It's nearly dawn by the time Dorian and Seth get back to the estate. Neither of them is entirely sober, but they're not completely smashed, either, which is something of a miracle considering how the evening unfolded. Indeed, the entire evening was something of a miracle, starting with Lady Pavus's public benediction of her son's scandalous marriage and culminating in Seth being the undisputed belle of the ball. Philion might as well have been a servant for all the attention he was paid by his guests, and while on the one hand this was perfectly delicious, it also became rather tedious as the evening wore on. So when Maevaris whispered that they ought to decamp elsewhere – leave them wanting more, was her sage advice – Seth was only too ready to agree. Dorian fully intended to take him home, only to have Seth announce that he and Mae had made other plans. Which is when the evening became truly interesting.

"Was that what they call a house of ill repute?" Seth inquires as they descend from the carriage.

"No, no. That was a den of iniquity."

"What's the difference?"

"The amount of sex, chiefly."

"There seemed to be quite a lot of sex," Seth points out.

This is true. There were also poetry readings, erotic paintings, hallucinogenic magic, and an interpretative dance performance that Mae had succinctly dubbed "the fuck pile." Ah, Minrathous.

The usual welcome committee awaits them in the courtyard. This consists of a very excited Maggie and a considerably less enthusiastic Austus. Indeed, the seneschal looks downright resentful, handing over a stack of expensive stationery with a sour expression. "Your correspondence, my lords."

Dorian tuts as he accepts the letters. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Most assuredly."

"Well, look at the bright side. At your age, it'll be nothing but sleep soon. Of the permanent variety."

"I very much look forward to that, my lord," Austus says with a bow, and he withdraws.

Seth watches him go with a grin. "The champion and steal undefeated. You're never going to outduel him, you know."

"I let him win," Dorian says airily. "It's good for his blood pressure." He frowns as he flips through the letters. Virtually every one bears an urgency cantrip, a subtle compulsion spell that nags at the bearer until the letter is opened. No wonder Austus was cranky. He couldn't have gone to sleep if he tried. "Maker's breath. You really have conquered Minrathous society, Inquisitor."

Seth's brow creases. "What do you mean?"

"These are invitations. A baker's dozen of them, all for next week. Enchanted with urgency cantrips, no less. The epistolary equivalent of elbowing your way to the front of the line."

Seth only looks more puzzled now. "I don't understand. I was only introduced to society last night. How can there already be invitations?"

"It would appear the cream of Minrathous society is impatient to curry your favour." Dorian can't decide if he's annoyed or pleased by this. In the nearly five years he's lived here, virtually all his social invitations have come from Maevaris's circle. Seth has been here for all of five minutes and already his dance card is oversubscribed.

Seth considers the pile of letters with a tilt of his head. "Some of these people want to kill me, surely?"

"Of course," Dorian says with an impatient wave. "But that's not the point."

"It's… not?"

"This is Minrathous. If a man turned down every invitation he suspected of being a trap he'd never get out at…" Dorian pauses, distracted by one of the letters in his hand. He hadn't noticed it before, since unlike the others it bears no urgency cantrip. Neither does it bear a family seal – just a humble blob of red wax. It's addressed to Seth alone, which makes him even more wary.

"Something wrong?"

"This letter," Dorian says, setting the others aside. He passes a hand over it, but feels no enchantment. It's safe to open. Probably.

"Let me see that." There's an edge to Seth's tone now. His Inquisitor voice. Dorian hands the letter over instinctively. Blue-green eyes scan the paper, and Seth's mouth presses into a thin line.

"You recognize the handwriting?"

"Don't you?" Before Dorian can stop him, Seth thumbs the letter open. The paper is translucent enough to make out the signature at the bottom, and Dorian feels the blood drain from his face.

"Kaffas," he hisses, shifting so he can read over his husband's shoulder.

Inquisitor,

My belated congratulations on your recent nuptials. For what it is worth, you deserve whatever happiness you can find in this life, while time remains. While Dorian and I have had our differences, I believe he means well, and your continued devotion to each other through your many challenges is admirable. I wish you both the very best.

It has come to my attention that you have relocated permanently to Minrathous. It is my fervent hope that this signals nothing more than a desire to be close to your husband. If that is not the case – if your presence in the Imperium signifies an intention to redouble your efforts to find me – I beg you to reconsider. Whatever you may think of me now, Inquisitor, you still have my greatest respect, and I consider you a friend. I have no wish for our paths to be in collision. But make no mistake: if a collision is to occur, I will do what I must. There is too much at stake to allow my personal feelings to interfere.

Nothing is inevitable, Inquisitor. I have always admired your principles and your commitment to upholding them, but you have done your part for the people of Thedas. Let the mantle pass to another and enjoy the retirement you so richly deserve.

In hope and respect,

S.

Seth sighs. "As death threats go, it's quite polite."

Dorian doesn't reply straightaway. He's too busy picturing himself strangling the hairless hobo with his bare hands. "Dorian means well?" he splutters eventually.

His husband gives him a wry look. "That's the part you're stuck on?"

"I consider you a friend? Are you meant to celebrate? Why, thank you, Solas. That means so much to me, Solas."

Seth isn't really listening to him, which is just as well. He narrows his eyes, staring thoughtfully into nothingness. "I haven't heard a word from Solas in six years. If he's writing to me now, it means he's worried. Which means there's something here he doesn't want me to find."

Dorian sighs. "And you intend to find it, I suppose?"

"Eventually." Seth shrugs, looking awfully relaxed for a man whose life has just been threatened by the Dread Wolf. "Right now, all I want is a little sleep."

"Bed, yes. Sleep…" Dorian eyes him wolfishly. "Not so much."

"Really?" Seth says, allowing himself to be herded toward to the stairs. "It's almost dawn."

"Do you know the best part about being married to the belle of the ball? Knowing that you're the one who gets to unwrap him when he gets home. To the victor the spoils, Inquisitor."

He starts unwrapping immediately, and by the time they reach their bedchamber, Seth is half unbuttoned and walking backwards, letting Dorian steal a few kisses in advance. "Do you think," he whispers between kisses, "we have a… spy… in the house?"

"If so, I hope the Dread Wolf receives an accurate report of our reaction to his threats. The Inquisitor read the letter, shrugged, and promptly headed upstairs for a shag."

Seth smiles. "In that case," he says, fingers working at Dorian's laces, "we'd better put on a good show."