Oh my gosh I was so overwhelmed with all the positive reviews. I'm so happy you guys are liking it. We're getting into the meat of the story now and I'm excited to see what everyone thinks. You can all thank Nebulad for yelling at me on skype until I promised to write more fluffy stuff. I hope the update doesn't disappoint!

…

I

…

The dress Bethany had picked out for her was frillier than she ever would have approved of. So naturally, Bethany refrained from waking her sleeping sister until they had only just enough time to prepare. She brightly told Rees that there was hardly any time to iron any of her other formal dresses so it would just have to do. Rees had given her a dark look from where she scowled under her blankets. At the foot of her bed, Hector snored loudly. She envied the mabari.

Rees eyed the cold stone floor disdainfully, shooting it threatening looks enough times that her sister sighed and brought the cosmetics bag to the bed. She sorted her brushes, powders and inks on the bed. She took a quick look at her older sister and frowned. "I can't really cover up dirt, Rees."

Rees rubbed a hand over her cheek and pulled it away. Sure enough, a thick coating of grime coated her fingers. She blinked tiredly at it and Bethany sighed, "Stay put. I'll draw you a bath."

She left the brushes and other cosmetics where they lay at the edge of Rees' bed to wander into the adjacent bathroom. Rees quietly watched the door swing behind her and listened to the slosh of water being pumped from the ground well. She brought the tip of her thumb and forefinger together, rubbing the dirt until it thinned in the center. The dust from the plains still sat heavily in her lungs threatening her with a deep cough.

"Another success, then?" Bethany called. Rees grinned.

"More or less. I think I ended up sleeping on his shoulder more than I trained." She said. There was a beat before the water pump fell silent and Bethany's head poked out from behind the door, blue eyes wide as saucers.

"You slept with him?"

Blood rushed to Rees's face so fast she felt dizzy. "No! No. Not like that! We were just sitting, and I closed my eyes for just a second and we-"

"You fell asleep on him?" Bethany grinned slowly.

"No! Well, yes, but it wasn't like-We're just friends." Rees spluttered. Bethany's grin beamed at her from where she stood. Rees groaned and pulled the blankets up over her head. The water pump was immediately abandoned. Bethany sped across the room and leapt back onto the bed. She yanked the sheets away from Rees' face. Rees gave her a sour look but Bethany was not dissuaded.

"But he is a friend, though?" She asked excitedly.

Rees rolled her eyes. She thought of Goose's irritable gaze and the arm he'd slung around her. She remembered the heat radiating from his chest and the soft glow of his markings keeping the darkness from really setting in. They were too tired to speak, or too pre-occupied in Rees' case. Rees nodded cautiously. "I... yes. Friend is applicable. I think."

Bethany just about squealed. Rees looked at her in alarm. Her sister giggled and prodded her, ignoring the clutter of brushes. Rees grumbled tiredly, batting her hands away. Bethany's grinned broadened as Rees tried to wrestle the blankets out of her grip.

"So this friend—"

"Trainer." Rees interrupted sharply.

"—friend of yours. Is he handsome?" Bethany's cheeks were burning red just asking, but light was dancing in her eyes. Rees scoffed loudly, and stared pointedly at the drapery above her bed. She was still trying to discreetly wrangle the quilt from her sister's vice-like grip.

"Bethy, I'm not sure I'm even allowed to say," Rees picked her words carefully. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone that I'd even met him and well," she paused to give her sister an embarrassed smile. "You already weaseled that out of me."

Bethany puffed out a breath in annoyance. "You came home covered in cuts and bruises and thought I wouldn't ask why?"

"I know, I know. I trust you, but…" Rees trailed off, seeing the disappointment set into her sister's eyes.

Leandra had never let Bethany partake in many of the court events—even less so after Carver left the comfort of the palace to join the guards. It was for her safety, of course. If someone discovered Bethany to be a mage then she'd be whisked away to the unforgiving circle in the best case scenario. The Circle and its Templars had about as much influence over Kirkwall as the queen herself. It was best not to take risks.

As a result, Bethany's girlhood dreams of meeting diplomats from far off places and playing the part of the beautiful and wise princess had been quashed. It worked out, in a way. Rees' utter incapacity to function as a proper royal heir gave her plenty of opportunities to act as her sister's advisor in secret, soaking up the court life from afar. As many stories as Rees had about stuffy ministers and bizarre ceremonies, it didn't do much to detract from the loneliness.

Rees sighed deeply, giving in. "He has green eyes."

Bethany's smile returned in full force and she fell backwards onto the bed, head leaning on Hector's back. Rees gave her a small smile. Her little sister waved a hand in the air, gesturing for her to continue. "And? What else? What of his hair?"

"White." Rees said unhelpfully, thinking of the mop of hair Goose sported. It looked like it had been styled at some point, but often settled into a vaguely disheveled state.

Bethany looked at her in surprise. "Like yours?"

"No," Rees scratched at her own mess of hair, suddenly a little self-conscious. "No, less silver. It's just… white."

"Very descriptive." Bethany said dryly. Rees scowled at her.

"What do you want to know? He's tan, he has strange tattoos, and he's rather tall for an elf."

"An elf?" Bethany cried in delight. "Mother would skin you alive."

Rees groaned again, reaching behind her for a pillow to cover her face. Bethany kicked it out of her hands with a sharp comment about dirt and fine linens. The grin on her sister's face told a different story though.

"Can we just get back to the part where you try and stuff me in that lacey monstrosity?" Rees complained. "I'm ready to watch men impale themselves on my behalf. It sounds much less stressful."

Bethany laughed mercilessly. "Tell me about his muscles."

…

II

…

For about the millionth time that morning, Fenris had a sinking feeling. He paced the cottage like a madman, he knew, eyeing the bottle of wine Isabela had brought home from the Hanged Man. It looked terrible, but he wanted it. He had reached for it once already only to have Isabela reprimand him, saying to wait until after he had won the second round.

He didn't like it. For now, the contest was a clean cover. Ser Vincento's mask protected him from the Tevinter hunters that were bound to catch up at some point, and participating made sure none were suspicious of the knight's odd disappearances from the town. As convenient as it was to live under the cover of another man's name, it still felt like running. And eventually, he was either going to lose the competition or have to take off the helmet. Neither of which were going to go well.

Even if they were to forgive the murder of a knight, He had insisted drunkenly to Isabela, I am a wanted fugitive and an elf.

So wear a hat, she retorted. The queen isn't going to back out of her promise to declare the winner of the competition to be the Champion of Kirkwall. She can't. It would be political suicide.

How does a title help? A man with a title can still be cut down. Fenris reminded her.

True, she had said, but not without causing a war. Even Tevinter isn't stupid enough to try another attack on the Free Marches. Not when Fereldan would jump at the opportunity to tear down the empire in the name of Kirkwall's defense.

She was right, of course, but it still felt wrong. Fenris was an escaped slave only by technicality. Staring at the ground and making himself smaller when he moved were habits he felt attached themselves to his bones. Each time he caught himself ducking out of the way of a noble looking townsperson on his way to the damned pub, he felt physically ill. Danarius' cruelty followed him with or without the magister's presence. A scowl settled comfortably on his features when Isabela returned with his polished armour.

"What with the face? You look like you've eaten something sour." She asked, strapping the chest plate to his torso roughly. He stood still and didn't answer. "If you don't tell me, I'll just have to find some new way to blackmail you."

That got a small snort from him. She grinned up at him triumphantly. "Though by all means, keep up the whole brooding thing. It may win some favour with the princess. Damsels in high towers love that shit." He shuffled from foot to foot as she strapped on his shin plates. The scowl returned.

"Ah." The pirate hummed knowingly. "This is about the princess, isn't it?" Fenris offered only a dismissive grunt and held up his arms so she could set his shoulder plates in place. Isabela gave him the look usually reserved for when she was about to suggest something to do with a whore house. "She's certainly not Mora."

"What?" Fenris went rigid, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. Isabela laughed.

"Nothing, nothing." She waved his irritation away and stepped back to admire her work.

The new armour had been paid for almost entirely by her winnings in Wicked Grace. Spikes extended from his elbows and shoulders menacingly to match the clawed gauntlets he had brought with him from Tevinter. The plating on his thighs was much lighter, letting him move with more ease than Ser Vincento's had allowed and with less chaffing. The helmet remained the same only for consistency's sake, but she had tried to give him more visibility by removing the grate over the eyes. It didn't expand his field of vision much, but it helped.

"Come on, handsome." She grabbed him by the arm and tugged towards the door. "We can discuss that later. You've got a princess to impress."

…

III

…

They were late. Of course they were. Isabela was ranting furiously beside him about the lack of a warning, something about only noble shits getting the nice messenger services. The guards in the castle had politely informed Ser Vincento and his busty esquire that the competition was being held a little ways outside of town. He had started to explain something about the challenge being different but Isabela had yanked him away before he could catch the details. Instead, they focused their efforts on sprinting towards the cave-filled coast.

The new arena was easy enough to spot. It had been set up around one of the cliffsides, with elevated stands for the onlookers brave enough to sit through the bitter cold winter weather combined with mists from the Waking Sea. Guards were posted outside the arena, checking for papers and directing the citizens to the least crowded spaces to view the inside arena from. Isabela approached them with a confidence Fenris was sure she'd summoned from the depths of the sea itself. With a few words laced with a low sultry tone and a warm hand tracing the side of the guard's chestplate, they seemed to be more than willing to forgive Ser Vincento's lateness.

They stopped Isabela from following, however, directing her towards the spectator platforms. Shrugging, she shot Fenris a thumbs up just before the wooden doors closed behind him. He was left standing awkwardly in the mostly empty arena. Save for the other three knights, the red-haired guard, and the odd wild rose bush sprouting from the damp grounds, the arena felt empty. It was much larger than the space afforded them in the city. The royal platform stood with its back to the cliff side, higher than it had been before. Unlike with the first round, a metallic grate had been placed around their booth—presumably for protection. Fenris squinted in his helmet trying to make out the royal family.

The queen and the princess were both visible, each assessing the knights individually. The eldest princess had her long black hair braided intricately and resting on her shoulder. She looked like she had opted for a fancier dress, but he couldn't make out the details through the grate. All he could really see was her red-painted lips stuck in a near permanent frown. This was the woman he was supposedly fighting for. He felt uneasy.

Court life did not suit him as a slave, and he doubted that would change. Despite Isabela's reassurances that he could pull off the endeavor, he wasn't sure he wanted to. The entire point of escape had been to be free from the powers of magisterium and the abuse that came with it. Spending the rest of his life trying to appease a royal family that was sure to find him unworthy (even if he did apply Bela's suggestion of blackmail) did not seem like freedom.

Beneath the royal family was another set of double doors. These were guarded by the red-haired woman that had acted as referee for the last round. He eyed the doors distrustfully. With a nod from the queen, the woman raised her sword to the crowd.

"Today marks round two of the competition for the title of Champion of Kirkwall, half the royal coffers, and the hand of Princess Audrianna Amell!" She bellowed. The crowd roared in response. The other three knights drew their weapons, but did not move to attack each other. They waited for her command. Fenris followed suit.

"Our victors from round one must deliver a single rose to the princess herself. The first two to succeed in attaining a flower and bringing it safely to the walls of the royal booth will continue to the third and final round!" She gestured with her weapon at the scattered rose bushes, then to the booth for clarity. Fenris frowned inside his helmet. That's it? he thought. She turned her attention to the knights. "Are our victors ready?"

The crowd let out another roar as each knight lifted his sword high into the air. Fenris once again copied the action, looking confusedly at the rose bushes and trying to figure out the trap. There had to be a trap involved. He looked again at the princess. She was talking animatedly to the younger princess at her side, all but ignoring the knights below.

The red-haired woman drew his attention again with a blow at the locks on the doors behind her. The doors flew outwards violently, cracking into pieces as a literal horde of giant spiders heaved their bodies past the barrier. They scuttled through the mud and rock like a shadow sweeping over the arena. Suddenly the tall walls around him made sense. It was the exact moment when a hissing and screeching spider launched its furry torso at him with gushing venom dripping from its fangs that Fenris decided he hated the princess and everything to do with her.

…

IV

…

Rees watched the spiders pour out of the caves with great interest. The knights below had hardened their stances, bracing for impact. Ser Gilbert, Ser Medes, and Ser Rector had taken the front lines boldly. They had sent her lavish gifts over the past weeks, each a bit uncomfortably personal. Ser Gilbert had actually had the nerve to send a lacy negligee with a note about praying to the maker to see her wear it in person. Rees had promptly asked Bethany to set it on fire. Ser Vincento had only sent one gift—a bottle of wine clearly purchased from The Hanged Man. Her mother had offered to have him dismissed from the competition.

Leandra was still trying to reach out to her and it was strange. She had complimented her dress, even stopped to fuss over her hair a bit before sitting beside her on the portable throne. Rees knew she was waiting for an answer to their previous conversation, but she couldn't bring herself to decide. Ending the competition would mean making a decision earlier—that much she was sure she couldn't escape. She would have to have a name on hand if she were to have her mother call it off. That was something she couldn't bluff.

Beside her, Bethany was watching the fights with great interest. Her hands were pressed gently to the grate and her eyes were wide. Ser Rector had fallen almost immediately after the first wave of spiders. Guardswoman Aveline had fought her way through the mess to rescue him and a few guards escourted the limping man out of the arena.

"I just hope Ser Gilbert doesn't make it," she said in hushed tones to Rees. "I don't particularly want to have him around in the palace."

Rees thought of the negligee and cringed. Her stomach sank to her feet as she watched the men beneath her slash through the spider's bodies. Without a name for her mother, one of these men would be her tether to the throne. Flashes of her training came to mind, as well as the mountains on the coast. She would be trapped in the palace like Bethany had been. It wasn't fair. Her sister had done nothing but exist and she had to be imprisoned in her own home for safety.

"Bethany," She whispered urgently. "Have you been… preparing?"

She kept the statement purposefully vague. Her mother was high enough away from them on her elevated throne that she likely couldn't hear, but Rees wasn't going to take the chance. Beneath them, Ser Gilbert slammed his shoulder into the royal booth, other arm holding an untouched rose aloft. The crowd roared as Aveline rushed the first victor off the battle field. Ser Medes had a rose clutched in his shield hand, but he was quickly being overwhelmed by three or four spiders.

Ser Vincento had no rose, nor did he seem particularly intent on getting one. He cut through the spiders bodies with vicious swipes, leaving dozens of twitching legs on dead spiders in his wake. He hurled himself from foe to foe like each had somehow insulted him personally. The broadsword was covered in the bodily fluids of each spider. One particularly brave spider rushed him and knocked him down. Aveline moved from where she stood to rescue him but quickly retreated to the safety of the sidelines when he shoved his blade up through the belly. Even from the booth, Rees could hear the loud gush of spider goop and watched in horror as it drenched him.

"Preparing?" Bethany looked at her with alarm. She had picked up on Rees' meaning.

To the other end of the arena, Ser Medes finally went down. He cried for Aveline's rescue, waving his sword like a torch to ward off the circle of spiders that had surrounded him. The guardswoman slashed her way through unrepentantly, guiding the knight to safety. Ser Vincento had not slowed down. Only five or so spiders remained, but their focus was now entirely on him. If anything, the goop covered knight only seemed angry.

"Yeah." Rees muttered under her breath, nodding ever so slightly.

Ser Vincento took down another two spiders with one large powerful swing. If he went down as well, Ser Gilbert would win by default. She wouldn't have the option of finding a name to appease her mother. Bile rose in the back of her throat and she felt cold. The black knight took down two more spiders and faced the last with a vicious snarl. To her side, Bethany looked pale.

"I… have been. Yes." Bethany replied cautiously.

With the last spider down, the knight slung his slime coated blade back over his shoulder and stalked his way to the unmarked rose bush plants. He ripped one of the flowers out indelicately and approached the booth. The crowd watched in complete silence. The knight more or less punched the wall of the booth and threw the flower down beneath Rees' feet. She couldn't see his eyes but she didn't need to to feel the malice. She swallowed thickly and decided.

"Tonight," she whispered, "I'm going to fulfill my promise. Meet me in the stables."