The next day Leandra had to sit for a painting. The irony of commemorating her betrothal to one man while she fancied that she could still smell another on her skin left her smiling. It was hardly the first painting she had sat for, and the situation still didn't feel real. It was easy to pretend this was simply another painting.

Once home, the afternoon was quickly forgotten. Each night Leandra would sneak down to Malcolm's room as soon as the house fell silent, not returning to her own room until the last moments before dawn.

They were no closer to finding a way out of the marriage when Leandra, and the rest of the household, was given a reminder of how little time remained.

"Isn't that lovely?" Elizabeth admired the painting, hands clasped in front of her. "I think he did a fine job." Several of the maids agreed, all responding with mindless flattery.

"You look bloody miserable," Gamlen said quietly, head cocked.

"Wonder why," Leandra replied with a roll of her eyes.

Malcolm gave her an unreadable look before walking from the room. Leandra silently cursed her mother for making such an event out of the unveiling of her betrothal portrait. She had even called all the staff to see… including him. Considering the look Elizabeth gave the mage's retreating back she suspected it was intentional.

That night Malcolm wasn't at dinner.

Once the house was asleep Leandra crept through the halls, nightdress swishing around her ankles. "Mal," she whispered, knocking on his door. There was a clatter and the sound of breaking glass before she could open the door.

"Andraste's tits," she heard through the wood. It swung open. Malcolm's hair stood up wildly on one side, his eyes were glassy. "Dropped a glass," he slurred. Leandra winced at the smell of gin. "Stay dere," he mumbled, pushing her into the hall. She watched him stumble towards her, turn to face into the room, and wave his arms in a surprisingly complex gesture. "No?" he muttered. "Damn." Just when Leandra wondered if he had forgotten she was there, he turned back to her. "Jus' a second," Malcolm said, nodding. He moved his hands again, this time in a far less complex pattern, and a blue glow surrounded his head. "Ah, better," he said, before repeating the first spell. A gust of wind appeared out of nowhere, sweeping all the broken glass against the wall.

"What was that?"

Malcolm smiled, turning to her. "Should be safe now," he replied, waving her in. "Sorry."

"Were you drunk?" she asked, already being quite sure of the answer.

"Still am," came the reply. "Just… slightly less."

She sat down. "Are you all right?"

"Nope," came the reply. "Can't say I am. Drink?"

"Maker, yes," she said. He got up, fishing a glass out of a drawer and pouring her a generous portion from the bottle. "'s good," Leandra said after shuddering. "Strong."

"I'd hope so," Malcolm replied. "Stole it from your father." He leaned back, pulling her to him. "I told myself I wouldn't get upset. I am a horrible listener."

"Mal—"

"No," he said, shoving the bottle at her. "What can you say? We've been pretending it won't happen for months. That big, stupid, bloody gorgeous painting says otherwise."

"I'm not going through with it," she said, now slurring her words as well.

"Yeah, right," he said. "Get yourself disowned. For a Circle mage. That'll work out fantastically." He made a face before conjuring a small ball of fire, tossing it into the already roaring blaze. "I should have known this would happen."

Leandra looked away from the fireplace to him. "Mal, I—"

"I know," he muttered. "You love me, I love you, we're a living example of every bad Orlesian novel ever written. Bloody great."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said, pushing him to his back. "Not my parents or the stupid wedding or any of it. I don't want to think about it." Grinding her hips against his, Leandra leaned down to kiss him.

"Think about what, love?" Malcolm slurred between groans.

"And you said you aren't smart?" she giggled, pulling her nightdress off and tossing it aside.

"Leandra," Malcolm said, struggling to get undressed without pushing her off him, "right now I'll say anything you want."

Sitting up, he gripped her hips tightly. Leandra moved on Malcolm's lap, nails digging into his shoulders. He slipped one hand between them, rubbing between her legs. After crying out, Leandra went limp against him. Shifting, Malcolm rolled them both over, hooking one of her legs over his arm. Spurred on by her gasps, he thrust violently before collapsing onto her.

"Can we stay like this forever?" Leandra asked him quietly.

"Naked?" Malcolm replied. "Well… we could try, but it might raise some eyebrows at breakfast."

With a laugh she swung her legs over the side of the bed. "You're such an ass. Why do I put up with you?"

"Because you love me?"

Leandra sighed, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "You're right, I do."