AN: Thank you to JadeSelket for the wonderful review. As it is my first, I am blown away by such lofty praise.

A special shout-out to analect for being the best beta on the planet - your suggestions and feedback are invaluable. Thank you so much.

Finally, the title of this story has changed. Formerly "Sometimes Quite Often" now "The Center of Heaven" taken from a verse in the Chant of Light. The reason for the change will come much later in the story (and I am estimating about 37-40 chapters total).

9:26 Dragon, Autumn

The Starkhaven Circle Tower wasn't black like so many other Circle Towers around Thedas; it was white and gold. Built of white stone and decorated with marble and copper, its pristine walls stretched higher than any building in Starkhaven. From its peak, a great white spire shot upwards with pride. Sometimes at night, Samantha could see beams of light shine out from that spire.

A plaque, old letters etched in bronze, was affixed to each of the four gates, but Samantha had only seen the one behind Ser Langley's head – a note about how an ending was also a beginning. Just like a Circle, she thought.

From her perch in Innley's window, the Circle Tower looked as majestic as the Chantry, but without any windows it more closely resembled a giant white tomb. Like those Corbinian had described in Nevarra, it was beautiful, immaculate, and decorated lavishly without thought to expense. Except this one housed living people. Even if they had seemed as hollow as corpses.

Innley's room had been stripped of all of his things and replaced with new things. Pretty things. His bed was now a rose-colored sofa, his favorite paintings were now woven tapestries and stone carvings, the trunk which had held his clothes from when he was an infant was now a harp, and his stick collection had become a casualty of redecoration. Innley had been obsessed with sticks when he was a small boy, and it had driven their mother mad. Every day he would walk through the door, covered in dirt and holding a new stick for his mother to take away. Yet even so, he managed to collect more than a dozen of every twisted shape. Her parents had steamed at the collection's reveal, staring at the stashed-away secrets with revelation, as though the hidden sticks had been the truth about Innley.

It didn't really matter if she sat in his room or not, because her brother's shadow hung over everything. Over the missing chair at the dining room table, over the downstairs study where he would practice his letters, and over the picture of flowers on the hallway wall where his portrait had once been. Like the horrible stain that he had left on the family could simply be blotted out with pretty drawings.

The swelling anger over the unfairness in all things birthed feelings of sedition, plots of vengeance and escape – but to where? And to what? What did she know about life outside the walls of her home? Eventually, the truth about Samantha became her inaction, for what could a noble's daughter of no importance, title, or wealth do against the might of the Circle? Such thoughts did not leave easily, and Innley's circumstance dominated her body with an abundance of emotion.

Her maid appeared in the doorway, and she had the decency to look apologetic. Ruxton Harimann's name day party was that evening and Samantha wasn't dressed; not surprisingly, she wasn't in the celebrating mood. Even though it had been almost half a year since she had seen Innley, she knew he was still in that cell. Isolation chamber, she thought snidely. She knew what it really was.

She dragged herself from Innley's window, and padded down the hallway to her room, glowering at the painting of flowers that used to be her brother.

Ruxton's favorite color was blue, and he had invited everyone to wear it on this day. Themes and colors were not unusual for parties, but it was unusual for Ruxton to have a party. If it were up to him, as he told Samantha, he would never have chosen such an elaborate celebration, but the Lord and Lady Harimann had chosen his sixteenth name day to grant their son one of their smaller estates in Cumberland, a coastal city to the southwest, near Orlais. As such, he would be given the title of minor Lord, which was good enough to reason to celebrate as any.

Her maid had laid out her dress for the evening, a light blue gown made of silk and lace with a trail of dark blue ribbons that cascaded down the length of the skirt. More ribbons for her hair and the sleeves, with silver and blue jewelry to match. Her lack of enthusiasm had to be noticeable, but the maid went about her routine with the patience that only a servant could endure.

When her mother came in to see to her final touches, she didn't say a thing about her daughter's disposition. Sometimes, Samantha thought that she was hiding it really well, until she would glimpse her reflection in a mirror or a window and see a sad girl moping. Why did her parents never say anything? Did they not see it? Did they not care? She caught herself staring at them sometimes, after dinner or during service. They spoke casually, their eyes focused on the space in front of them but on nothing in particular. Did they see the world? Did they see themselves?

"Darling, you look lovely! Corbinian will adore this color," her mother gushed. Sometimes, she sounded as though she were acting a part. Like being excited about her daughter's beau was something she was supposed to be excited about, and so she was. Like that was the truth about her.

"Thank you, Mother," she replied flatly.

"Let me fix your ribbons." She spoke to her daughter without looking at her. "Now, I know you like him, but make sure he knows that, too. A man needs prodding. A little attention goes a long way to encourage affection."

"Yes, Mother." If her mother only knew at how much attention she had given Corbinian. Especially in the barn. Or the Chantry's shadows. Or behind the garden's hedges. Or the portrait room in the royal palace. Or most especially, on the windowsill to her own bedroom.

Lady Mayweather stepped back and admired her work, and Samantha stood like a seamstress's doll, having no care whether she lived up to her mother's expectations or not. Finally satisfied, her mother announced: "Perfection."

The rain was just beginning to fall when they arrived under the awning of the Harimann Estate. A handsome boy answered the door's call, wearing a sharp white suit with white gloves and shoes. He bowed grandly, taking their coats and leading them into the grand entryway. Some younger boy who was standing stiffly just inside the door and holding a thick stick, lifted it and brought it down onto the wooden flooring with a loud knock.

The handsome boy in white bellowed out for the whole room to hear: "The Lord and Lady Mayweather, and their daughter, Miss Samantha!"

Conversations paused, heads turned. Samantha and her mother gave a curtsey while her father bowed, and then the world around them moved again. A sea of blue. Alive and writhing.

"Sammie!" Arianna's luxurious accent drifted her way. She and Flora were both dressed to the blue nines.

"Hello, Ari. Flora." As they looked back, their eyes twinkling under the bright candlelight and chandeliers, Samantha held their hands and was grateful for friends.

"Ari bet me that I couldn't get Benji to blush. I aim to prove her wrong." Flora grinned deviously.

Arianna bounced up and town on her toes. "We'll see…!"

Samantha cracked a smile. Getting Benjamin to blush would require a whore's depravity and a rogue's wit. "Did I miss anything?"

"Just Lady Preston mooning over the floral arrangements. And the Vaels aren't here yet," Flora informed her. She lowered her voice a bit when she asked: "Any word…?" She was asking about Innley, because Samantha had told her, of course.

"No." Samantha glanced back to her parents. "Nothing."

"Beenie will get him out. He's a Vael." Flora sounded so confident, but Samantha hadn't told her how both she and Corbinian had given up on that notion.

Though Traven had warned him that there was nothing he could do, Corbinian had still tried to throw his name around in effort to change Innley's situation, but all his efforts proved fruitless. The important people who could do anything were unavailable, as important people often were. The Knight Commander was an utter stranger to them both, for it was impossible to gain audience even with his assistant. They tried speaking to the Grand Cleric, but couldn't be very forthcoming with information lest their secret trip to the Tower let out, and the First Enchanter was not a talkative man. The one time they had met him in the Chantry at service, he had spoken fewer words than Samantha thought possible to carry on a conversation.

There wasn't much else Corbinian could do with his name without drawing suspicion from his parents, or worse, the Prince of Starkhaven. He was as good and just as any other prince, but Corbinian didn't want to draw his ire for a second time. He had learned the first time around that when the prince's gaze fell upon you, it better be for honor.

Ruxton approached the pair, swaying with drink, followed by Helena Luxley and Vincent Tyler who both looked beleaguered by chasing around their drunken friend.

"You look beautiful, Sammie," Ruxton announced happily.

"Thank you, Ruxty. May the Maker bless you with good fortune!" She gave him a genuine smile with the standard name-day wish. She didn't get to see Ruxton much anymore. The Harimanns had decided he needed to break from his shell. They had hired a riding instructor, a swordarm, a languages teacher, two private tutors, and given him a squire, whom, as Samantha heard it, Ruxton used mostly to smuggle booze.

"Won't you take a turn about the room—" He paused a moment, refocusing his eyes. "—with me?"

Samantha smiled wide, trying not to laugh.

Vincent laughed tiredly. "I think you'd best sit down."

"What? I feel fine—"

A loud knock made Ruxton nearly jump out of his breeches. Even with the music and the chatter, the thunk echoed throughout the hallway and all heads turned to the handsome boy in white who announced, "The Lord and Lady Fortney and their daughter, Miss Gwendolyn, and son, Robaire!"

Most paused, some even held their breath. With a heart-shaped face, and the longest eyelashes of anyone in Granite Circle, eleven-year-old Robaire turned the heads of all the younger daughters of Starkhaven whenever he arrived. It also helped that his family had the most wealth next to the Vaels. Gwendolyn, still as willowy as an elf, was the inheritor of the Fortney Estate because she was the eldest, just like Flora and Samantha. But she was a sickly girl, weak of heart and stamina, and most assumed that she would sign over all family holdings to her younger brother once he came of age. Because of this, every noblewoman of lower rank was eager to match him with their daughter, but the frontrunner for that lottery was Lady Kendall, the daughter of Lord Kendall, who had an eye to match her daughter Tyne, who was just eight.

"Maker!" Samantha turned to look at the boy with the stick. "What's with the knocking?"

Flora rolled her eyes. "My mother thinks that Orlesian customs make her more important."

"They do that in Orlais?"

"Who knows?" she droned. "The important thing is that she thinks so."

Samantha looked at Lady Harimann across the room. She was wearing a blue-tinted fur shawl; she must have had it dyed for this very occasion. "I think I would go mad if I had to live around that all that racket."

"Oh, they're mad already, but thankfully it's just for this night." Flora took a long drink from her glass, savoring the fizzy liquid. "But it was the Fortneys, so they deserved a knock."

"We're debating who deserves a knock and who doesn't?" Samantha asked.

"Of course!" Ruxton lifted his glass and nearly dropped it.

Another knock against the floor made Samantha jump – who in Orlais came up with this?

"The prince and princess of Starkhaven, and their sons, Marquess Corbinian and Lord Goran!"

The pause for this group was a bit longer as everyone in the room curtsied and bowed in return. When conversations started back up again, most of them involved complimenting the princess's shimmering satin gown, which had a train so long that Samantha was certain someone would step on it, and then Princess Vael would fall face-first into the Harimanns' plush sea-green rug.

Flora pointed a tipsy finger in the Vaels' direction. "Now they deserve a knock."

Everyone agreed.

Ruxton laughed merrily. "I should go outside and come back in to get another!"

"A fine idea, Ruxty!" Flora announced, nudging him. "Off you go. Go on."

Arianna giggled madly, Vincent seemed glad to be rid of the Ruxton-watching duties, but Helena looked somewhat concerned as they watched the young and very drunk Lord Ruxton wander off.

"That's not very nice."

Flora sighed dramatically. "Oh, lighten up, Helena."

Samantha wasn't really listening to them anymore. Like one of those dreams where the world turned fuzzy except for one singular person who remained crystal clear, she had seen Corbinian. He and Goran were dressed nearly identical in navy blue vests with lighter-blue embroidery, a high collar, and crisp white shirts.

"Oh, Sammie. He's so handsome." Arianna purred into her ear. "What's he like?"

"Ari, you know Beenie…"

"Benji told me what he wrote in that letter… I bet he's an adventurous lover. Full of spirit! With a firm grip, yes?"

Samantha was about to quip something about a left-handed grip, but Helena spoke before her. "A lady never tells."

"Ladies! There are no ladies here, Elena!" Arianna always dropped the H.

Helena huffed in response, and Flora gently touched her arm. "Do be careful, Ari! Ladies like our friend here are not dissimilar to flowers. If you brush up against them wrongly, they will wilt right in front of you!"

Helena yanked her arm away and Flora giggled into her glass, but a deep voice answered from behind them. "Her Grace, Grand Cleric Francesca, is a lady."

Samantha whirled around to see Corbinian. His blue eyes matched the embroidery on his vest, and while he tried to mask it, they were clouded with concern. Was it for Innley? Was it for her? It ceased to matter when he took her hand.

"But Francesca is not here," Arianna declared.

"Yes, she is." He gestured over her shoulder, and the Antivan girl twirled around to see the Grand Cleric herself, granting a name-day blessing to the young Ruxton Harimann, who swayed under her gentle hand. He had apparently wandered in wrong direction.

Thankfully, the Lord and Lady Harimann didn't notice as they were busy with their obsequious courtesies to the Duke and Duchess of Starkhaven.

"Pfeh." Arianna scoffed. "Any woman who still has her maidenhood doesn't count."

Samantha quickly lifted her glass to her lips, drinking deep, and Corbinian squeezed her hand. Flora caught it too and, perhaps wanting to spare her friend the embarrassment of answering any more questions, clinked her glass against Arianna's.

"Benjamin might blush in front of Francesca…" And before Arianna could dispute that, Flora turned about, her long hair fanning across her back as she sauntered towards her prey. Arianna chased after her, and the skirt of her dress flowed out spectacularly as she bounced up and down in Flora's wake.

"She is so…" Helena paused before she huffed out in apparent shock.

"Who? Ari?" Corbinian looked over the heads of everyone across the room. "What's not to like?"

Vincent shook his head. "Her father is quite lax with her manners…"

Even though Arianna would likely think the accusation hilarious, and Samantha normally would never raise her voice at a party, she suddenly felt the need to defend her Antivan friend. "Arianna is a kind girl, full of life and happiness. If we could all be as lucky to live so free."

Vincent turned a funny expression to her. "You live in more luxury than most, Sammie. You want for nothing, are nearly engaged to royalty, and you wish to educate us on luck?"

"We have all suffered misfortunes, Vin, or have you forgotten about Innley?" She spoke so quickly, forgetting about those topics which were permissible and those that were not that she thought he would admonish her right then and there, but it was Helena who surprised her. The girl's eyes snapped to her so fast that, if they had been arrows, Samantha would have been dead.

Vincent scowled. "Your brother is a mage who lied about it for years. Imagine what would have happened if a demon possessed him while at a social gathering! Important people could have died!"

Corbinian slid his arm around Samantha's waist in a show of confidence. "Now, now, Vin. Lest we forget whose arm you hold, I wouldn't say too many poor things about the boy who made your match possible."

Vincent's mouth dropped open with incredulity, but Helena's eyes widened nervously.

"Perhaps we should part company," the young girl said.

"Yes." Vincent offered a stiff bow. "Good night, Your Excellency. Miss Samantha."

Helena seemed delayed in her curtsy, glancing back over her shoulder as Vincent escorted her away.

Corbinian snickered. "How kind of him to remember our titles."

"Did you see that?" She asked him.

"I saw him make an ass of himself."

"No. Helena. She looked at me funny when I mentioned Innley."

"Maybe she's curious about him. Your mother and hers were encouraging them, I heard. I'm sure they thought it was a great misfortune that he was sent away."

"Misfortune for us," Samantha muttered bitterly.

"Well, they are rather repressed."

She had to give him that; the Luxleys were exceedingly conservative, not just in their politics but in their engagements as well. Lord and Lady Luxley were standing in the next room near a suit of arms, probably admiring its stiffness.

Corbinian wrinkled his brow. "How exactly were they going to match them, again?"

"Hand-holding and meaningful stares across chantry pews," she grumbled.

"Ahh, so just like us, then!"

She brought forth a small smile. "Exactly, but I imagine it's the promise of nudity that retains our friendship."

"Ahh, yes! Of course. I did promise to disrobe for you, didn't I? How fortunate for us both that you remembered!"

Samantha suppressed a giggle; she couldn't stay so heartbroken around Corbinian for long.

"Poor Vincent," He said, shaking his head. "Stuck with a prude. If she had half your daring, maybe she could break from that crusty old house and find herself a life."

"Perhaps we should ask Lord Kendall's advice, since he's here and all."

"A fine idea." Corbinian looked up, finding the hunched old man seated against the wall, nipping at a glass of brown liquor, his earhorn firmly in hand but laid by his knee.

They moved across the room, turning their shoulders to squeeze between people and furniture. Once they were at Lord Kendall's side, he attempted to get up, but Corbinian held up a hand so he wouldn't. The man was old; his weathered skin was splotchy and thin, and they could see the faint blue veins streaming in his hands as brought his earhorn to his ear.

"Tell me, Lord Kendall!" Corbinian yelled above the hum of the room. "How would you advise Helena Luxley in the ways of love?"

Lord Kendall blinked. "What?"

"Indeed! It's a mystery to us as well! Thank you, sir!"

Lord Kendall smiled confusedly, nodding his head like the dim often did, trying to pass for having understood. Samantha supposed it was easier that way. As they moved away through the crowded front room, another knock jolted Samantha into a neighboring servant who responded to her clumsiness with veneration.

"The Lord and Lady Dufour, and their son, Lord Paavo, and daughter, Lady Taru!"

Samantha had just about enough of the knocking. Looking at all the people in the room, and imagining that there had been a knock for each family, she thought for certain there should be a hole beneath the feet of the boy with the stick.

Corbinian looked back at the boy. "I'm glad I was late."

"I was, too."

"What's your excuse?"

"My mother," she said, as though that explanation was enough. "She decided upon this evening to instruct me on the ways of affection. I am to encourage you, as she puts it."

"Excellent. Perhaps she and I should compare notes on the subject."

"Maker!" Samantha near dropping her wine glass at the thought.

For the first time all night, he laughed truly. "We're always late to parties. Aside from royalty never arriving on time as a matter of conceit, my mother had to change five times. She's weird about clothes. You, by the way, look beautiful."

"You never fail to compliment me, Beenie."

"I was raised right."

"As opposed to Goran. The other half of your parent's experiment?"

The pair looked across the room to see the Harimanns chatting up the Vaels with Goran at their side, but he wasn't paying attention to the conversation. Rather, he was looking across the room to Flora, who was giggling next to Arianna, still trying to make Benjamin blush.

"Someone's working awfully hard," Samantha commented on Flora's parents.

"You should have seen the invitation. I think they held this party for him." Corbinian meant his brother.

"You mean for Flora?" Samantha noted how Flora was studiously avoiding Goran. "She won't give him a chance."

"I know that. You know that. The entire neighborhood knows that. All but Goran. He's a Vael."

"What does that mean?" She looked up to him.

He smiled down at her. "It means that once we set our eyes one something, we tend to not look away." He sat his drink down on a nearby table. "Come. I requested this song."

She tuned her ear to the orchestra who had just begun playing a piece that sounded very familiar. Just above the clacking of shoes against wood, she thought it sounded like the song from her sixteenth name day party. When she, Corbinian, and Meghan Vael's locket had found solace in her estate's gardens.

The grand ballroom was decorated like a seabed; banners of turquoise and azure boldly waved from far above the dancers' heads whose bodies were swaying with the ebb and flow of musical current. Men in silken blue doublets and women in sparkling blue satin gowns turned the room into an aquarium of soft movement. There was quiet laughter, gentle smiles, and the damp wisps of hair that fell from so many ladies' heads implied that they had been dancing in groups, but no longer. Now bodies were coming together in twos, creating spaces in the deluge.

Most of Samantha's and Corbinian's contact came in public after service, with her hand looped through the crook of his elbow as they walked the winding stone path. But to touch his immovable shoulders and his warm neck, and to feel his large hands on her hips and her back… it was a level of intimacy that still felt quite new. In the days since visiting Innley, it was always nice to be touched like that.

"Are you going to pick up where your aunt left off?" she asked, suggesting that he was going to whip Goran into a gentleman.

Corbinian smoothed his right hand around her waist. "Oh, no. He's a lost cause. But I do like rubbing it in."

She tried not to feel awkward with her right hand over his shoulder; Corbinian was left-handed and thus they had to do everything backwards. "You will make an excellent Captain, Beenie. The way you inspire people."

"As long as I can inspire the color from you…" He winked.

Maker! He was a boy obsessed with knickers.

The corners of her mouth lifted into a sweet smile, and she recognized that he was trying to cheer her up, to make her forget about Innley, even just for one night. "And what do I receive in return?"

"My good graces." But she made a face and he laughed. "Not enough for you? I'll name my sword after you."

"You're not even trying!" She pushed him a little.

"Oh all right, my horse, too."

"Beenie! You're not going to name a horse after me!"

"You've not met my horse."

Arianna interrupted their smiles. "Such cute laughter!" She was on the arm of Benjamin Garrity, who seemed quite enamored with her – that, or it was the four glasses of champagne in him. "Are you saying naughty things, Beenie?"

"How else am I supposed to improve my reputation?"

"Perhaps it is Sammie's reputation that causes such admirers, then?" She giggled, her gaze drifting past them both.

Samantha turned her head, her silver necklace tickling her collarbone where Meghan Vael's locket was supposed to be as she twisted to discover a man staring at her. He was older, handsome, with dark hair and dots for eyes, and he was dressed in a sharp but plain black suit with a golden vest. When her eyes met his, he gave her a peculiar look, but something happened in those few seconds that turned his mouth into a smile, and the lines around his eyes deepened.

"Andraste's ass…" Corbinian muttered.

Arianna tittered in Benjamin's arms. "Sammie! Did you see that boy, Paavo? The Prestons' nephew? Isn't he handsome? Did you see?"

Benjamin grumbled to Arianna, "Does your attention ever stay in one place for very long?"

"Only if that place is interestink," she purred back at him suggestively.

"Come on, Sammie," Corbinian interrupted, twisting his body around to lead her away from the bickering duo, Arianna and Benjamin.

The Harimanns' estate was nearly packed, and though the estate itself was large, the front rooms were rather small for so large a gathering. Corbinian's shoulders knocked into people, and he muttered his excuses as he pulled on Samantha's arm.

"Who—?" Samantha tried to ask, but another knock made her teeth chatter. She faintly heard the yell Lord Ruxton Harimann to which the entire front room whooped with laughter.

Her surroundings turned chaotic as they moved with alacrity through a series of rooms filled with people, their faces pinched with half-lidded eyes and wide-open mouths, laughing and loud, a blur of blue joviality. Finally, Corbinian pushed open a windowed set of double doors, stepping onto a terrace covered by an awning. There was a quieter group here, three couples all leaning up against a different spot of the long balcony which overlooked the Harimanns' gardens. The rain fell softly through the air, patting against the leaves of the barren bushes. The sea was outside on this night as well, it seemed.

The warm night's breeze ruffled Samantha's ribbons. "Who was that? Why did we run away so fast? What's wrong?"

Corbinian took a deep breath, but looked troubled. "That was the Knight Commander."

Samantha felt a wave of surprise roll through her body like a fireball. That man in the plain suit – of course it was plain, it was likely the official suit of the Knight Commander, and he wasn't well-off by any standard.

"Why is he here?"

"Clearly, he was invited. Lady Harimann must be desperate for attention."

"He smiled at me. Why did he do that?" She felt confounded, but Corbinian's shoulders hunched as he dug his hands deep into pockets, entirely displeased. She asked, more to herself: "Is he playing with us?"

"I don't know what he's doing. He refuses all requests to see me, but makes time for parties."

He seemed frustrated at the powerlessness of his name. Usually granted audiences with whomever he liked, if his name didn't work, Corbinian didn't know what else to use. She felt powerless, too. From morning to evening, she spent time alone with her tutors or servants, with friends if she could and Corbinian whenever he was available, but always there was Innley. His whimpers echoed through her memory. While Samantha had felt this kind of frustration all her life, she wasn't used to seeing Corbinian this way.

Leading him to an open spot on the balcony, she snaked her arms around his waist, and his body relaxed against her as the ribbons of her dress danced around them wildly, and, for one amazing moment, she felt free of burden. Absorbed in his steadiness, with the whoosh of the breeze and the drone of the rain, she kept focused on the buttons of his crisp shirt, her eyes opened because there were nothing but nightmares in the dark.

Corbinian lifted her chin with a finger, leaning down to kiss her, and she parted her lips to welcome him until the terrace doors opened and they startled back from each other. It was a boy in white; one of the Harimanns' servants. He surveyed the balcony, and his gaze landed upon the Vael.

"Marquess." He bowed deeply, and the other couples on the balcony turned to stare at Corbinian – he was a celebrity. "Your presence is requested in the second floor library."

Corbinian lifted her hand to his lips. "Meet me in the downstairs sitting room?"

"Okay."

As his back disappeared through the double doors, she lifted her fingers to her cheeks to stave off the flush and wished that somewhere in Starkhaven, there was a moment's privacy.

The path to the downstairs sitting room took a bit longer than it should have, because she wanted to avoid the dancing room for fear of running into the Knight Commander. She passed through room after room and assortments of people and activities; card playing, wine tasting, enormous paintings where someone was describing who was in each one, and a music room where Gwendolyn Fortney was weakly chirping out a song with an accompanying piano, until finally she arrived at her destination. There were nothing but ladies in the downstairs sitting room, and one of them was calling for Samantha.

"Miss Samantha!" Lady Preston waved a hand in the air, each thick finger decorated with a ring. "Come sit with us, dear."

Lady Preston was chatting with her sister, Lady Dufour of Orlais, and the Dufours' daughter who had already inherited her title, Lady Taru. She was a tiny thing, delicate and pale with amethysts for eyes and hair as black as the night. The two older women were all smiles, but Taru seemed bored, even with a drink held idly in hand. She sighed with ennui under a gigantic window framed with a tapestry that was embroidered with tiny green leaves. They could have been snow, falling sadly over the head of le petit Taru.

"Miss Samantha," Lady Preston greeted her warmly. "This is my niece, Lady Taru."

Beleaguered with the events of the evening, Samantha settled nearby on a round cushion chair. She could have conversed with the girl in her native language, as Samantha had been taught Orlesian from a young age, but it would have been rude to those who were nearby. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Taru laboriously opened her mouth to speak, her Orlesian accent as thick as cold butter. "You are attached to the Marquess, no?"

Not technically true, but Samantha nodded. "Yes. Do you have an engagement back in Orlais?"

The girl paused momentarily, perhaps translating Samantha's words in her head. "No. My brother will not allow it."

That was right; she had a brother, Paavo, the handsome boy Arianna had mentioned. And Samantha had heard that they were twins. "Why not?"

"He believes—mm..." She seemed irritated at having to speak the common language. "How does one know one's art if one does not allow it to explore?"

"Art?"

"Not Art. Art!" Taru rolled her eyes and set a pale hand upon her chest. "Art."

Samantha's mouth formed an 'o'. "Oh! Heart!"

"Yes," she puffed.

"But sometimes, the heart wants what it wants."

"And sometimes the art is stupid," the girl said flippantly, tossing her long flat hair over her shoulder. Samantha decided then that they would not be friends.

Lady Mayweather appeared in the doorway, scanning the room. When she spotted her daughter, she sailed through the sea of blue gracefully, smiling to noble men and women as she passed. She extended her hands to her daughter, lifting her up from her cushion, and for once, Samantha was grateful for her mother's rescue.

"Where is Father?" Samantha asked.

"In the upstairs library." She turned a curious eye to her mother, and as they walked, Lady Mayweather leaned closer to her daughter's ear. "With the Duke and the Marquess…"

Samantha swallowed hard; she had to contain her expression, especially in front of her mother, whose voice betrayed her elation.

"They are speaking about you, for your father is ready to give his consent."

Samantha watched Vincent enter the room and scan all the faces. Then she heard him ask someone if they had seen Helena. They hadn't. "Why this night?"

Her mother slipped her arm through Samantha's as she led her around the room, still speaking softly. "He has been observing you, and when he saw you two greet Lord Kendall, he felt great admiration for a royal boy who would pay such respect to his elders."

Samantha could have been knocked over with a feather – they had gone to visit Lord Kendall in jest, and her parents had seen it as some grand gesture! It was the first time in half a year that she felt like she would burst out laughing. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to. She wanted to laugh madly at the circumstance of this life, at the pomp and the customs, at the rules and the punishments. To tell her mother that what she thought she saw was a great big lie. How many other great big lies did Lady Mayweather choose to see every day?

Her mother continued. "He didn't want to wait, since the Duke's family is here. We don't want to overshadow Lord Harimann's night, so be careful of your expressions, darling. We will announce it properly in the coming weeks."

Properly. Was Innley rotting away in that dungeon properly? Samantha felt a wave of revulsion for this woman at her side who could so easily dismiss one child while celebrating the other. Suddenly, propriety seemed like the last thing in the world of any importance.

"Do you think about Innley, Mother? Do you wonder what his match to Helena would have been like?"

There was a lapse of time; the sea shifted around them violently but they remained unmolested in their attentions, and the clinking of glasses and high pitched squeals from noblewomen who had drunk too much champagne drifted on the peripheral tide of blue swirling movement.

When words did spill from her lips, Lady Mayweather's voice was gentle and measured. "This is an exciting time, and it will be celebrated with decorum. Never you mind about the details, darling. I'll take care of everything."

She stared up into her mother's face, the expression warm yet opaque. Just like Innley, in her mother's eyes Samantha didn't exist either, replaced with the daughter of her dreams.

"Darling." Samantha's father stepped in front of them, and he was smiling – smiling! She didn't know he could do that.

"Father." She greeted him dully.

The royal family came through the doors then, and conversations quieted considerably as the Vaels joined the Mayweathers. Samantha and her mother separated to curtsey. They would not come together again.

"My Lady." The Duke of Starkhaven bowed deeply before them. "Miss Samantha."

"Your Excellency." Lady Mayweather blushed.

The Duchess smiled warmly. "I believe we will be dining again soon."

"I look forward to it."

Corbinian appeared behind them somewhat dazedly, and Goran behind him. The Marquess spoke as if he had been given a directive. "Miss Samantha, won't you allow us to take you home in the royal carriage?"

If they didn't want to overshadow Ruxton's night, they were doing a poor job. Still, there was only one answer to give, and she accepted with a noble's cordiality. The Duchess extended her arm, and Samantha took it somewhat awkwardly. She was a tall woman, slender and graceful, and being this close to her reminded Samantha of Goran. Yes, she realized, Goran resembled his mother quite resoundingly.

As the two families made their way out of the party, Corbinian's mother leaned into Samantha's ear and said in her drippy drawl: "There is plenty of time to think about it and a child isn't expected in your first year, but there is a naming tradition that we should speak of."

Andraste's Flaming Sword! Children?

To her parents, Samantha was a tool. To his parents, she was an heir-making factory. To the Knight Commander, she was a pawn. To her friends, she was an accessory. She glanced over her shoulder to Corbinian who smiled at her amusedly, likely enjoying her suffering on his mother's arm. At least to him, she was just Sammie.

That was worth the color, and she mouthed the word, "white", much to his delight.