand and effectively hushing Rowena. "Those hooligans are doing something highly inappropriate to the statue of King Brandel! I'll be right back." With that, she briskly walked off to their direction, a very stern look etched on her face.

Annoyed with being the only person left on the dais, Rowena turned back to look at the dance floor, and immediately wished she hadn't. The song had reached a particularly slow segment, giving Celene the opportunity to twist and writhe all over Alistair, who responded with quite a few twitches and uncomfortable squirms. Rowena gripped the arm of her throne so tightly she began to lose circulation in her fingers, her fury causing her to tremble slightly. Then, all of a sudden someone came up behind her, bending towards her ear.

"Your Majesty," Guillame du Jader whispered sweetly, "you look upset. Here, have a drink—it'll do wonders for your nerves, I'm sure."

If Rowena hadn't been so infuriated at that moment, or if she hadn't been trying to keep her eyes on the dance floor, she might have seen du Jader silently spill several drops of a mysterious liquid into the cup. At the very least, she might have remembered Eruestan's warnings about the man and immediately became suspicious. Unfortunately, her anger was so great that it blinded her to the danger around her, and without a second's thought she seized the goblet and drained its contents in an instant.

As the queen drank, the palace guards meant to watch over Celene merrily doled out bowls of soup to each other down in their quarters below. It was an exciting night for them—in a few days time they would be leaving the palace on their ways to Antiva. And so they ate generously, gorging themselves. No one could taste the poison mixed into the meal—The Crows have standards to live up to, after all.

Alistair had never been so glad to hear a song end in his life.

As the last strands of music faded away, Celene whirled away coyly and said, "Well, that was fun, was it not?"

Alistair smiled weakly. Maker, what he wouldn't do to be able to sit back down now!

Maybe I can do that telepathy thing Eruestan read about, he thought wildly. DANCING IS BAD. SITTING DOWN IS GOOD.

Unfortunately, Celene didn't seem to be able to read minds, as she instantly called out, "A fandango!"

With an inward groan, Alistair assumed the starting position for the fast Nevarran dance, wishing all the while he was back on his throne cracking jokes with Rowena. As per tradition, the nobles in the room circled around the two of them, letting the highest ranked couple start out the dance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eruestan and Leliana give him sympathetic smiles—his attempt at smiling back came out as more of a grimace.

"King Alistair," Celene said through clenched teeth, "I am down here."

"Huh? Oh! Right, right, sorry!" He quickly stared back down at down at her and smiled weakly as they began to dance. "My thoughts were…elsewhere…" Boy, was that an understatement.

"Ah," Celene said with a sniff. "You were thinking about your wife."

"No, actually I was thinking about the Arl of Denerim," he said sarcastically. Then, upon seeing her confused face, "Er, that was a joke. You were right the first time."

Celene sniffed again, as if joking was something very crass and Fereldan-ish to do. "Hm. Well, let me frank with you, my dear king—I find your wife to be a bit…bizarre."

Alistair smiled fondly. "Yep, that's Rowena for you."

"It was not a complement," she said coldly, spinning under his arm. She smiled empathetically at him. "I do pity you."

He frowned. "I don't follow."

"Well, it is just so inconvenient!" she said, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. "To be weighed down with such a marriage, just because your wife is of high noble blood! What a nightmare!"

Alistair did not come to Rowena's immediate defense, mainly because he was too stunned to say anything.

"You know," Celene continued casually, "I was in such a situation myself once. The solution is quite simple—there are plenty of good assassins about that are very good at making murders look like accidents."

With that, Alistair stopped dead. "Rowena and I are very happy," he said quietly, a flame of fury lighting up behind his eyes.

Celene sighed. "Of course you are," she said sympathetically. "But you know, accidents do happen…and that's really what I wanted to talk to you about—"

"Oh, just shut u—" Alistair started to say, but suddenly a loud gasp from the crowd cut him off. Whirling around, he saw Rowena staggering through the nobles, blasting people to either side of her.

"There yeh are," she slurred. "Mind if I cut in?"

Alistair raised an eyebrow and leaned in to her. "Are you drunk?" he whispered confusedly.

"I don't know," she giggled, and then burped loudly—the sound ripped through the dance music and brought the players to a halt.

"How quaint," Celene said disgustedly. "Not that I expected any more, of course."

Rowena squinted at her as if trying to look through a sunburst. "Well, I've been expectin' yeh ter shut up this whole visit, and yeh haven't," she said, a slight Highever brogue breaking through her normally polished voice. "So I guess we're all a lil' disappoin'ed, ain't we?"

Celene stared at her in horror. "I beg your pardon?"

Rowena grinned nastily. "Oh, wha', the language too hard for yeh? How's this: BITCH, SHUT UP!"

Shocked whispers rippled through the nobles as Wynne and Leliana tried to break their way through to help. Alistair, however, was unsure of whether he should be mortified or highly amused.

"Rowena," Wynne said, smiling stiffly, "what in the name of Andraste are you doing?"

"Come on, let's leave," Leliana said quickly, grabbing Rowena's wrist.

"Oh, get ou' 'a here!" Rowena moaned, breaking free of Leliana's grasp. "The both 'a yeh! I'm sick an' tired 'a hearin' yeh gripe an' complain!" She darted to Alistair's side and put an arm around his waist. "I'll be dancin' with me husban' if yeh need me!"

"Oh, no no no," Celene said furiously, snapping out of her state of shock. "I am the one dancing with the king!" She jolted forward and snatched Rowena's wrist.

Big mistake.

With a snarl, Rowena snapped around and punched Celene in the eye. With a shriek of pain, the empress leapt back, clutching her head. Instantly, the entire Orlesian entourage seemed to converge upon Her Imperial Majesty and sweep her away as the collected Fereldan nobles screamed in dismay. Alistair, again torn between horror and laughter, turned to Rowena to see her swaying slightly on her feet, a very odd expression on her face.

"What is going on with you?" he asked in amazement.

She looked at him curiously, suddenly clutching her head. "I think might be dyin'," she said wondrously. Then she swooned and fell to the floor.

Acting as if in slow motion, Alistair slid on his knees and caught her before she hit the ground. Extremely alarmed, he searched her face in a panic, trying to tell what was going on.

She looked up at him and smiled sleepily. "Pretty Alistair," she said dazedly, a blissful expression crossing her face. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out for real.

"I NEED A MAGE!" Alistair bellowed, frantically scanning the crowd. As if on cue, both Eruestan and Wynne appeared at his side, arms outstretched as they examined her with their spellwork.

"What is it? What's wrong with her?" Alistair asked frantically when they didn't say anything. "Tell me!"

"Calm down, she's fine," Eruestan said quickly, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "It seems like she's just in a very deep sleep. She probably just had too much to drink, that's all."

"He's right," Wynne said soothingly. "You know that Highever accent always comes through when she's drunk. She'll be all better in the morning—well, relatively. I certainly won't want to have the headache she'll get tomorrow."

Slightly mollified, Alistair rose to his feet and looked sternly at the collected nobles, who were staring with fascinated horror at the scene. "Party's over," he barked. "Everyone out!"

There was a cry of protest; however, Leliana was instantly by his side with aide. "Hey! You heard His Majesty! Get out of here! Nothing to see!" For a rather small girl, Leliana could be mildly frightening when she wanted something done. Begrudgingly, the nobles began to clear out of the room, all muttering to each other under their breaths.

Alistair looked concernedly back at Rowena, who didn't seem to be responding to the rejuvenation spells Wynne was casting. Suddenly, someone tapped on his shoulder.

"Your Majesty," Guillame du Jader said softly, "what a shame that such a night had to be ruined."

Alistair scowled—he really didn't want to see anyone associated with Celene at the moment. "What do you want from me, ser?" he asked coldly.

Du Jader smiled. "My King, the queen is fine. You mustn't worry! Here, you should drink something—take this." He dangled a rather full goblet under Alistair's nose.

"B-but…Rowena…"

"My men will return the queen to her bedchambers, mark my words," the man said smoothly. "Now please, drink."

Something inside Alistair snapped. "Oh, get the hell out of here!" he said angrily, brushing him aside. With one last contemptuous look at the shocked Orlesian, Alistair stooped down and picked up Rowena in his arms, unwilling to trust his love (especially in a state like this) to any other man.

Meanwhile, in the guard post, the last of Celene's guards fell to the ground, clutching his throat. Around him, the still-twitching corpses of his comrades littered the floor, faces contorted in expressions of terrible pain. He fell to the ground with a thud, eyes rolled to the heavens, and suddenly he went limp, hand falling from his neck.

As he fell to the dust, ten shadows seemed to move from all throughout the room—from the corners, under the bunks, behind the chests, and many more. As these "shadows" began to don the armor of the now-dead guards, Guillame du Jader silently marched through the door, a look of triumph on his face. If things went as planned (as he knew they would), tonight would be a glorious night indeed.

Personal note: this chapter was supposed to be published on the same day as Chapter 8 in order to make the transition smoother. However, I was ripped away from the computer most cruelly before I could upload. Sorry for the inconvenience—I'd hate for you to think that I was resorting to such sensational measures as making the characters strip just for kicks!

Again, much thanks to all the completely awesome people who've subscribed/favorited/story alerted/reviewed. You guys are all AMAZING!

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