It was raining.

Not just drizzling, but pouring, which rather changed Kiara's intended plans for the morning. Archery practice was all well and good, but when one was already skilled enough to make the kinds of shots she'd made in her little competition with Sebastian, one no longer had to suffer long hours of practice in the driving rain. So when Tasia asked her plans for the day, Kiara sighed and said she intended to spend the morning in the library, before joining the prince and his steward in the afternoon.

Tasia's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, my lady," she said sweetly—too sweetly, "but did you not tell me much the same thing the day before yesterday?"

Kiara huffed a laugh, even as she glared out at the sheets of water cascading from the sky. "I swear I truly intend to spend the morning reading about Starkhaven history today, Tasia. The Steward has me… helping with some correspondence, and I find myself woefully uneducated." She shrugged, and gestured toward the window and its dreary vista. "Would you want to brave that, if it wasn't absolutely necessary?"

"I wouldn't, my lady," Tasia replied, already rustling through the wardrobes in search of whatever garment fit her idea of library gown. "But then, you do all sorts of things I would never do. I've learned not to assume."

Kiara watched as Tasia held several dresses up, and then just as swiftly discarded them again. She almost asked what criteria the maid was judging them on, but didn't want a lesson in sartorial suitability. When she tried to remember the simplicity of her life in Kirkwall—wake up, clothes on, tea and a sweet bun—she found the memory already growing dim.

"That one's… pretty," Kiara offered lamely as Tasia pulled a froth of pale green from the wardrobe.

Tasia wrinkled her nose. "And it would wrinkle like mad if you spent the morning doing nothing but sitting in it. No. The color's right, though."

Several minutes later, Tasia chose a gown and for the life of her, Kiara could never have explained how it was in any way different than the earlier green dress. She held her tongue, and allowed herself to be manhandled into the garment. It wasn't until she was almost finished putting the final touches on Kiara's hair that Tasia's expression darkened and her hands stilled.

Confused, Kiara turned in her chair and asked, "Something the matter, Tasia?"

"My lady, I…"

Confusion shifted slightly toward dismay. It was so unusual to see Tasia less than cheerful. "Tasia?"

The maid shook herself briefly, and smiled, but the smile was as forced as anything Kiara had ever seen. It was so strained it was almost a grimace. "Nothing, my lady. I pinned your hair wrong. That's all. It's last season's style. Forgive me."

Kiara raised her eyebrows. "Tasia. Just now you looked a little as though someone killed your puppy in front of your eyes. You can… whatever's bothering you, you can tell me."

Tasia ducked her head, and a faint flush spread over her cheeks. "Forgive me, my lady, I shouldn't have… I was only wondering something it wasn't my business to wonder."

"Something miserable?"

The maid shrugged one shoulder, gaze still firmly on the floor. "How… how long have you known Prince Sebastian?"

Kiara chuckled, sitting back a little in her chair. "Goodness, is that all? I met him almost seven years ago, I suppose, give or take. I, uh… do you honestly not know this part?"

Tasia raised her eyes only briefly enough to give her head a weak shake in the negative.

"He wanted help finding the people who'd murdered his family."

"Finding?" Tasia asked.

"Killing," Kiara amended.

Tasia grew very still. "And that was you?"

"That was me. We weren't… I didn't actually get to know him until three years ago, though, really. We've been… friends since then." She smiled ruefully. "For the most part."

Tasia lifted an errant strand, twisted it around her fingers, and pinned it to Kiara's head. Her fingers trembled, but before Kiara could ask her—again—what was wrong, Tasia asked softly, "Is he… does he… my lady, will he be a good prince?"

"Of course," Kiara replied instantly and without hesitation. This time she did not merely turn in her seat; she rose and took Tasia's hands in hers. Still the maid did not look up from the floor. "Why do you—?"

"It's only we've had so many years of… of bad princes, my lady. And I hear—I know it's only gossip, and of course all the servants are happy enough to spread whatever they hear, lies or truth, but…" Tasia finally, finally looked up, her blue eyes bright with unshed tears. Kiara, startled, squeezed the young woman's hands even tighter.

"Maker, Tasia! What is it? Are there rumors about Sebastian? About me?"

Tasia gave a weak, watery smile. "Of course, Lady Kiara. Plenty. But it's not… have you met Lady Serie?"

Kiara blinked at the non-sequitur. "Um. I don't think so?"

"You'd… you'd know if you had. She's very pretty. Her mother is… elegant. And ambitious."

Kiara frowned, turning possibilities over in her head. "You think she's plotting against Sebastian?"

"Not… as such, my lady. I only… wanted to make you aware of their existence. I do not think they would do physical harm, but… well, I think Lady Aileene does not… approve of your presence here."

"Surely she's not the only one."

Tasia looked a little as though she wanted to say more, but instead she pulled her hands from Kiara's grip and brushed them briskly against her skirts. "She's just ambitious," Tasia repeated slowly. "And she has a beautiful daughter. And she doesn't like you."

"Thank you. For the, uh, warning."

Tasia only shook her head again, and silently finished styling Kiara's hair.

#

Starkhaven history was dry.

Kiara supposed all history was a bit dry once all the life was stolen from it and it was written down in the plainest, dullest language possible. Still. When she realized she was flipping pages without even pretending to read the words on them, she closed the book and returned it to the shelf.

Wandering past the shelves, more to stretch her legs than because she was looking for more books, she wondered absently how many of Sebastian's spies were scattered about, without her knowledge. She wondered how many plots had been foiled.

She wondered if she'd ever stop wondering about such things, and what it would mean if she did. She'd grown rather too quickly accustomed to things like library gowns and maids and impossible hairstyles. It still gave her pause when Ser Kinnon or Ser Maisie or one of her other guardian knights fell in step behind her, but she no longer questioned the necessity. Visible guards and invisible ones. She glanced up to find Ser Maisie the usual distance away, watching without giving the impression of watching. Kiara knew her sharp gaze missed nothing. As if sensing Kiara's thoughts, Maisie dipped her head in acknowledgement. Kiara returned the gesture and turned back to the bookshelves. Nothing jumped out at her. Literally or figuratively.

Shaking her head, she returned to her plush chair near the fire, only to find the seat opposite had been taken. Smiling in a manner she hoped looked welcoming instead of annoyed, Kiara lifted the next book from her pile. Two sentences in, she knew it was just as dry as the previous one, and she grimaced.

"The volume on the bottom is your best bet," the newcomer offered.

Kiara blinked at her. She was a handsome woman, who either knew her assets and dressed accordingly, or who employed a lady's maid nearly as talented as Tasia. Not a hair on her head was out of place, and though she was likely old enough to be Kiara's mother, clever cosmetics took ten years from her age.

"If you're looking for a book on Starkhaven history that won't put you to sleep, that is. Try the volume on the bottom, there. The one by Garel Dannic."

With a slightly warmer smile, Kiara said, "Thank you."

The woman nodded, and returned to her own book. Just as Kiara was opening the Dannic book, the woman added, "It is no simple thing, trying to understand a world you weren't born to."

Kiara settled the book on her lap, and felt her smile turn brittle. Something about the woman's tone spoke of something… deeper than merely attempting to understand foreign politics. "I'm sorry?"

The older woman's face gave nothing away, but her words, when she spoke, were undeniably cool. "You don't belong here."

"I'm sorry?" Kiara repeated.

A faint, cruel smile pulled at the woman's lips. "Did you not hear me?"

"I heard you."

"Then we are understood."

"I don't think we are. I've never even met you, and I haven't the first idea what you're talking about. The prince himself has welcomed me—"

"Don't be insufferable. Everyone knows why you're here, my lady. And I am just the one who's decided to inform you it will not happen."

Kiara's eyes darted around, once more scanning for the Prince's Eyes, but this time because she had the oddest feeling she might need them. Maisie took a step closer, but Kiara shook her head slightly. The noblewoman sitting opposite her wasn't overtly threatening, but her eyes were too sharp, and her expression too calculating. Something about her made Kiara's bones ache, and set her teeth on edge.

Instead of replying or reaching for the knife hidden in her skirts, Kiara opened the book and attempted to read the first paragraph. It was, in fact, just as dry as the others. It began with a dull description of the Vael family tree—births, deaths, marriages—which was engaging only because Kiara recognized some of the later names. She was about to look for evidence of Morven's family when she was interrupted again.

"Interesting reading, don't you think?"

"Not particularly," Kiara snapped, flipping the book shut and tossing it onto the top of the abandoned pile.

The woman leaned forward, her green eyes narrowed. "This isn't Kirkwall. You're no Champion here. Perhaps playing the man with your weapons and your brashness served you there, but you'll always be an outsider in Starkhaven. Always. You don't belong here. You never will."

"Who do you—?"

The woman continued as though Kiara hadn't spoken. "Oh, you're pretty enough, and I suppose all your… activity has made you lithe, if nothing else, but you're so clearly out of your league. You're certainly no match for me."

Kiara's eyes widened in a sort of horrified bewilderment. "Well, you're just thirteen kinds of crazy, aren't you?" Kiara rose to her feet. "If it's all the same to you, I think maybe we've had quite enough conversation for today, Lady…?"

The older woman unfolded herself gracefully and rose to her feet; she was an inch taller even than Kiara, who was used to being the tallest woman in a room, and it was just enough height to let her look imperiously down her nose as she smiled. "You're quite right."

She took three steps before Kiara called out, "Are you a coward?"

The woman turned her head, sneering over her shoulder. "Hardly."

"But you won't name yourself?"

"Who are you to demand such attention from me?" The woman lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. "You are no one, and I am the matriarch of one of Starkhaven's first families."

Kiara swallowed, struggling to rein in her frustration. "Did you miss the part where Sebastian said to insult me is to insult him? I'm fairly certain he wasn't just making idle conversation."

The woman laughed, sending a shiver down Kiara's spine. Something about that laugh spoke of victory, and the woman's expression was shrewd. "And are you a child, then, still hiding in your nursemaid's skirts, unwilling or unable to speak for herself, to fight her own battles? Answer me this, foolish girl: what can you offer? Wealth? Prestige? You have nothing but a tarnished name hardly clinging to its vestiges of nobility. To say nothing of your other murderous, disgraced moniker. Hawke. How… very common."

Part of her wanted to draw her slim blade, to shout at the woman to cease her… words. But the greater, wiser part kept Kiara's hands still at her sides. Words. She didn't know how to fight a battle like this one. The lines were unclear, and the method of attack too… personal. Especially coming from a complete stranger. A palace library was not a training yard or a slaver's den or a cave filled with giant spiders, and Kiara was horrified to realize the woman spoke the truth… she was out of her league. She wasn't used to not having words. Several retorts died on her tongue before she could speak them; she knew this woman would be unmoved by threats, and would find sarcasm puerile.

It wasn't so much the words, Kiara realized: it was the disrespect. She wasn't used to being spoken to as an inferior. It had been a long time since those first days in Kirkwall, and the mantle of Champion had made inferiority and contempt things of the past.

When she was armed, at least.

Still, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

"You are a brave little soldier," the woman remarked. "I will grant you that. But you are no princess, not for all your borrowed finery and high connections. Good day, Kiara Hawke."

It seemed hypocritical to insist on a title she'd never insisted upon before, but this woman choosing to leave off the 'Lady' honorific was both deliberate and offensive. Kiara's tongue darted out to moisten dry lips, but by the time she thought to speak, the woman was gone, her words echoing in the silence of the library.

"Who was that?" she asked Ser Maisie, once she found her voice again. "Who was that woman?"

"Lady Aileene Caddell, my lady." Maisie's expression turned sour. "And she ought not to have spoken to you in such a way. Not after the Prince's—"

"Mmm," Kiara said. "I—sorry, you don't mind leaving this with me, do you? I'd rather not drag Sebastian into something like this if it's not necessary."

Maisie gave her a calculating look, and Kiara wasn't sure if respect or disappointment drove the expression. After a moment, the knight gave a brief salute. "As you wish, Lady Kiara."

"Maker's breath, Tasia," Kiara groaned under her breath, sinking back into her chair and retrieving one of the dull tomes she'd cast aside. "Saying she doesn't like me may win for understatement of the year."

She thought she heard Maisie chuckle, but when she glanced over her shoulder, the guard's face was as watchful and impassive as ever.

#

Much as she wanted to shrug the encounter off entirely, as the day wore on Kiara found her thoughts returning again and again to Lady Aileene Caddell's barbed words. It was not unlike scratching an already inflamed insect bite. Each time she remembered you do not belong here, the ache grew ten-fold. She was annoyed by how much the words troubled her, and the annoyance annoyed her even more. She was no stranger to feeling out of place, after all, but somehow everything around her—the finery, the servants, even the smiling prince on the other side of the desk—seemed to magnify her deficiencies.

Finally, it was the Steward who said softly, "My lady? You seem… preoccupied."

Kiara glanced down at the missive she was meant to be reading, and realized she'd been worrying the edges of the paper ragged. Startled, she dropped it, and folded her hands in her lap. "It's the… rain," she lied. "Too much energy. Didn't get a chance to work it out in the practice yard this morning."

Corwin looked very much as though he didn't believe her. Bending at the waist, he retrieved the fallen letter and set it back on the desk. Before he could cast his sympathetic gaze her way—somehow sympathy seemed even more upsetting—Kiara reached for another stack of correspondence.

"Ah, my lady—"

But she saw straight away what they were: lists of attributes and dowries and accomplishments. Each was from a Lady discussing the merits of her marriageable daughters. The letter on the very top of the stack was from Lady Aileene Caddell, speaking of her daughter, Serie (riding, singing, drawing, dancing said the list; Kiara had to wonder if the woman knew anything at all about what Sebastian valued).

Sebastian finished whatever he'd been working on, glancing up at Corwin's concerned tone. Kiara flushed, turning away from his guileless gaze. Of course, she thought. He is prince now. Of course. "Kiara?" he asked. "Are you—?"

"I'm fine," she said, calmly setting the papers back on the desk and rising in the same motion. She was grateful her heavy skirts hid her trembling knees. "I think maybe I'll get some air after all. A little rain never hurt anyone."

"I'll join you—"

"No, thank you," she interrupted. Hurt warred with concern on Sebastian's face, and because she could stand neither, she only looked away. Swallowing past the knot of perplexing emotion in her throat, she forced her lips to smile and her shoulders to shrug. "You know me, Sebastian. I never did take well to being cooped up indoors."

"Kiara," he said, "if this is about the other night…"

It wasn't, but since it was a very good excuse for her behavior—far better than the real source of her dismay, in any case—she only waved her hand and scowled as though she were still angry about his reaction to her leaving the palace without his permission. "I don't want to talk about it. I just… need some air. Alone. Please."

She turned in time to see Sebastian, stung, sit back heavily in his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingertips and shook his head. "If you're certain…"

The Steward was not quite so easy to fool. His hazel eyes watched her carefully, darting to the pile of papers she'd been looking at. Meeting those eyes, she shook her head once, firmly. Corwin inclined his head, but not before she saw the disappointed twist of his lips. She felt her shoulders hunch forward, just a little. No matter. Let the Steward be the latest to be disappointed with her; she was growing all too certain he would not be the last.

#

The fresh air didn't help.

Kiara stalked through the gardens, feet slipping in the mud, until her dress was soaked through, but still she felt the tight coil of disgust burning in her belly. Amelle would tell her she was feeling sorry for herself, and would likely refuse to heal the headache and the chill that came of walking outdoors without proper garments.

Kiara was, of course, alone. She wished for her bow, but she'd left it in her chambers. She was relatively certain even that activity wouldn't clear her mind.

"Oh, Mely," she said aloud into the silent gardens. "I'm acting like an idiot, aren't I?"

The rain didn't answer, but Kiara knew her sister would have looked at her, arched an eyebrow at the sodden gown, and replied yes, yes you are without reservation. Then Amelle would have hugged her.

Kiara missed her sister's hugs. She even missed her sister's arched eyebrows and wry remarks, but mostly she just… missed Amelle. It occurred to her that this was the longest they'd ever been apart. "It hasn't been a week," she told the rain. "The courier's probably only halfway to Kirkwall."

Patience, she mused, had never been much of a virtue.

Kiara sat in the rain until the light began to shift from a pale grey to a darker one. Tasia was going to have a fit. Scrubbing the backs of her hands over her cheeks, Kiara rose and walked back through the gloaming. In the palace the hallways were quiet, with most of the nobility in their chambers dressing for dinner. Kiara was glad of it. Her sodden skirts left a damp trail on the stones, and the few servants she passed gasped before hiding their shocked expressions behind their hands. Kiara opened her mouth to apologize—her foolishness would mean extra work for them—but their embarrassment kept her silent.

Alarmingly, Tasia said nothing when Kiara entered. The maid went a little pale, and then immediately began hustling Kiara through her evening preparations.

"Tasia," Kiara pleaded, "perhaps I might stay—"

"No!" Tasia snapped, and Kiara stiffened at the young woman's tone. "Hiding from them lets them win. Don't you see? You're playing into her hands. I warned you, my lady."

"Do I want to know how you know about my sparring match with Lady Aileene?"

Tasia lifted the damp tendrils of Kiara's hair and blew out a disgusted sigh before coiling the lot into a simple chignon and accenting it with jeweled pins. "I know because I know. I know because everyone is gossiping. Yesterday you were the heroine who playfully dueled the prince. Today you're carpet beneath Lady Aileene's fashionably-heeled foot. That is how gossip works, my lady. And that is how quickly fortunes can change because of it."

"I'm not hiding."

Tasia closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "You are. And you're lying about it. Whatever she said to you, it was calculated to make you… feel uncomfortable. It wasn't true."

Kiara twisted her hands together in her lap. "But it was, Tasia. I don't belong here. I am out of my element."

"The prince says you belong, so you belong. He wants you here, so you'll stay. Nothing Lady Aileene says or does will change that."

Kiara allowed herself a brief, painful moment to contemplate how things would change once Sebastian chose a… chose someone from the pile of possibilities sitting on his desk. Perhaps he already had, and simply hadn't told her. He… he probably thought she wouldn't approve.

She didn't. Though it certainly wasn't because of the vows he was going to have to break.

"You don't understand, Tasia," Kiara said softly. "You only… you only know this." With a sweeping gesture, Kiara encompassed the dress and the shoes and the hair. "And it's not real. Not for me. This is me playing dress-up. It's not who I am. I might have a noble name—one of my names is noble, anyway—but I don't live in this world. I never really have. I'm not soft and sweet and lovely. I can't carry a tune in a bucket, I've never attempted to draw anything in my life, and no one would ever list my dancing as an accomplishment. My hands are calloused because I use them, and I'm not used to playing cruel little games with words. I don't fit here."

Perhaps it was only that Kiara had spent the better part of her afternoon thinking about her sister, but when Tasia crossed her arms over her chest and jutted out her chin, there was something very… Amelleish about the stubbornness of the gesture. It made her want to laugh and cry all at the same time. "You may have calloused hands, and maybe you don't simper and smirk and gossip like the rest of them, but you're worth twenty of Lady Aileene, and fifty of her daughter." Tasia's brow furrowed and she hesitated before adding, "With respect, my lady? The only thing that doesn't belong here is your self-deprecation. It is unbecoming, and I don't think it's part of who you are any more than… than the playing dress-up is."

In an almost violent gesture, Tasia brushed her hands along the front of her skirt, as though in an attempt to banish nonexistent wrinkles. Then she nodded once, definitively, and said, "You are going to be late for dinner if you don't go down now. Hold your head high, my lady. You may not be like them, but they're not like you, either."

Kiara managed to hold her head high at first. It was hard not to notice, however, that whoever controlled the seating arrangements had managed to maneuver her even farther away from Sebastian once again. He looked away from the pretty brunette who was to serve as his dining companion and smiled at Kiara when she entered. Kiara tried to smile back, but found she couldn't. Instead she tilted her head and offered a brief wave before stalking down the table to the seat bearing her name on a place-card. Her dining companions consisted of a man old enough to be her grandfather who, evidently, was nearly blind and almost certainly deaf, and a wide-eyed young lordling who might have been sixteen if one squinted hard and rounded his age up.

"My lady," breathed the boy, "what an honor to be seated next to you. I saw you shooting the other day! You and the prince, of course, but the way you handle your bow… I've never seen anything like it."

He continued on in much the same rambling manner for the better part of the meal, while the old man on her other side periodically glanced around and bellowed, "Where's my dinner?" at the top of his lungs, even though his dinner was very clearly settled on the table directly in front of him.

At least I don't have to talk, Kiara mused, eyes wandering down the table to Sebastian. The pretty girl reached out and laid her fingertips on Sebastian's forearm, laughing delicately at something he'd said. Kiara scowled. Delicate laughing was hardly real laughing at all, but Sebastian seemed amused enough, and all his attention was focused on the brunette.

"Who is that?" Kiara asked abruptly, startling her young companion in the middle of a one-sided conversation about something to do with arrow fletching. He blinked and his already wide eyes widened further still. "Sitting next to the prince. Who is she?"

"Oh," the boy said, swallowing and turning his own gaze down the table. "Lady Serie Caddell." His smile took on a foolish, slightly-dreamy quality. "She's lovely, isn't she? All the lads—well."

"Of course," Kiara said on a sigh, forcing herself to turn away from the irritating tableau. "Forgive me. I missed your name."

It took the boy a little longer to remove his longing gaze from the lovely Lady Serie, and he stared at Kiara a moment too long before replying, "Oh. Sorry. I'm Garreth Grayden. Ah, Lord Garreth Grayden, I guess. The… the title's new. I keep forgetting it."

Because she was forcing herself to pay attention to the boy, she saw the flicker of grief cross his features.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "Your father?"

He nodded, glancing down at his half-eaten dinner. "He was in Kirkwall. You know. When everything happened."

"I'm… I'm very sorry, my lord."

The boy tilted a weary half-smile in her direction. "Just Garreth if you don't mind, my lady. 'My lord' still sounds like my father."

"I don't mind, if you'll do the same for me. I grew up on a bloody farm. All this bowing and scraping and 'my lady'ing puts my teeth on edge."

She was relieved when the weariness faded and was replaced by a genuine laugh. "A farm?"

"Chickens, sheep, a couple of cows, and the most obnoxious asses in Ferelden." She winked. "Donkeys, I mean. Not my family. They were okay, most of the time."

"And are they all…?"

"It's just my sister and me now."

"So, your father…?"

Kiara nodded, feeling the old pain as clearly as when it had first happened. Oh, Papa. "When I was just a little older than you are. I… understand how hard it is, Garreth."

The boy's face crumpled, but he didn't quite shed the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Kiara put a hand on his tense forearm, and he looked up at her, pleading. "Does it get easier?"

"It gets… different," she said. "It doesn't stop hurting, though. And you don't stop missing him, not ever. But… you stop thinking about it all the time, and the pain becomes bearable." She paused, letting the boy take her words in stride. After a moment he swallowed and nodded, dashing the backs of his hands across his cheeks. "Do you have other family?"

He frowned. "My mother. But… she's not handling things very well. She hasn't left her rooms since… well, since."

Laying her hand over his, Kiara gave him a bolstering squeeze. "Are those an archer's callouses I feel?" she asked lightly, and he gave her a weak, grateful smile—as much for changing the subject as for the physical contact, she thought.

"Aye, my lady—" on her glare, he amended, "Kiara. I'm not… I'm not very good, really, but I like it. The… the quiet."

She huffed a laugh. "I like the quiet of it, too. My brother was a swordsman—so bloody loud, all that crashing and banging and grunting. An arrow just… sings."

Garreth's lips pursed, and she could see him working up the courage to ask her a question. Before he could, she offered, "Find me tomorrow, if the blasted rain lets up, and we'll practice together. If you like."

"I would… like that very much, my—Kiara."

"Where's my sodding dinner?" yelled the old man beside them. "You trying to starve me to death? I won't have it! It'll take more than that to kill me, you bastards! Where's my dinner?"

Kiara and Garreth exchanged a look, and then Kiara turned and gently began to help the old man eat.

When at last the bell sounded to signal the end of dinner and the beginning of the evening's festivities, Kiara glanced at her young dining companion and made a face.

"Fancy a dance, Garreth?" she asked. "Though I feel I should warn you, I haven't the first idea what the steps are, usually. Your feet may not thank you for accepting."

He bowed before extending his hand. "If you'll teach me the bow, I'll teach you the dance," he said lightly. "Then we'll be even."

She laughed, but Garreth was true to his word, and was a surprisingly good teacher. At the end of the set, she'd only stepped on his toes once. He bowed again, and said, "I… I want you to know I don't blame you. Some people do, I know. But I don't. You… you're the first person who's spoken to me about my father like it's acceptable to grieve. You're the first person who hasn't intimated everything would be all better if I just put a pleasant face on and pretended hard enough. So. Whatever happened in Kirkwall… I don't blame you."

Before she could form a response, they were interrupted by Sebastian's arrival. He smiled down at Garreth and inclined his head in greeting. "Lord Garreth. I… heard about Lord Daylin. You have my condolences."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

Sebastian's smile widened. "But I fear I've come to steal your partner, if she'll have me."

Garreth grinned. "Better your feet than mine, my lord."

"I wasn't that bad!" Kiara protested.

With another courtly bow, the young lord said, "Until tomorrow then, Kiara. Thank you again. For everything."

When he'd disappeared into the crowd, Sebastian turned a bemused eye on her. "Making friends?"

"It's what I do best," she retorted.

With one hand resting lightly on the small of her back, Sebastian guided her into the dance. After several moments he said, "Rumor has it you weren't making friends this morning. You had an… altercation with Lady Aileene in the library? Is that why you were so out of sorts this afternoon?"

Kiara looked down, ostensibly to watch where her feet were going, but mostly to avoid the look on Sebastian's face. And are you a child, then, still hiding in your nursemaid's skirts, unwilling or unable to speak for herself, to fight her own battles? "I didn't stab her, so I'm calling it a draw," she replied, nearly stumbling. Sebastian's strong hands merely held her upright and guided her into the next figure.

"Kiara, did she say something? Should we be concerned? Do you suspect she was involved with the pretender?"

Kiara snorted. "She doesn't like me. I'm pretty sure it's nothing more sinister than that. She caught me off-guard. That's all. Who told you, anyway?"

He shrugged one shoulder and turned her lightly. "I asked. I was… concerned."

"Because I was cranky?"

"Because you weren't yourself," he said quietly. "You're… you're under my protection. I thought I made that clear."

She sighed. "I can protect myself, Sebastian."

"No one doubts that. Nevertheless…"

"It's nothing. Please. Forget about it. I know I'm trying to."

His brow furrowed in blatant concern, but she only raised an eyebrow in silent challenge and he held his tongue. Clever man.

They spoke no more as they danced, and Kiara was relieved when the music ended and he stepped away, bowing slightly. "Kiara," he said, "I wish you would—"

Whatever he wished was interrupted by the arrival of the pretty brunette from dinner. Kiara didn't scowl outright, which she considered a victory on par with her defeat of the Arishok. The girl did not so much as acknowledge her, however, so Kiara supposed she might have scowled all she liked. Instead, Lady Serie put her hand on Sebastian's arm, turned her body just enough to completely exclude Kiara from the conversation, and said lightly but pointedly, "It has been some time since you were at court, Your Highness. I suppose you might be forgiven."

Sebastian blinked and shook his head, looking down at the young woman as though he didn't recognize her. "Pardon me?"

"Precedence," she reminded him, her green gaze—like her mother's, but without the flash of cruel intelligence—flickered dismissively over Kiara. "You dance with your dinner partner first, or you risk slighting her."

"Precedence," Sebastian repeated hollowly, glancing over Lady Serie's head and giving Kiara a faint shrug. Then he led the girl onto the dance floor. Kiara watched, wishing for someone to keep her company, or for something—a glass of wine, a bow and arrow, anything—to keep her hands occupied. At the end of the dance, Serie rose to her toes and whispered something in Sebastian's ear that made him blush. He lowered his head, but whatever words he spoke in return were lost across the distance.

It didn't matter. Kiara had seen enough. Head held high—Tasia would have to grant her that—she crossed the dance floor, ignoring requests and glares and the few genuine greetings sent her way. By the time she made it back to her own rooms, her head was spinning in a way that had nothing to do with wine or exhaustion. Tasia stood at once, her embroidery hoop dropping to the floor in a clatter.

"My lady," she said, her voice too gentle, her expression too worried. "You're back early. You look—shall I send for Jessamine?"

"I don't need the healer," Kiara snapped sharply. Tasia blinked. "And I don't need a lecture. I need to sleep. Wake me up when I receive a bloody reply from my sister."

"My lady…?"

Kiara lowered her head, the fight gone. "Not tonight, Tasia, please. Just… not tonight."

The maid curtsied, but the way she bent her neck didn't completely hide her expression of dismay.