This was not where the night should have ended up.
Far, far from it.
He was better than to be so capricious, so caught up in the opulent glitz and glamor of the evening's event.
The heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeated the air corroded his manners.
And the champagne that had worked a bubbling magic on his irreverent tongue, leaving it equally loosened and lacking and licentious.
How had he even permitted himself to become this off-course from their original goal?
He shouldn't be taking any pleasure in this bedroom, cornered and captured by delightfully imprudent thoughts left with nowhere to hide.
Especially not here. With a beaded dress lying at his feet.
Not when he could feel every tremble of her muscles against his thigh and hot rush of air brushing by the arms that strained to hold himself up.
She'd shut her eyes to the visceral grind of bodies, yet the inescapable, muffled moans still left her ears burning red in that thinnest window of slivered candlelight.
This wasn't supposed to have happened at all.
But where along that evening had he played the game so wrong…
The bathroom door snapped shut. A resounding bang echoed off the tile and rattled the mirror on the wall. It took a steady hand not to nick the lathered crease behind his ear as the elf pulled the blade in a short sweep.
Solas released a long sigh through his nose while he dipped the broad edge of the razor into the foamy, water-filled sink with a precise flick. "He's gone. You can come out now."
From behind the drawn shower curtain she stepped over the tub. Pulling several small items from the pockets in her robe, Chiyo dumped them on the counter. Narrow metal tubes rolled towards the edge, tiny compacts of pale powders, kohl, and black wax clacked. Palm-sized paper sheets tinted to shades of roses and berries fluttered, and a half-dozen differently shaped, minuscule brushes plinked on the porcelain. The jumbled lot would be rightfully at home in any artist's toolbox.
"Honestly. The nerve of that man." Hair pinned immobile with flat bars around her head, Chiyo carefully dabbed a wet cloth around one rather smeared, sooty eye. "I can do my own damn eyeliner. Just not with him telling me how every step of the way."
He sniffed as something soft wafted towards his nose with a curious tingle. It was sweet without being overtly sugary. And tart with lemon, ripened in the sun.
Her craning neck, arms, and legs gleamed with recently applied oil left to soak into her skin. A rare indulgence, if he knew anything about her personality, likely granted pardon for practicality's sake.
It was, distracting, to say the least. Watching a woman adorn the various layers of her make-up, face nearly pressed to the silvery glass. The blade in his hand slowed to ineffective strokes along the scalp while she made repairs with dabs of cream and began anew the delicate work of tracing each brown eye in kohl lines and thickening every lash with inky wax.
How she managed not to blink or wince as an applicator came close to stabbing the vulnerable watery whites had him confounded. It would be torture to allow anything that near to his own eyes.
With the aid of a rounded tuft of hair and a dab on the back of her hand, she fashioned a smoky haze across each lid. Soft circles of rogue were swirled into place on the apples of her cheeks for a charming glow. But that last twist of deep plum painted into an arched bow on her mouth left his own distracted lip drawn to pinch between his teeth.
Solas promptly looked away when the flick of her rimmed gaze caught his in the mirror. Why did he note a glint of scruple in that short-lived stare, tucked behind a smile? He'd seen it once before. That same weighted squint and quirked grin, equal parts evaluation and mischief, as she'd displayed during their chess game when he'd thwarted her wiliest gambits and presented his own more crafted ones.
She was watching him too. Waiting to see what he'd do before spinning the whole game on its head again with minimal regard for the rules. Losing seemed the least of her concerns, so long as she kept him wondering and off-balance.
And, if he were to play fair, it was the writer's turn. But he had little idea what kind of move she'd make next.
He'd have to fault his imagination for believing that her attentions gleaned over the freckles exposed by the open gape of his shirt. The whimsical notion faded as she returned to her own reflection.
Chiyo began the arduous process of removing each metal clasp from her curls, clipping them to the limp collar of a patterned robe. "Worried about tonight?"
That wasn't the question he'd waited the day over to be asked, but not a word had been shared about the evening before. Silence left him stretched on tenterhooks in her presence without rebuke or even a simple acknowledgement. He was not accustomed to this state of breath holding and second-guessing.
"No." He forfeited the last pass of his shave to wipe the drying skin clean before the residue became tacky. "I've been to my fair share of these kinds of social events. Are you?"
Already he scratched at a phantom itch on his throat and tugged the tight binding of a tie around it. Pressed full of starch, new, stuffy clothes lay in a bag on the bed, no better than a cilice waiting to be donned by a repentant sinner. And stripes. Why did the trend this year have to be tiny vertical stripes?
"As long as I don't get swallowed up in a crowd or make a spectacle of myself, I'll survive." With locks freed, the fluffy hair bounced into a carefully crafted shape. She licked a finger and twisted a curl before each ear. "How big is this thing really? Something tells me that Dorian's version of a private affair and mine are very... different."
Polished as much as required for his role that evening, he began to pull the remaining buttons on his old, more comfortable shirt. "I think it's best to experience some things oneself, rather than have them ruined by another's account."
"Really..."
Solas chuckled as a brush slipped from her inattentive fingers and clicked on the floor when she made an attempt to shove everything back into her pockets.
Chiyo's thoughts seemingly slid further with every opened inch. But to his amusement, that earlier, narrowed query returned yet again for whatever unspoken answers she sought after. "And just how much experience do you have?"
"Enough to know that if we don't get dressed soon we'll be late."
If Solas needed to be concerned with anyone else's behavior or troubles that night, Dorian had already proven himself to be the most discomfited in the group. The Tevinter scholar's standard degree of haughtiness and domineering personality already burned hot in his veins, even before they'd left the modest townhome that belonged to one of his close cousins. He'd fretted and argued and brooded the entire trek from Qarinus, relief found only in having someone new to torment for a change.
Dorian might be a considerably vexing pain in the ass, but he was a good man whose loyalties could not be purchased nor his principles sold. He simply wore every feeling too openly, as a constant, exhausting adornment. Ser Pavus was wholly, and unapologetically foremost, himself.
Yet even on his best days, he could be grating and unremitting, though manageable with the right application of critique and witticism.
But within minutes of their timely arrival, the man's gaskets were already primed to burst.
The poor bastard was still hiding his wounds, and had been behind burnished smiles and eccentric habits for years. It was akin to painful-having to watch those scars reopen right there in the front gallery.
"Ahh, if it isn't our host and my dearest, oldest friend. Mathematician extraordinaire, who put the entire Orlesian academic board to shame and beat my own superb test scores by a single point!" Dorian's grip around his escort's arm was too tight and sudden, nearly tripping Chiyo as she tottered on her heels to keep up with his sweeping movements. "Felix, I'm surprised you even remember what I look like."
How he'd found them so promptly amidst the noisy throng was anyone's guess, but the welcoming had not gone as smoothly as it should have been between the heir-apparent and a powerful magister's only son.
"I'm younger than you, or have you forgotten?" The laughing gentleman with short, black hair and deep-set eyes winked as he gave a courteous bow. He was pale and thin-skinned, sickly in appearance even, for one breed and born so far north. Either he never ventured beyond the thick walls of the familial home, or his health was considerably subpar for his age. "Do tell, what has happened in the last year? We've been missing of your company, you don't visit anymore. This wouldn't happen to be your..."
Even Solas, a mere observer, shifted in the awkward weight of the pause.
"Ms. Lavellan. Only a curious companion tonight. It's still a pleasure, regardless." Chiyo offered up her own name and a hand for a civil shake, spurring the man at her side to speak before she ran out of scripted lines. "Ser Pavus has been telling me all about your art collections. From the sound of it, you have quite an impressive assortment."
Nerves somewhat abated, Dorian released his grip around her and stood on his own, straightening the shiny lapels of his long overcoat. Always a cut above and a degree overdressed, his outfit had trappings plenty for him to preen with.
"Yes, yes. Business is booming, restrictions and taxes are awful, and whatever other drivel I'm supposed to add about how the trade runs me absolutely ragged. Forgive my absence, but I did not come all this way to bore you with my dealings in the seedy underbelly of perverse oil paintings and naughty sculptures." Dorian sounded delighted, chipper even, yet his perfectly tipped moustache failed to hide the frown building beneath it.
He wasn't fooling anyone. Be they blind, deaf, or without a pulse.
Still, he could not help but cut himself a little deeper, till the festered blood ran freely from the sore hurt. "How is Lymicara these days? Is she still just as saccharine now that the nuptials are long passed or has she finally soured?"
"Lymi is fine, visiting her mother at present. Doesn't much care for spooks and raucous. You've certainly heard by now, she's due early next year with our first. It's all my father wishes to talk about. He's over both moons." A glance away was damning enough as another in the crowd called him by name, but Felix answered politely with a hand resting on the profane art dealer's stolid shoulder.
"I'm sorry, my old friend, but we'll have to finish catching up later. Come find me once the séance wraps up, people begin to thin out afterward."
Dorian's face crumpled the moment Felix parted and slipped back through the promenade of boisterous party-goers shimmering in their late summer garb and rubbing elbows with their acquaintances.
The first wave of waiters bearing refreshments had just begun to disperse trays laden with bubbling, wide-brimmed glasses and light morsels of all manner from the nearby, bountiful seas and trees. Someone was already eyeing the iced oysters with a hungry stare, wheels turning as to how to keep her pretty lipstick from smearing on the lustrous shells...
"I need a drink. Now. Five minutes ago. Actually, why am I not piss drunk already?" Dorian snapped for the nearest attendant and took two glasses; one he downed promptly and placed the emptied vessel on the tray, the second he kept for slightly slower sipping. "Ahh, thank you. Don't go far and you shall soon be our fast friend. I'll marry you if brought a bottle."
With a polite shake of her head, Chiyo declined a drink herself, but for solidarity's sake, Solas made a silent toast with his patron. He'd scraped Dorian off the floor the first time they'd met and held no qualms with performing the same task again if need be. The exuberant man had suffered too many harsh blows in his life already to earn any added criticism. If Dorian wished to soften them with fine spirits he'd make no comment on his behalf.
It was with widening eyes, though, that Dorian stared over his tilted glass into the bustling foyer. Nearly spitting champagne, he spurted with a venomous gasp of outrage. "That conniving bitch! How dare she show her face here of all places. The sea will freeze solid before I'm to believe she was invited!"
Solas looked away from the man turning positively purple as a pair of fingers tapped the edge of his hands, held in their home behind his hips.
"Who is he talking about? I thought he was friend's with this family." Chiyo asked, tucking an olive into her cheek. She panned the dozen guests passing off their unneeded hats and bags, as well as signing the guest book.
With a brief point, Solas motioned towards an immaculately dressed, tall woman with dark hair shorn to a barely-there stippling. Even from this far away, her icy smile flashed just as bright as the dazzling white stones encrusted over her midnight-colored gown and transparent cloak.
He leaned to whisper in her ear, his nose once again tickled by that same delectable scent he could trace only to the nearness of her skin. "That would be a Madame de Fer, and if we don't keep those two at least a hundred paces from one another this entire estate will be burned to the ground before dawn."
They'd been at this charade for hours now, with nothing gained for all their investigating, or as it would be called more aptly, snooping, around the sprawling homestead. Generations had passed down their considerable wealth and a legacy that still garnered respect for all those sired under the Alexius name. There was simply too much to look through, and the house was built for keeping up appearances, not hoarding supposed secrets behind every door.
The guest quarters had been easily poked through, open for any passerby to freshen themselves in. Libraries and the central atrium were also accessible, but little had been found to implicate any act of falsification. A few shrouded sessions with the recorder smuggled in his vest had been to no avail. No wires to pull objects from hiding places, no speakers to project otherworldly noises, no moveable bookcases that revealed hidden passageways, no one dressed in ghostly gear waiting to pop out of the shadows. Not yet, anyways.
The famed foreign mystic hadn't arrived yet to stir the cosmic energies into a spiritual frenzy.
He couldn't wait to see that buffoonery in action.
They'd watched this hall and found the milling maids practically to be ignoring the shallow niche. Something was here that even they wanted to circumvent, with a pace always hastened while they crossed the egress and a hush fell over their chatter for several strides.
"You've jammed two already." Solas hissed back to the elf crouched on the floor. He stood as a vigilant watch, peering around the corner every few moments to ensure they wouldn't be stumbled upon. "Admit it, you don't know how to pick locks."
"Shh! I'm trying to focus and I'm running out of pins." The latch rattled as she twisted the bits of metal retrieved from her hair. The lock refused admittance for all her valiant efforts, pleading, and as a last desperate act, cursing. "Come on, you piece of shit. Ha!-"
At last, the door clicked, but her look of triumph immediately vanished at the sight of a tanned hand turning the opposing knob. Bared to the waist, she stared up at the dark, caramelly elf darkening the doorway.
"Though, Maker knows, I do not mind finding such a delicate, snow-petaled fiori upon my doorstep, I would have preferred such a gift left for me, unwrapped, and in my bed." The stranger ran fingers through his length of yellow hair with a throaty chortle.
Solas froze, pressed flat to the wall and prayed Chiyo's wit would be speedy enough to save herself from the half-naked blond offering her a hand up off the floor.
"Or... perhaps you were looking for something?" He didn't care much for the flowery language carried out over the deep, resonant tone, nor the striped tattoos running parallel down half his face. However, it was the insidious kiss placed with a flourish on the upturned inside of her wrist that spurred the most unexpected scowl.
"It could not be me, our host would not spoil a most lovely surprise by letting my name slip past his lips so soon, would he? Or did you hear about the impossibly handsome elf locked away in this room and just had to see for yourself if the rumors were true? Which, I assure you, they are my dear."
"Not exactly. But your talents, and uh…" She stalled, losing traction as quickly as she gained it. He considering making a noise, anything that might serve as a distraction, though it would risk them both getting caught. Only when she spoke again did he dare breathe. "And your remarkable looks, they would proceed you anywhere. There are maids here with loose lips, but please, I would hate to get them into any trouble..."
"Really? Come, mi Bella. Tell me all that you have heard while I finish getting ready. Perhaps you would enjoy an Antivan brandy after, and, if you like, a private palm reading tonight. Just the two of us?"
He'd never so much as touch another sweet again if her palms were the only sliver of almond-oiled skin that man wanted to see.
Interrupting the fiasco playing out before him would almost be worth the dismissal from the grounds sure to come from their invasions. Yet the intrepid thought wasn't enough to smother the few lively coals stoked somewhere deep inside his chest.
She'll tell him no. They'll have a laugh. And then go politely on her way.
"Actually, I would love to ask you a few questions about your work. If you wouldn't mind, of course."
His jaw dropped. That's not what he'd predicted. In the slightest.
"I'm sure a man of your prestige has a few secrets, if you'd let me be so rude as to pry." The last Solas saw of her was a hand waving him away behind her back before Chiyo was drawn inside.
"For you, dear lady, I shall keep nothing."
The door clicked. He stood there, baffled and alone.