Chapter Seven
Break
"Bang my head against the wall;
Try to hold a smile, but I'm sick of it all,
Everyone with something to say.
Better hold my tongue or I'll make a mistake."
—"Shakin' Off the Rust," The Blue Stones
The Inquisitor did not stray too far from Skyhold for several weeks, her longest sojourn in the fortress since they'd first discovered it. Her days were spent in the war room with her advisors and Loghain, the sparring grounds with her companions and brother, or holed up in her rooms with a mountain of thick tomes. Except for a few words at meals and meetings, Cullen didn't see her for days at a time. He understood, her time was precious and sought by many. He tried to ignore the disappointment that reared its head every time she was dragged away, tried to convince himself it was better this way.
It didn't work.
She would shoot him little smiles and rolls of those silvery eyes each time it happened, and he couldn't stop his answering grins. In council meetings, he had to studiously avoid catching her gaze lest he stutter and blush—the surest way to earn the others' teasing. It didn't stop him from admiring the curve of her cheek or the jet sheen of her hair in the light whenever Katerina's attention was elsewhere. If she brushed against him when examining the map or trading reports—something that happened with some frequency, not at all due to his careful positioning to facilitate those little touches—he couldn't stop his stomach flipping any more than he could stop the sun from rising.
A storm cloud darkened that sun when she rode out with Dorian early one morning with no notice save a note to Leliana.
Cullen's frown seemed a permanent fixture in the days without her. Katerina hadn't bothered informing him or anyone else of her departure. It stung in ways that he couldn't fully articulate—he was the general of her army, but she hadn't so much as scrawled a note to him. They'd left without a full party or soldiers to guard her back. If there were an ambush, she would be ill-equipped to fight it off.
Images of her broken body and blood-spattered staff haunted his dreams, too vivid by half. He dreamt of Corypheus, a faceless giant of a foe surrounded by the glow of red lyrium, throwing the Inquisitor's lifeless body before the gates of Skyhold. Nightmares of Samson force-feeding her red lyrium and hearing it sing beneath her skin took hold. More than once, he awoke in a cold sweat with bile burning his throat before he lost the contents of his stomach.
His lieutenants bore the brunt of his short temper. Even Leliana and Josephine felt the force of it more than once in the days without the Inquisitor in residence.
He happened upon her in the sparring ring a week later, her staff swinging with a precision that took him aback. It had been ages since he'd actually seen her fight and the improvement was notable. She'd been proficient at the beginning, her training obvious, but it hadn't been instinctive. There were the slightest hesitations as she thought through each movement. The forms were habit, self-defense was not. Now, though, she moved with a fluidity he hadn't seen before. Her footwork was sure and steady, her favored staff and its gleaming blade a whirlwind in her hands.
The practice dummy didn't stand a chance.
Cullen glanced about the dim training yard, pleased that it was empty at this early hour. The sun hadn't even risen yet and only the unluckiest of workers were about, tending their duties with cracking jaws and bleary eyes that easily overlooked the lone mage. He shucked his coat, draping the thick furs over a fencepost as he silently drew his sword. A wooden bracer was lifted with familiar ease, and he drew near the fierce mage.
"Block," he called, swinging the blade down in a move that, if he were actually fighting her, was meant to cut her from hip to navel.
With a dull ring, she caught his blow with her staff. Confusion melted into relief and mischief as she met his amber gaze. She tilted her head at him with a sly grin. He didn't miss the beads of sweat lining her brow. How long had she been out here?
"Cullen," she greeted in that smooth voice of hers. She practically purred his name as she pushed away from him. "What a treat."
"Care to spar? That dummy isn't doing you any good." He caught the sudden flare of color in her cheeks, though he wasn't certain what brought it on.
"Of course! I'm delighted to have you as a partner. Should we switch to practice weapons?"
Cullen shook his head with a grin. "No, real weapons. I want to see how you fare against the templars in the field."
Her eyes went wide and she quickly took a swig from her water skin. She could feel her nerves lighting up and awareness prickling down her spine. "Does that mean…?"
"Yes, you cast and I'll suppress. Weak spells only and I'll do the same." He hefted the shield and tapped it with his sword. Cullen couldn't believe what he'd just said, what he'd just invited. But she was a talented mage, practical. He knew in his bones that he could trust her with this. "Agreed?"
He didn't receive an answer, but instead felt that familiar tug on the Fade before he was covered in goosebumps at the icy rush of her magic. The ground sparkled at her feet as they circled, the barrier small and shifting with her. Dark eyes took the measure of her stance, finding only confidence, and he could feel her doing the same.
With another rush of magic, he spied a bright blue orb curving towards him. Cullen blocked it with his shield, sending a spray of sparkles to the hay-covered cobblestones. The mage used the distraction to swipe at his ankles, her laughter ringing out as he jumped to avoid her staff.
Thwap. Her blow landed on his shield before she spun away.
Cullen pursued, focusing on sending out a suppressing blast. She danced out of the way, avoiding the brunt of it, but still gasped for breath as her barrier flickered and died.
It was then that he rushed at her, sword glinting as he swung it down at her head.
Clang.
She caught his blow on her staff grip and spun away from him. The momentum allowed her to swipe at him with the deadly blade at the end. Cullen parried the strike and sent out another small blast. She dodged it with a sharp gasp before swinging at him, the head of her staff flying at his ear. He blocked it easily, and she snaked a foot around his ankles.
He fell with a thud, the air knocked from his lungs and his hand went lax around the sword hilt on impact.
The glinting blade at the end of her staff pointed at his throat as she panted above him. "Dead."
Cullen panted in the dirt, staring up at her silhouetted against the sky. She was beautiful and fierce, like a conquering queen of old. Unwilling to give in just yet, his hand flew up to yank on the haft of her weapon. With a powerful tug, she lost her balance and fell.
Kat landed atop him with an undignified "oof." She quickly discarded her staff, the weapon useless at such a close range, and drew a dagger from its sheath on her thigh. Her strong legs wrapped under his thighs as she straddled his hips, her body pressing against his in all the right places. Suddenly, he was grateful he'd forgone the armor that morning. Cullen would have groaned if it weren't for the cold steel in her hands—even that didn't stop his body from reacting to her nearness.
Cullen caught her wrist, easily squeezing until she dropped the weapon into her other hand. One knee drew up behind her and he flipped, easily pinning her with his weight. Hands trapped over her head and chest heaving with exertion beneath him, Kat made a delectable sight. He paused with a blink, soaking in the feel of her body under his.
Sensing his distraction, she wriggled her hips and watched his jaw clench at the friction. It was in that fraction of a second that she drew on her magic and melted through his grasp. Her staff was in her hands in mere heartbeats, swinging out to press against his throat. Her blade was met with the steel of the dagger.
The general held her gaze as he rose. "Fade Step, very clever."
"You should know better than to be distracted, Commander," she panted in reply. Her blood was still humming at the way they'd touched, but she couldn't let him know that. Not now.
"It won't happen again."
She knew he meant it—but she couldn't help wondering if there was any truth to it.
Cullen sent another weak suppressing blast her way, unsurprised when she danced away from the brunt of it. She had the advantage of keeping him at a distance. A line of heatless flames popped up between them, purely an illusion to avoid causing any damage, and she sent another barrage of colored orbs his way around and through the fire. He quickly purged the area of her spells and caught the staff as it swung towards him. He caught it with the dagger before grasping the shaft tightly with his free hand.
His wrist ached with the force of her swing, but he didn't let up. With a sharp tug, she tumbled close. Quickly, he released her staff and held her in place with one arm while the other pressed the flat of her dagger to her side.
"Dead," he panted, holding her closer than was strictly necessary.
"Draw," Kat corrected. Her breath mingled with his as she stared up at him with those bright eyes.
Cullen's brow furrowed until he realized her staff blade hovered an inch from the underside of his jaw. He couldn't stop a wolfish grin from spreading over his face. She was a fierce opponent, more than capable of holding her own, and she was practically pressing herself into him.
It didn't seem to matter that she'd left without a word. She was back now, safe in the keep and so close that her curves nearly molded to the hard planes of his body.
The pair quickly released their weapons though neither made any moves to step back. This was the most alone they'd been in an age, and certainly the closest they'd ever been. Her softer curves pressed against him, the smell of sweat and lavender tickling his nose. He knew how she felt pinned beneath him (and atop him, his mind sang) and he didn't think he'd ever be able to forget the sensation. Cullen knew this was a scenario he'd be imagining for a long time to come with a very different ending.
"How does this recruit compare, Commander?" she teased, still panting as she forced herself back. Her cheeks flamed, though he couldn't tell if it was from the exercise or their nearness. Kat quickly sheathed her blade and handed him his own weapon before retrieving the water skin again.
"Her technique is good, though I'd work on controlling the field more." He accepted the skin as she passed it to him, brow furrowed at that last. "Falling, ceding the high ground, is a good way to die."
"And here I thought you liked being under me," she teased, laughing a little when the general choked in surprise. Kat didn't apologize. Her grin only grew wider at his sputtering, and she tossed him a cheeky wink. "It's alright, I know I enjoyed having you at my mercy."
"Y-you shouldn't talk like that," he said softly.
"Why not?"
"Someone could overhear, and it might undermine our purpose here." He watched as she searched around them for any eavesdroppers and shrugged, finding none.
"Cullen," Kat started, leveling him with that stormy stare. "I won't let that happen. We're building something here that I won't allow to be toppled by mere rumor. But that doesn't change things between you and me—do you want me to stop flirting with you?"
Her heart hammered against her chest as he stewed on the question. She watched every emotion that flickered across his face, every blush and hungry look, every frown and chewed lip. Maybe this wasn't how the templars or the Chantry did things, but they were ruled by neither of those things anymore. They worked outside the bounds set by those organizations, though the rules of society still remained. But still—she was a mage and one of the things she had to give up upon entering the Circle was her title and right to inherit. He was a general and no longer chained to the Chantry. They were both adults. If they both wanted this, and Katerina prayed that they did, there was no reason they shouldn't enjoy a flirtation. Maybe more.
She could only hope he would agree.
"No, I don't," he ground out eventually, though his grimace never dissipated.
"What's the point of saving the world if we don't allow ourselves to enjoy it? Cullen, I—"
"Rina, you're back!" Aidan strode towards the pair with a sunny smile pasted to his face. "And the Commander. I hope you don't mind, Commander, but I need to give my sister a piece of my mind."
"Aidan—"
"Not at all," Cullen cut her off. His brow furrowed and mouth turned down as he looked between the siblings. "I've rather got a bone to pick with the Inquisitor as well."
The dark-haired man nodded before turning his glower onto Katerina. "What in Andraste's name possessed you to ride out without proper protection? Do you have any idea what could have happened? You could have been attacked, killed, taken hostage—Rina, I know you're stubborn, but you're not an idiot."
"Aidan, nothing happened. It was just a short trek to Redcliffe—"
"You mean the place where you faced hostile mages, a magister with time magic, and that has a fucking dragon nest nearby?" The young man's faced turned a brilliant shade of crimson as he barely avoided shouting at his sister.
"Don't talk down to me, Aidan. I was helping Dorian with a personal situation. We didn't see anything more threatening than a nug." Katerina felt her skin heat anew and her breath hitched with aggravation. "The Hinterlands are safe enough now—far safer than they were a few months ago."
"He's right, Inquisitor." Cullen's words cut through their argument, dangerous despite his soft tone. "You cannot take such risks. Whenever you leave the keep, you must take a full party and arrange it with me. It's my job to ensure your safety, and I can't do that if you ride out without so much as a warning."
She flinched as his volume grew with each word. His glower was hot enough to melt iron and she was on the receiving end of it. "Nothing happened, Commander—"
"And what if it had?" he demanded, ignoring the other man's agreeing nods as he rounded on the mage. "What if the situation with Dorian's family had been a carefully orchestrated ambush by Corypheus? What if Samson's red templars saw you unprotected and attacked on the road? If they captured you—or worse, killed you, what then? Your carelessness could doom us all."
"Do not presume me so weak, Commander." Her frosty words nearly made him wince.
"Do not presume yourself invincible." If her voice was icy, his was subarctic. It was a stark contrast to their earlier banter. The previous warmth had evaporated, leaving in its stead the cold reality of their situation. She couldn't simply ride out with the same freedom anyone else could enjoy, and he couldn't protect her from the world.
"I'll not let you put me in a cage, Commander, however gilded it may be." Kat held the general's burning gaze for a long moment before wrenching her eyes away, unable to stand his unyielding glare. "Excuse me. I have meetings I must prepare for."
"Rina, I—Please understand: I love you too much to be alright with you taking such risks." Aidan implored his sister to understand. He begged her with his gray gaze to soften, to accept his concern for what it was, to be more careful.
She swallowed roughly, her throat suddenly thick with emotion as she nodded. "Fine. It won't happen again."
Cullen watched the mage for a beat, noting how she carefully avoided looking at him. Her pride warred with what she knew was right. Katerina tamped it all down and raised her chin stubbornly as she gathered her belongings and slipped away from the practice yard.
The Commander couldn't bear to watch her go though he knew he had to let it happen. His heart twisted with the words she didn't get to say. But this was probably for the best, he reminded himself. He had his duties and she hers. The Inquisition was too crucial, too important to allow romance to get in the way. Neither of them could afford the distraction. They were planning an assault on the Grey Warden's fortress deep in the desert—that had to be their first priority. Nothing else could matter except foiling the Elder One's attempts to raise a demon army.
If it didn't matter, he wondered, why did it hurt so much to see her walking away?
Katerina avoided the Commander from then on except in the necessary meetings. She'd come close to admitting things best left unsaid, her vanity smarting from his polite rejection and subsequent lecture. She couldn't afford to have any more such slips. There was no time to pine over a man who must see her as only an impetuous child when they were preparing for a siege. All her focus needed to be on the assault of Adamant.
Word of her sparring match with the Commander had swept the fortress, inspiring a new regimen for their forces. She and Vivienne began overseeing the mages training with the army, working alongside her brother and the newly arrived templars to prepare the soldiers to work with the mages. It was an unpleasant reminder of their argument, but a necessary one. Katerina did her best to ignore the man stalking about the perimeter of the training yard barking orders and watching all with a sharp eye. It was surprisingly easy to slip away and leave Vivienne to communicate on the mage's progress with him.
She, Josephine, and Leliana worked every connection they had to acquire siege equipment and trebuchets. The three were often in Josie's office, writing letters and levying coin or blackmail to the best effect. It was a sanctuary in the keep, all soft voices and friendly laughter before Josie's roaring hearth. She threw herself into the work so fully that she didn't have the capacity to think of the argument in the sparring ring. Her stomach clenched and hand trembled as she wrote one such letter to her father, sans bribery or blackmail, to request his aid. Katerina held no hopes of getting a response and resolved to have Aidan send a similar request. Maybe he would have better luck.
Aidan occupied her evenings, often pulling her from her rooms and the mountain of tomes she was slowly sifting through for any information on military tactics, sieges throughout history, and desert warfare. Their disagreement was long forgotten, the siblings having fallen back into their usual routine. He'd drag her on walks about the battlements, to the tavern, or the Chantry gardens for chess. It was refreshing to be with him again, his familiar good humor not dampened by his time in the Order.
It was on one such walk that he shot her a sidelong glance on the battlements just outside the tavern. The icy wind teased his dark hair as the setting sun cast the scene in molten golds and fiery oranges. The warrior stopped, crossing his arms as he stared down at his sister.
"Something's bothering you. Is it the siege?" he asked, leaning one hip against the cold stone.
Katerina shook her head as if clearing away cobwebs. "It's one thing on my mind, yes. I've never done anything quite like this before."
"I'd be scared if you had," Aidan joked, still watching his younger sister closely. "Your general has it well in hand, and I heard we'll have reinforcements from Ferelden any day now."
"Yes, though King Alistair sends his regrets that he can't join us in battle." She tucked a loose curl behind her ear only for the wind to tease it back out. "I just—what if that dragon is there again, Aidan?"
He shrugged at that. "You've killed dragons before, this shouldn't be any different."
"It's a fucking Archdemon. Of course it's different."
"I thought that was unconfirmed." He frowned at her, watching as she began to pace. Her gray eyes—so like his own—were tight and weary, her whole face scrunched and furrowed. She was afraid, he realized.
"Unconfirmed by people who weren't up close and personal with the thing. It was…" Katerina shuddered at the memory of the beast and its strange fire. She still remembered the black, scaleless skin that was stretched and mottled, not unlike melted wax or decomposing flesh. She could still see the eyeless sockets as the head tracked her every move. "It was wrong."
"If it's there, that means Corypheus is there. I doubt that madman will waste his efforts on a ritual not intended to be interrupted," he reasoned, "so the dragon won't be there. If it goes where he does, I expect it will be far, far away."
"Let's hope it is. I really don't like that thing." She shivered again, not with cold, and nodded tightly. "Have you had any word from Ostwick?"
"Yes, actually," he admitted quietly. "Mother wrote me a few days ago; she's relieved I'm alive and disappointed that I've betrayed the Chantry. Helena and the others are well, though she was very careful not to mention you. Papa sends his regards."
Her heart twisted violently as her stomach threatened to rebel at his words. However much she appreciated his honesty, Katerina couldn't help the bitterness that welled up within her. It shouldn't be a surprise—she was a mage and now a heretic. Appearance and influence would always matter to her mother no matter the state of the world. That she was such an affront to the family's values was unforgiveable. She swallowed down the hurt words that clawed at her throat, fighting to be released, shouted over the mountains.
"I can't imagine how you feel, Rina," he said. His hand rose to clap her on the shoulder before he thought better of it. Aidan still remembered his failed attempt to comfort her when they'd discovered her magic and the sharp sting of her bite. "But I believe in you—in this. I think papa will come around too with enough time. You know how slow they are to accept change."
"I know you're right, but it still hurts. They won't acknowledge me, not even to say, 'glad you didn't die in the Circle.'" Katerina scrubbed her hands over her eyes to stop bitter tears from rising. "Sometimes I think mother would have preferred it that way. It would be easier on her if 'the anomaly' weren't out here causing trouble for the family."
"Don't talk like that," he said sharply, glaring at his sister. "You know that's not true."
"Isn't it? Why else would she ignore the eleven letters I've sent? Why else would the others not write back?" She scoffed and bent to retrieve a loose stone. Her fingers spun it about, squeezing the rough edges and focusing on the bite of pain instead of the tears threatening to choke her. "If I hear from the family, I guarantee it will only happen when it's more politically convenient. No matter what you say, we both know that's how mother works."
She lobbed the rock over the rampart and watched it soar down the mountainside. Aidan blinked at his sister, his jaw grinding with the truth of her words. It was hard to deny; their mother had always been politically minded, driving their father to do the same. They wanted to better their standing, gain allies and amass enough standing to make advantageous matches for their children, to strengthen the city's reputation, and increase trade. He understood it, but Katerina… She'd thrown a wrench into their mother's grand plans simply by being a mage. It had left her to bear the brunt of their mother's castigation.
"They still love you in their own ways," he said softly.
When she didn't say anything else, Aidan shook his head and moved closer to her as they stared out over the frozen landscape below. The only sound was the howling of the wind for a long moment. He snuck a glance at his sister, noting the way her face was narrower than it was last he saw her, the way she carried herself with an easy grace. His little sister had grown into a woman, and they'd all missed it. He couldn't help shaking his head, still seeing the furrow between her brows and downturned lips—those tells hadn't disappeared with time. It warmed him a bit to know that she hadn't changed completely.
"Something else is bothering you." He poked her side and chortled quietly when she slapped his hand away. When she didn't say anything, he poked her again and was slapped again. "Ow! Fine, don't talk about it. I'll just go find that weird boy and ask him—"
"Leave Cole out of it," she groaned.
"So there is an 'it,'" he hummed, pleased with himself. "Do tell."
"There's nothing to tell. I don't like the Archdemon and am nervous about the siege. Let it drop." She scowled at him so fiercely that Aidan couldn't help grinning.
"The lady doth protest too much!" he crowed, flourishing a finger dramatically beneath her nose. "Is it a lover? Do I need to challenge someone to a duel to defend your honor? Frog-march the man—is it a man? It's alright if it's not—person down the aisle to protect your honor?"
Katerina waved him away with a frown, muttering, "No, my honor has too many defenders as it is."
"I knew it! It is a lover, and a piss-poor one at that!" He grinned, pleased with his own cleverness, before it melted into a grimace. "I don't like this."
"Then why did you press the issue?" his little sister bit back. "I'm not talking about this with you—or anyone, for that matter."
The tavern door slammed open then, causing both siblings to jump and whirl about to face the source of the noise. Katerina relaxed upon realizing it was just Dorian and she shot the mustachioed mage a warm smile. Her brother, on the other hand, stood up a bit straighter in the man's presence, his slate gray gaze never straying from the newcomer. The man was a mage, the ex-templar realized, and not one accustomed to respecting authority if that swagger was anything to go by.
"I thought I heard a squabble and simply had to see it for myself," the Tevinter said, strutting closer. "Your little spirit friend wouldn't stop babbling about it. Katerina, do be a dear and catch me up."
"Dorian! You're back!" Katerina exclaimed, happily throwing her arms about the other mage. She'd accompanied him on a trying journey to Redcliffe where he'd remained for a few days to sort things with his father. It wrenched at her heart to leave his side when he needed her, but he'd insisted.
He blinked in surprise at first, but quickly melted into her warm reception with a tiny, tender smile. It was a more enthusiastic reception than he'd ever received before. If he returned the hug a little too tightly or held on for a beat too long, she pretended not to notice.
"Are you alright?" she asked. The question was muffled against his chest, meant for his ears alone.
The mage gave a minute nod, swallowing down the lump in his throat before responding. "We'll talk later." Louder, he continued, "What have you done to leave poor Cole in such a state? The lad won't stop babbling about mixed emotions, star-crossed romance, and other such drivel."
"Aidan is a pest and I'm not talking to him." She peered innocently up at her friend, inviting him to believe her.
"Talking to him about what?" Dorian pressed, swinging an arm about her shoulders.
"Nothing," she said at the same moment her brother said, "Love."
Dorian's face lit up as if he'd just received the greatest gift and his gaze whipped between the siblings. The forbidden romance between a lovely, mage Inquisitor and her golden templar-turned-general—it was the perfect distraction from his own woes. "It's the Commander, isn't it?"
"No!" she exclaimed, pushing him away.
He nodded sagely, secretly delighted with this turn of events. Suppressing a wicked grin, he turned to the ex-templar and whispered loudly, "Our Inquisitor has won a few admirers among her inner circle—Commander Cullen among them."
Aidan stared between the two mages, taking in the man's smug grin and his sister's angry flush. Her staunch denial was something he'd heard all the time as a child, the stubborn insistence usually followed by exactly the thing she was protesting. She'd lied for weeks about her magic, simply explaining away the odd occurrences, before she'd set her curtains ablaze. There was no hiding it after that. The more stubbornly she protested something, the more likely it was to be true. It seemed this other man had learned that about her as well.
He chafed to think that someone could know his sister as well as he, that another man could seek her company like he once had. But, Aidan realized, it was only fair that she find that companionship where she could. They hadn't seen each other in a decade—who was she to seek comfort from when her own family was so unavailable?
That in mind, he shot the man a devilish grin, noting the surprised quirk of the mage's dark brows and slow, knowing smirk at Aidan's smile. "It's only natural she draw their attention; she is a Trevelyan, after all."
"Are you claiming that good looks run in the family? How modest of you," Dorian teased, flashing his teeth in a sharp grin at the other man.
"What's there to be modest about?" the ex-templar challenged, dark brows arching in question. "We're a noble line with influence in the Chantry, and we're not half-bad to look at. Not everyone can say the same."
Katerina looked between the two men and had to hide a smile. She'd never seen her brother like this before. She remembered his tired sighs, the distant stares, and regurgitated facts he spewed at every forced social gathering in Ostwick. Maybe it was simply the male sense of competition, or perhaps he was trying for her sake. Regardless, it pleased her to no end to see two of her favorite people getting along.
"I appreciate a man who doesn't affect humility—it can be so dull." Another sly smirk crossed Dorian's face as he eyed the warrior with something akin to appreciation. "But that doesn't solve our kitten's dilemma. What has our illustrious general done to upset you so?"
"Nothing!" She scowled at the mage, unwilling to discuss the conversation she'd had with the Commander in the training ring. Her hands became itchy every time she remembered it. She still couldn't believe how close she'd come to making a fool of herself. It rankled her pride so that she hadn't told anyone and had no plans to do so. Not even to her brother and best friend.
"They fought," Aidan supplied helpfully, shooting a knowing look her way. "He really laid into her about your trip into Redcliffe."
"So it's not 'nothing.'" The mage nodded sagely, his mustache practically quivering with the words he bit back. "Tell me, kitten: Did the Commander bruise your heart?"
"I already told you that it's nothing." She scowled at the pair, suddenly regretting their easy accord as they banded together against her. "It's hardly worth discussing."
"Then why does Cole keep babbling about 'hair golden in the sunlight, breath catching at his smile—she longs to look, but is scared to burn?'" Dorian pressed, dark brows rising as he challenged her obvious lie.
Katerina shrugged and stepped away from him, moving closer to the tavern door. "I don't know, but you know Cole. He could be saying that about anyone."
She turned to make her way inside the tavern, eager to put this conversation behind her and simply enjoy the company of her companions. Forgetting about her personal problems sounded like the perfect way to spend the evening, but her brother's voice cut through the wind, effectively ending her plan to relax.
"If you don't go sort this out with the general, I will tell Sera, the Bull, and Varric about your infatuation with the man before giving them permission to 'help' however they like." Aidan's words rang out, freezing his sister in place with the threat.
"Bold move," Dorian intoned, brows flying towards his hairline as he looked between the siblings. "Very bold move."
"You wouldn't," she hissed, eyes narrowing when she turned to face her brother.
"Try me, Rina." He grinned, utterly pleased with himself for forcing her hand. He knew that she'd have to talk to the general now lest she face a myriad of pranks, half-baked schemes to get them alone, lewd jokes, and the entire fortress knowing about her feelings. Aidan jerked his head away from the tavern. "His office is that way."
"I have nothing to say to our Commander at the moment," she claimed, crossing her arms stubbornly. "There's another war council tomorrow—I'll just see him then."
"Dorian, who should I talk to first? Varric seems like a good listener, and I am concerned about Rina. But maybe she needs a woman's help, and Sera—"
"The Bull will have the best insight into the matter; it's that Ben-Hassrath training," Dorian said easily, examining his nails as he spoke. "I'd tell Sera next, though she's liable to make mischief for the Commander. Once the Warden finds out, he'll probably challenge the Commander to a duel for the Inquisitor's honor since he's half in love with her too."
"Interesting." Aidan's eyes narrowed at the new information. He did not like knowing that his sister had not one, but two men panting after her. To him, she was still the little girl climbing trees to escape their governesses and tearing the dresses their mother forced her into. "Are we certain it's the Commander she's pining after?"
"I am, though we can always confirm that with Bull and Cole. Perhaps Varric can give us some ideas to bring them together in the meantime—"
"Fine, you giant asses."
She whirled away to avoid hexing the smug smile from Aidan's face, forcing herself to be content with cursing the pair under her breath as she went. Leave it to her pesky brother to force a situation best left alone. Katerina, for her part, was content to avoid the Commander until she wrestled her feelings back under control. Making him uncomfortable would only make things worse, she knew, adding a heaping dose of guilt atop her stinging heart.
As she walked the short distance to his tower, Katerina swore that she would be cool and distant. She promised herself that she would keep things strictly professional. It was what he wanted (and seemed the safest way to behave after their argument) so she'd don that distant congeniality like armor.
Katerina held her chin high as she knocked on the Commander's door, forcing her expression into one of impassivity. She didn't feel it. Her heart was beating an unsteady staccato against her ribs, nearly leaping out of her chest at the silence that echoed through the tower. It left cracks in her poised façade.
Uncertain, she pushed it open just wide enough to scan the office. If he wasn't there, she would hide away in her rooms and pretend this had never happened. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The tower was dark but for the evening sun filtering in through the single window behind his desk. Scrolls and books were scattered on its surface and dotted with pencils and quills. Once her eyes adjusted, it was the Commander himself that drew her attention. He stood at the desk, leaning heavily against it as he stared hard at something before him. His focus was so intense that she didn't think he'd heard her knocking.
Katerina drew nearer and saw that it was a lyrium kit that held his attention. She approached the desk slowly, curiosity growing by the second. Still, he didn't move.
"Commander?" she asked, wondering if he even realized she was there.
The general raised his head to watch her approach, his face pallid and glistening with sweat. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and she could see the faintest tremor running through his strong arms. Worry spiked through her at his unusual appearance. It took all of her self-control not to rush to his side.
"Kat…" He blinked dazedly at her, relief and shame flickering over his face as he watched her. This was the first time they'd been alone since that morning in the yard. He groaned internally that she found him like this: Weak and yearning for something he'd forbidden for himself. There was nothing for it but to confess. "As leader of the Inquisition, you—there's something I must tell you."
He drew himself up and rested his hands on the pommel of his sword, resolved to tell her the truth. The movement didn't go unnoticed, and her stomach sank. Shaking the sensation away, Kat tried her best to ease his obvious tension by teasing him—it was nearly a reflex now. "You're being especially serious today."
"I know," he said wryly. With a heavy breath, he gathered his strength and plowed ahead. "Lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer—some go mad, others die. We have secured a viable source of lyrium for the templars here, but I… I no longer take it."
He stared down at the kit again, unable to look at her and unable to look away from the source of his suffering. The silvery stuff sang to him, its siren song teasing at his mind. His mouth watered at the thought of taking it. It would be so easy to give in, to give his all to the Inquisition—to her.
"You stopped?" Her words were soft, surprised. She'd never heard of a templar who didn't take lyrium.
"Before I joined the Inquisition," he confirmed, still hating that the kit could entrance him so. It would be so easy… He could smell the lavender on her hair as she moved to stand beside him, breaking the spell of the lyrium. "It's been months now."
"Cullen, if this can kill you—" Katerina started, reaching out to him. Her chest felt tight, like it was bound by iron bands that made breathing painful. Why wouldn't he look at her? She drew back before she could touch him, certain it would be unwelcome.
"It hasn't yet," he said, oblivious to her retreat. He traced the rim of the box with a finger, feeling the silky wood grains warm under his touch. It had taunted him all night and now... "After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't… I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it."
He tore away from the box, snapping the lid shut and sliding it into a drawer where he couldn't hear the lyrium coaxing him. It shut with a decisive click, and he straightened once more. This was it, he could tell. She was going to be disgusted and walk away, order him to leave. He could feel her gaze burning into him and he returned it steadily, braced for the inevitable rejection. It would only be right. She needed him in top form, and yet here he was showing his weakness, his inability to lead.
He was a liability.
"I would not put the Inquisition at risk," he assured her. "I've asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty."
"Are you in pain?" Kat asked softly, peering up at him. He carried so much, was enduring so much, that she couldn't pretend to be unaffected. Unable to hold back any longer, she slipped a hand into his, twining their fingers together as she peered up at him.
It took him by surprise, both her worried question and the feel of her smaller hand entwined with his. He squeezed her fingers as affection unfurled in his chest, warm and exhilarating. The cold rejection didn't come. The concern puckering her brow and the care in her voice told him it never would.
"I can endure it," he said, voice equally gentle.
"Thank you for telling me. I-I respect what you're doing," she said, her dark lashes fluttering. She had to hold herself back from wrapping him in an embrace. That their fingers had intertwined was inappropriate enough—but she couldn't let go.
"Thank you, Inquisitor… Kat." Cullen blinked back the tears that pricked his eyes, unbidden, at her sheer kindness. He dragged a hand over his face and forced himself to release her. "The Inquisition's army must always take priority. Should anything happen I-I will defer to Cassandra's judgment."
"As will I," she promised. She didn't move away from him, still looking up at him with those stormy eyes. "Why did you stop taking it, Cullen?"
He sighed, sinking into his chair when his weary legs shook and threatened to give out. Katerina followed, perching on the edge of his desk. She didn't like standing over him. It seemed wrong somehow, as if she were interrogating him. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel like he couldn't talk to her. If she couldn't have more, she would still be his friend. That alone was worth everything.
"I stopped because of Kirkwall." Cullen watched her then, heart heavy with regret as he noticed the downturn of her soft lips. Her lovely face was downcast because of him. "What do you know of what happened there?"
"Only what Varric's told me, and I tend to take that with a whole fistful of salt." She tried to wring a smile out of him, considering it a victory when he huffed in amusement instead.
"Wise of you, though his retelling of what happened there is accurate. I was the Knight-Captain in the Circle there, second-in-command to Knight-Commander Meredith." A shadow fell over his face then and he couldn't meet her eyes. "I-I was transferred there after—" He released a stuttering breath "—after Kinloch Hold. It… was a trying time, one I don't enjoy discussing."
"Cullen…" Katerina reached out to touch him, stopping when he flinched.
"I'm sorry," he said tightly, moving his hand to cover hers on the desk. "Those memories still haunt me sometimes. I can't—I only tell you this because, well, because I was different after that. I was… When I transferred to Kirkwall, I was not kind to the mages in my care. I didn't think of them as people. I thought them too devastating should they fly into a rage, too uncontrolled and untrustworthy. I punished the slightest infractions harshly. It—I was different then and should not have been responsible for guarding the Circles."
Katerina went rigid at his words as if she were doused with icy water. Someone or something had hurt him enough that he no longer saw mages—saw her—as human. It shattered her heart and lodged the sharp edges in her lungs until it hurt to breathe. It was chilling to realize she was fighting feelings for someone who possibly didn't think of her as a person, who maybe didn't think of her as anything but a tragedy waiting to happen.
'This was years ago,' she reasoned, watching him avoid her gaze and squeeze her hand with his own. 'He said he was different then—that means he's changed. I have to believe he's truly changed.'
Kat squeezed his hand back, keeping quiet and letting him tell the story at his own pace. She would hear him out. It was a story that he needed to tell and one she had to hear. This needed to be done, like drawing poison from a wound. They couldn't move forward, either professionally or personally, until Cullen spoke his piece.
"Knight-Commander Meredith hated mages with a vengeance. She became a tyrant and grew paranoid. She was convinced that blood mages were around every corner. When the Chantry was destroyed, she invoked the Right of Annulment—"
She couldn't stop the horror from showing on her face. His commander had wanted to eradicate all mages under her care-it was almost inconceivable. All those lives gone at the whim of a madwoman, and for what? Minor infractions and an extreme fear of mages, from the sounds of it. It was no wonder the other Circles had rebelled. She couldn't imagine sitting quietly and enduring such dreadful treatment either. It was bad enough that all rights were stripped from the mages, but to be killed or made Tranquil for looking at a templar the wrong way was the worst of the worst.
"All but three were killed. The Gallows were full of mages and Tranquil, Kat. So many died…" Cullen squeezed his eyes shut against the shame and gripped her hand even tighter. He had no right to clutch her so, but he thought he'd drown otherwise. "In the end, I aided the Champion against her. The Knight-Commander's sword was made of red lyrium and she—Maker, it played on her fears until she went mad. She… she turned into a red lyrium statue."
His office was silent except for his ragged breathing. After a long moment regathering some modicum of composure, Cullen spoke again. "I realized my mistakes, before the end. I helped restore some order to Kirkwall, offered what aid I could to the mages who left in droves—and then I left the Order. Cassandra approached me about the Inquisition, and I vowed to change. I have changed."
A long silence followed his words, filled only with his harsh, stuttering breaths and the roar in her ears. Cullen could see that he'd stunned her with these confessions. Her distant gaze and slack jaw were enough. His stomach nearly revolted then as he awaited her terror of him. She'd been afraid of him once before—it would destroy him now to see that same fear return to her eyes. He braced himself for the inevitable, certain that it would come.
But Kat, it seemed, had a different idea.
"I don't think we'd be here talking if you hadn't changed," she said at length. She curled her fingers through his and held up their entwined hands. "I don't think you'd let me touch you if you hadn't changed. Why did you stop taking the lyrium?"
"Lyrium is a leash, and I couldn't allow anyone to have any power over me. Not anymore. I'm not a templar anymore, and I-I couldn't trust it." He examined their hands, the play of his skin against hers and the way her softness met his own coarseness. "The red lyrium drove Meredith mad, and it was made worse because of the templars' dependency on normal lyrium. I vowed to never allow that to happen to me, to cut those chains and break free."
Kat nodded then, her heart breaking even more for him, but something still held her back. She had to know if he hated her somewhere deep down. "Do you still think mages aren't people?"
"No." Cullen growled the word, his ferocity in the sentiment biting through the room. "That was unworthy of me, and I will not allow it to happen in the future. I do think that letting magic run amok is dangerous—one lunatic with a sword can kill a few before he's stopped, but one mage without proper safeguards can level a city. I want to protect the people around mages and protect the mages from the people and themselves."
"So you don't hate me for being a mage?" she asked, feeling small as she watched him. It was such a pathetic question—Kat hated herself for it, hated that she cared so much for one person's opinion. But this was Cullen, a man who strove to be good and honorable above all else. If he feared her on principle, how could she ever hope to change the hearts and minds of others?
"Maker, no." He breathed the words, honeyed eyes flying up to meet hers. "You—only a madman could hate you."
Kat nodded then, accepting his rueful words for what they were. He had no reason to lie to her, not when he'd promised to always be honest with her. His past was checkered, but no one in the Inquisition was perfect. They all had secrets and had all come together to do the right thing. Like all of them, he'd grown and changed, recognized his mistakes and was working to rectify them. The Inquisition was a means of doing exactly that. If nothing else, Cullen was a man of his word. Katerina trusted that.
"Thank you for telling me, Cullen." She pumped his fingers, wishing she could do more. She ached to hold him, to feel him pressed against her and to be wrapped in his heat. But she couldn't do that; it was inappropriate, forward, and exactly the sort of thing he'd cautioned against when they sparred. "It was brave of you."
Cullen blinked up at her then, frowning at her easy acceptance of his past. She should loathe him, she should have recoiled from him. "How can you—?"
"How can I what?"
He threw himself from the chair then, pacing the length of the tower behind his desk. Agitation stirred in him. This wasn't right. She should have left the room screaming. He didn't deserve her compassion.
"How can you just accept it? Everything I told you, and you just…" He stopped before her, his golden brow furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm a liability, exactly the kind of man your fellow mages shrink from. And you—"
"Are you the same person you were in Kirkwall?" Katerina asked simply, never moving from her spot on his desk.
"No." He hung his head, shame replacing his distress. Here he was acting like a petulant child when she was offering him the thing he wanted most. It seemed the list of things he regretted with her grew longer by the minute.
"Do you want to kill me or make me Tranquil?"
"No."
"Then I don't see a problem. Now, Commander, we've work to do." Katerina nodded to his chair and waited until he sat to continue. Returning to some sense of normalcy was her only solution to pull them back on track—there had been enough self-flagellation and revelations for one evening. She wouldn't let her personal feelings compound the tension that had him as taut as a drawn bow. "What do you make of our discoveries in the Western Approach?"
He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and lingering unwelcome thoughts before answering. "It's bad. First the templars, now the Grey Wardens. Both devoted their lives to fighting evil, and now they serve it."
"If I was possessed by a demon, would you…?" The question slipped unbidden from her lips and she flinched. Of course, he would. It was his duty, one he'd been prepared to do not so long ago in Haven.
"I would rather not consider it." Cullen bit the words out, knowing that he wouldn't be able to bring himself to hurt her. He couldn't picture it—the mere thought of driving his sword through her, of cutting her down, of standing over her crumpled body made him sicker than the lyrium withdrawal. He had to swallow harshly to force down the rising bile.
Katerina nodded, avoiding his gaze. His non-answer left her smarting, like shards of glass were buried in her skin making it agony to breathe. "I understand; duty comes before all else. You and the red templars' leader seem to have personal history."
"Samson and I shared quarters when I first arrived in Kirkwall. He seemed a decent man, at first." He shook his head at the memories, wondering how things had ended up this way. "Knight-Commander Meredith later expelled him for 'erratic behavior.' He ended up begging on Kirkwall's streets. He committed further crimes but managed to elude the Order's justice. And now Samson serves Corypheus."
"Why do you think Samson joined Corypheus?" she pressed. If he'd once been a good man, something had to have driven him to this length. It seemed that everyone had a reason for it, be it love of a child or fear of the darkspawn. Maybe Samson had a good reason too.
She couldn't shake the need to understand Corypheus's followers, however much it horrified her that she would eventually have to face them in combat. A part of her hoped that understanding them would enable her to talk them down, to reason with them instead of fighting them. Katerina knew it was probably foolish, but she had to have some hope that the bloodshed would stop.
"He had a chronic lyrium addiction," Cullen admitted. His shoulders sagged with the admission. It so easily could have been him or any other templar in Samson's shoes. "He spent every last coin buying it from local smugglers. Perhaps Corypheus flattered his vanity, gave him purpose as well as lyrium. Perhaps that's all it took."
Her thoughts took a similar turn. The thought of Cullen penniless and exiled, a proud man reduced to begging, was a hard one to bear. "It sounds like Samson had a miserable life."
"The Order expelled him, but he had choices. He could have found another path." The general was not so forgiving, unwilling to imagine he would have allowed himself to become another power-mad tyrant's puppet. "I don't understand how he became so powerful. Even with red lyrium, Samson's glory days are long behind him."
"Add it to our never-ending list of mysteries," Kat joked grimly. She stole a peak out the window and realized the sun had sunk below the horizon and the moon was inching its way higher in the inky sky. "Maker's balls, how long have we been talking?"
Cullen turned to look though the panging rumble from his stomach told him it was well past time for the evening meal. "Are you hungry?"
"Famished."
"Let's raid the kitchens, then. I'm sure that even Cook can't turn you away," he teased, wondering what sort of wrath they might face from the stern woman who ruled over the kitchens with an iron fist.
"Cookie likes me," Kat said, leading the way towards the side entrance to the fortress's lower levels. "We play Wicked Grace some mornings when she has time—never bet against her. That woman's bluffs could give Leliana a run for her money."
Cullen actually laughed at that, picturing the spymaster meeting her match in the kitchens, as he walked by the Inquisitor's side. He still burned where she'd touched him, itching to feel her hand fitted in his again. But it wasn't to be. She was the Inquisitor and he her loyal general. He couldn't risk more, no matter how his heart ached with longing. Moments like these would simply have to be enough.
'Cookie,' as the Inquisitor called her, hefted a small mountain of food atop a tray. She shoved it into the Commander's arms, barking at him to "make himself useful" before bustling off to brew some tea for the grinning mage.
"You look tired, dearie," the head of the kitchens cooed, pressing the tea service into the Inquisitor's arms. "I've made you some chamomile and packed you plenty of honey. It will help you rest easy. And you—" she glowered at Cullen and pulled herself up to her full height "—make sure to leave the lady be at a decent hour. Don't be bothering her too long and let her sleep."
"On my honor, ma'am," he affirmed as if speaking to a superior officer. He only realized he'd done it after the fact and groaned internally. Katerina would never let him live it down. He could see the wicked grin dancing on her lips even now.
"I'll try to come by in the morning, Cookie," Katerina promised, pressing a kiss to the shorter woman's ruddy cheek. "Cards with you always starts my day off right."
"Flatterer." Cook tried to sound brusque, but her pleasure still shone through. "Off with you!"
Kat led the way out of the kitchens and into the sprawling lower levels of the fortress. She seemed to know exactly where she was heading, bypassing the stairs to the main hall as she pressed deeper into the winding stone passages. Cullen was content to follow her past alcoves and doors he hadn't seen before. He'd tried venturing down here a few times to acquaint himself with the layout of the fortress, but limited time and the sensation of being trapped by all veritable mountain of stone and brick pressing close cut his exploration short. Following Kat, who was clearly on a mission, spared him the sensation of being buried. She wrested open a door that led to a spiral staircase, the walls littered with arrow slits every few steps.
"This gets us closer to my rooms without going through the main hall," she explained as she started mounting the twisting stairs. "You have no idea how often I use these to avoid people—I swear, I'll never get used to people hovering near the door to my chambers."
"I can imagine," he said wryly, trying not to notice the way her tight leathers hugged her long legs and pert rump.
It was a long climb to her rooms in the tower made somehow longer by the hypnotizing sway of her hips. Cullen forced those thoughts down and began silently reciting the Chant. Once safely in her rooms, Kat placed the tea on a low table before the hearth and set about stoking the fire. A cool breeze swept through the open balcony doors to rustle the papers on her desk and tease her loose curls.
He allowed himself to really take in her quarters for the first time from the proud four poster bed that dominated the room to the desk neatly piled with tidy stacks of reports and notes, books, and an inkpot. The shelves were crammed full of tomes and scrolls, their tags fluttering in the breeze. A simple glass vase sat atop the farthest shelf, a bright yellow bouquet adding some cheer to the corner where she worked. The heavy wooden furniture was simple, no gaudy ornamentations or filigree to distract from the honest craftsmanship. The upholstery, however, was fine. Heavy blue brocade with a subtle pattern lined her bed, and the loveseat was lined with a creamy silk. Matching chairs flanked it, their high backs and plush cushions inviting long conversations.
Simply elegant, just like her. Cullen shook the thought away and quickly set out the food they'd pilfered, setting his gloves beside him as he worked. He noticed her hovering from the corner of his eye, noting the way she traced the mark with the thumb of her right hand.
She was nervous, he realized.
The last time he'd been in her rooms was to bring her to her brother, and the last time they had spoken… Well, the sensation of her pressing against him, strong and warm and pliant, still haunted his dreams. He'd woken up with the evidence of those dreams pressed against his belly and demanding attention that very morning. Cullen flushed at the memory of tending to himself to the thought of her. The Inquisitor deserved better, he knew.
But why was she nervous? Was it because they were alone again, or did she think they'd continue their argument? He wondered if she knew the effect she had on him. Maybe she was going to continue the conversation from that morning in the sparring ring before the fight. A part of him wanted her to press it. He wanted her to ask him if he wanted her, to hold him to his promise of always being honest with her. But, of course, she didn't.
"Cullen, walk me through what to expect at Adamant Fortress," Katerina said coolly, a sharp juxtaposition to her worrying fingers.
He breathed heavily through his nose at the request veiled as a command. Here he was worrying about their feelings—exactly what he'd hoped to avoid—while her mind was occupied with the Inquisition's business. She was honoring his wishes while he dishonored her, yet again.
"Behind those walls, the Wardens will have the advantage," he started, resting his elbows atop his knees as he toyed with his teacup. Amber eyes tracked her every step as she began pacing before him. "They'll be defended, be able to attack from above—so we'll have to use every siege machine and ladder at our disposal."
"Could our mages be of any use breaking through the walls?" Katerina asked.
"Possibly, though it would be a task in and of itself getting them close enough to be effective," he replied. "The main task is forcing an opening so we can get you inside. Once in, you'll be faced with Wardens and demons alike. The demons will need to be stopped, along with Clarel and that magister. Take them alive, if you can, so Leliana might use any information they have."
"How—how long do you think the siege will last?" She was a bundle of nerves, unable to sit or stand still for even a moment. Her mind was abuzz with the constant thoughts of 'what if' and trying to plan for every possible outcome. She hadn't slept soundly for days, her dreams haunted by swirling nightmares of the siege and seeing her people killed, each one different in every way but one: She was always stalked by the same nameless, faceless terror.
Cullen could see the circles ringing her eyes, the way every fiber of her being was pulled taut—she was almost at her breaking point. "I don't know. It could be hours, it could be days. Maybe longer."
"Longer?" She whirled to face him, brows so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.
"It's impossible to predict, though we'll be fully supplied for the duration—"
"Cullen, our people can't handle that. I won't sacrifice them needlessly."
"Inquisitor, come sit down and—" He reached out to draw her down beside him, but she ignored his hand to continue pacing.
"No," she bit out, turning towards her books. "There must be something we can do to save the soldiers, another way in or something I missed—"
"Inquisitor, there's nothing else we can do." Cullen was on his feet and forcing the leatherbound tome back into its slot even before she'd pulled it free. "The soldiers don't view this as a needless sacrifice: This is their duty, the price of saving the world. They know the risks. Do not dishonor them by giving into fear."
Katerina glowered up at him, her muscles quivering with the anticipation of an argument. All of that faded away, however, when his calloused hand rose to cup her jaw. A rough thumb skated across her cheek and his bright eyes softened as he gazed down at her.
"I know you're afraid," Cullen continued softly. "You don't have to pretend with me. I'm afraid too, but this… This is what we do."
Her own calloused hand rose to cover his and she dropped her gaze to stare at breastplate concealed under the folds of his cloak. "You must know I never wanted this. I'm not a leader, Cullen, and I don't know how to do this. I'm not a warrior or a general. I'm just a mage with really bad luck."
"You are not 'just' anything," he said, forcing her chin up until those silvery eyes locked onto him once more. "You started this with nothing but a mark and everything that makes you who you are. We've come this far because of you. You've given us a sense of purpose. Not just me and Cassandra and Varric, but everyone who's joined the Inquisition. People respond to you—just look at everyone who has declared their loyalty to you. Do not discount yourself. I don't."
The fight drained out of her at his words, replaced by a fluttering, achingly sweet sensation of adoration. It plucked at her heart, tight and fit to burst at his nearness. She wavered closer to him, so close that their bodies nearly brushed. Cullen's hand slowly dropped away from her cheek as they simply stared at one another. They weren't touching, but the heat of him set her skin aflame. She wanted to launch herself at him, to say, 'damn propriety!' and let him know just how he affected her.
Instead, Kat swallowed the urge and forced herself to step back. "Thank you, Commander. Let's eat and you can tell me more about what to expect."
She pretended not to see the way his face fell as she turned away.
A/N: I'm sorry for the long break between updates! I was on vacation with my husband and in-laws for a week, and then came back to all kinds of crazy good news and big changes. We're moving soon and I'm starting a new job in a few weeks. There's a lot going on, and I am endlessly grateful for your patience!