Expecting Tasia, Kiara didn't look up when the knock preceded the door opening. "Thank the Maker," she said lightly. "I am dying for a bath."

"Are you?" Sebastian asked, chuckling. "And am I to take that as an invitation or a command to provide?"

Her hand flew up to cover her mouth and she felt the heat of a truly ferocious blush rise from toe-tip to hairline.

"Not that I object to your choice of evening entertainment," he continued in the low, teasing tone that did precisely nothing to stop her blush. "But I did have something else in mind."

"Something else in mind?" she echoed weakly.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. The smirk was very nearly as distracting as the tone of voice, frankly, and she squirmed a little under its weight. "I don't know, Kiara. Now I find myself somewhat intrigued…"

She grimaced, rolling her eyes. "I thought you were Tasia."

Adopting an expression of mock hurt, he said, "Oh, it's Tasia, is it? I see how it is."

The grimace became a grin. "You really are just like every man in the world, for all your airs and prayers, aren't you? What is it about the thought of two women anyway?"

"Breasts," he replied immediately. "So many curves. Impossible to resist."

Caught by his frankness, Kiara laughed nervously. Her own breasts tingled rather, and the feeling only grew more intense as he met her gaze and crossed the room. With the back of one index finger, he traced the curve from the shell of her ear down the side of her neck and over the exposed skin of her shoulder.

"Curves," he whispered again.

"T-too bad there's only one of me then," she stuttered.

"Ahh, no," he replied. "I wouldn't want to share you." As if to prove his sincerity, he slid his hand behind her neck and brought his mouth down to hers.

Every time Sebastian kissed her, she found herself thinking this, this, it cannot possibly get better than this and then the next time, it was somehow better. It seemed impossible she'd gone so long seeing him daily and not kissing him. And though she sometimes feared—even now, even after all his assurances—he would one day wake and turn away again, she found herself willing to accept the possibility so long as she kept these moments and these kisses.

He sighed as he pulled away. "I see I'm sharing you even now, though, am I not? Are you troubled?"

"When am I not troubled?" she retorted. "And you're not sharing me. I was just…"

"Thinking too much?"

"Something like that."

A smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. "Well, then, now seems the appropriate moment to tell you I have something for you."

"Ooh," she said, with exaggerated delight. "Is it a pony?"

He huffed a laugh. "Do you want a pony?"

"Not particularly. It's wretched enough cleaning up after a dog. I imagine ponies are even messier."

"Good," he said. "Because it's not a pony. It's better."

"Weaponry?"

"Closer. There. Look on the end of your bed."

She did. "My armor," she cried, genuinely delighted this time, no exaggeration necessary. "Maker, where did you find it? And look how nice and clean and mended and polished it is!" Kiara darted across to the bed and raised the leather jerkin to her nose. It smelled of home, and she felt tears prickle the corners of her eyes.

"Well, I can't take credit for the cleaning," he said. "That was Tasia's doing. I did, however, convince her you needed it back."

Still embracing her leather, Kiara smiled up at him. "How? Did you tell her we were soon to be under attack? She'd probably just force me to wear one of her so-called archery gowns, come Blight or Exalted March."

"Even Tasia was forced to admit she didn't have a gown appropriate for skulking on rooftops and through shadows. At least, not one appropriate for you. I told her I'd be very displeased if I learned you'd taken a tumble from someone's roof because your feet got tangled in your plethora of skirts."

As his words sank in, giddiness made her grin. "So you've changed your mind? You'll let me… wander? Without going all scary prince on me again?"

"Scary prince," he scoffed. "You haven't seen scary prince. I… you are who you are, Kiara. I would not want you different. Not for me. Not even for Starkhaven. So wander. It's not about me… letting you. I know you'd go anyway, but you have my blessing."

"But? I can hear that unspoken but loud and clear, Sebastian."

"Take guards."

"Don't you think the clanking of their armor may detract somewhat from the effectiveness of my skulking? Can you imagine Ser Kinnon trying to be quiet?"

"Not Kinnon." Sebastian grimaced. "I'd send you with an entire patrol if I thought you'd not just attempt to lose them after ten minutes. No, a pair of the Eyes will follow you—and they won't interfere. You can give them a signal. I daresay they can skulk with the best of them."

"With me, you mean," she teased.

He smiled a little sadly. "I still hate to see you go without me, but…"

"The prince of Starkhaven ought to limit his skulking."

"For the time being, aye." Taking her hand, he pressed his lips to her knuckles, and then held it close to his breast. "Please, Kiara, I beg of you. No unnecessary risks."

"Who me? Never."

He shook his head and kissed her hand again before releasing it. "I was afraid you'd say that. In exactly that tone." Then his fingers drifted to the buttons at her back and she jumped.

"I, uh—what? Are you doing?"

"Would you prefer I send for Tasia? I do know how to work buttons, you know. I think you'll recall I've played lady's maid for you before. Or were you planning on just ripping your way out of this monstrosity? Maker knows you're not going to rest until you're safe in your own clothes again; I can tell by the look you're giving that jerkin. Really, you're making me jealous. I almost regret giving it back to you."

#

Kiara blushed again and looked down at the ground. The carpet was very pretty, woven in shades of red and gold in the shapes of autumn leaves. Scuffing her toes against one of them, almost expecting to hear it crunch beneath her feet, she said, "It's—not that I—"

Coming to face her again, Sebastian raised her chin with the pressure of his fingertips. "It was innocently meant, Kiara. I… wasn't going to take advantage. You know I would never—"

Groaning, she covered her face with her hands. "It's not that," she said, muffled. "It's just—of course you know your way around women's gowns. You've never hidden your past. But I—"

"Don't know your way around women's gowns?" he teased gently. "Aye, Tasia does go on about it. And there was that thing with the ruffles on the ship, wasn't there? Maker, but that was an ugly dress."

"Sebastian," she muttered, pushing lightly at his chest. "I'm serious."

Taking her hand, he pulled her to the hearth and the two armchairs angled before it. He settled her in one and took the other, pulling it close enough that their knees touched. Still not quite able to bring herself to meet his piercing, concerned gaze, she focused on the empty palms in her lap. "There was a boy, once," she said without looking up at him. "When I was eighteen. It… lasted a season. It ended badly."

"He was your first?"

She winced. "He was the only, Sebastian. It's just… after that, it didn't seem important enough to risk it."

He was silent so long she finally had to look up. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't what she saw. Sebastian was pale with rage, his eyes flashing, his hands curled around the ends of the armchair with force enough to whiten his knuckles. She tilted her head, confused. "Sebastian?"

"Did he—" Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled, exhaled loudly and continued, "Did he hurt you?"

"Oh," she said, eyes widening. "No. I mean… not the way you think. Oh, no, Sebastian. It wasn't that. I'm not… opposed to the activity. I simply haven't any experience with it."

He raked his hands through his hair and then leaned forward, resting his elbows heavily on his knees. "But, I—you were so admired in Kirkwall."

Against all odds she found herself smiling. "Maybe," she said. "And Maker knows Mother was desperate to see me wed. There was only one little problem."

"This… former lover of yours?" he asked, accent still rough with anger.

"Maker, no. I had all these pesky feelings for someone I thought would never return them. I had rather resigned myself to my single life, I'm afraid."

He sat back, clearly undone by sudden understanding. "But, I… had… no idea."

"I wasn't exactly shouting my feelings from the rooftops."

He shook his head, paused, shook his head again. "You told me to stay in the Chantry."

She swallowed and glanced to the fire just as a particularly large log crumbled in pieces, sending a gout of flame up the flue. "I cared about you enough to… desire your happiness above all else. I didn't want you to know my feelings. I thought you would consider them… objectionable. I was afraid my unrequited affection would cost me your friendship, if you knew. I would never have admitted it."

"Kiara…"

"I wasn't miserable," she insisted. "I just wasn't looking for anyone else." She huffed a brief, uncomfortable laugh. "I know you are prince now, but—"

"No," he said firmly. "I know what you're thinking. No. I am prince now. And… even if the option were open to me, I could no longer return to the Chantry. Having taken it on at last, I couldn't forswear my duty to Starkhaven. And I do not want to. I… wouldn't be able to retake those vows in good conscience." Taking her hand in his, he ran his thumb lightly over the back of her hand. Even this gentle touch made her shiver. "Kiara, I turned to Andraste and to the Maker in a time of… I was weak, and I was looking for strength. I was disgusted with myself, and I thought the Chantry would give me the opportunity to atone."

"And you no longer feel that way?"

"The Maker sent me to you. Who am I to argue with Him?"

"Seems you've done plenty of that over the years," she remarked, aiming for mild and still sounding too close to troubled.

"I'm wiser now."

"Admit it," she said, gazing up at him through the fringe of her eyelashes. "You just want to see me naked."

Startled, Sebastian laughed. It was a deep, resonant belly laugh and it made her laugh, too. Soon the both of them were bent over, tears running down their faces, gasping with merriment. At last Sebastian dashed the backs of his hands over his cheeks and then reached across to gently brush her own tears away. "Aye, my love," he said, and her breath caught at the term of endearment. "But not now. We are in no hurry, for any of that."

After a moment she said, "So you're not going to help me with my dress, then?"

Rising, he brought her to her feet and pressed his forehead gently to hers. "I will help you with your dress."

"…This doesn't mean you aren't going to kiss me anymore, does it? You know I'm not nervous in the slightest about kissing."

He smiled even as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then followed that with another to her lips. "I will gladly kiss you, if you'll permit it."

"Good," she returned lightly. "Then let it be known all kissing falls under good regulation."

The sweet smirk returned as Sebastian turned her and began deftly undoing the thousands of buttons of her gown. "He must have been dreadful," Sebastian remarked.

"Who must have been what?"

"This young lover of yours. Must have been dreadful."

"…Because?"

Sebastian kissed the nape of her neck, and then the inches of bare skin revealed by the undone buttons. "Because," he said, "if he'd known what he was doing, you'd have some idea of what all kissing being under good regulation might entail."

She blushed. Again. "Oh. Yes, I… suppose you might be right."

He laughed again, and finished the buttons. "The rest you can manage on your own, I'm sure. I'll send for the Eyes. I know you will be impatient."

She called out before he reached the door, and when he turned, eyebrows raised, she said softly, "Thank you, Sebastian. I—thank you."

"Come back safely to me, love. That's all I ask."

She hadn't been thanking him for the permission to skulk, but she didn't bother correcting him.

#

After several evenings spent ghosting through Starkhaven's streets, The Spotted Pig was Kiara's new favorite tavern. The bartender didn't water his ale, a minstrel strummed a mixture of tunes bawdy and sentimental in one corner, and the patrons hardly looked at her. Her bow garnered some little attention, but there were other weapons in the room, though no one seemed inclined to draw them. She liked that, too.

Her pair of Eyes sat on the opposite side of the crowded taproom, pretending to drink, and pretending to converse. She knew they missed nothing. The first night, someone had spoken a little too roughly to her—and the Eyes had stepped in at once, escorting the man away and giving Kiara time to depart with grace. Tonight she sat alone, listening, but most of the conversations she overheard were about crops and weather and speculation about the prince's coronation.

She hadn't heard the word mage once. To say it was something of a relief would have been a colossal understatement.

Just as she was preparing to leave, a man approached her. His steps were tentative and he paused several feet shy of anything anyone might consider personal space. "Ahh, my la—messere, I wonder if I might… bend your ear a moment?"

She did not miss the almost-spoken honorific, and her brow furrowed. The man appeared to carry no weapon. His clothing was well-made, but not fine; she would wager he had a wife with a deft hand for sewing. He had farmer's hands, and his wide blue eyes gave him a perpetually startled mien.

One of the Eyes was watching. Kiara raised her now-empty tankard to the signal she was fine before waving the man into the seat opposite her. He startled, and inclined his head in something that could have been acknowledgement, but could also have been a bow before accepting her invitation.

"I take it you know me, serah, but you have me at a disadvantage," she said lightly, signaling the bartender for another two pints.

The man's eyes widened even further. "I didn't believe the rumors myself, my la—messere. But no one… it's been years since the, uh, since your folk mingled with mine. The two worlds don't meet up much." He nervously scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck and added, "Sorry, messere. I-I'm Joff."

"Hello, Joff. I'm Kiara. Pleased to meet you."

He blinked at her even as the barkeep settled the ale on the table before them. Kiara slipped the man a coin and leaned forward, regarding the stranger intently. "You're not, uh, what I expected, messere," he said weakly. "I thought—I don't know, with what they say—"

"What do they say?" Kiara asked. "I gather my reputation precedes me. And I gather not much about my reputation is flattering."

Joff glanced around and drank of his own pint deeply before replying, "Starkhaven's had some Champions in its day, messere. I'd say… the opinion is mixed. What happened with the Chantry there—"

"I understand," Kiara said. "I lost friends to that tragedy, serah. Is that why you wished to speak with me?"

Joff pondered the ale in his glass for several moments before replying, "No, messere. I—we—hear if one goes up to the," he lowered his voice, "palace, the prince'll listen. But I have my business to run and my wife's got the little ones and… it's not the trouble we're presently concerned with."

Trouble, Kiara understood, meant mages, so she nodded. "But there's something you would have him know?"

Again the man drank deeply before replying. "I run a little stall in the vegetable market, messere. Of late, there've been some… we're being asked to pay for protection, but we're all small stalls. We hardly make enough to survive ourselves, without having to give half of it away."

She almost smiled. This, at least, she understood. Prejudice and rumors might be hard to fight, but common criminals she knew what to do with. "You know who's running this racketeering scheme? Is it a thieves guild? Some branch of the Carta or the Coterie like in Kirkwall?"

"Nothing so grand, messere. Man everyone calls Tiny."

"Let me guess, he's a giant."

Joff nodded uncomfortably. "We—some of us at the market—were going to stand up to him, not give him anything anymore, but he… threatened my wife, messere. Near broke her arm, scared her half to death. And all in front of the children."

Kiara did smile at this, but it was the smile she reserved for people about to regret crossing her. "You know where to find him?"

"Aye, messere. If you could just… maybe the guards could…"

Kiara pushed her half-full pint away and rose, slinging her bow over her back. "No need to bother the guards. Come on, Joff."

But the man did not rise. He did not even move. He stared at her the way she knew she'd stared the first time she saw an ogre or a dragon. "What?" she asked, "You think I carry this around for show? It'd be a terribly awkward fashion accessory."

Joff shook his head slowly, incredulously. "No, my lady," he said, slipping at last. "I—can't. Not this. I just wanted someone to know. I can't be responsible for—"

"Ahh, friend, I make my own decisions and usually those decisions boil down to stop bullies from bullying. Now, you can tell me where Tiny lives, or I can start asking other people questions. I'd rather you tell me, though. I don't know Starkhaven all that well yet, and I don't want to land myself in hot water by asking the wrong people the wrong questions."

Joff put his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped. "I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have said anything… Andraste's flaming sword, I shouldn't have said anything. The prince'll kill me. My wife'll kill me."

Kiara clapped the man on the shoulder bracingly and nodded to her incognito companions. They rose and left separately. "You don't know me yet, Joff, but suffice to say? This is pretty much what I do."

#

Tiny wasn't just a giant. Tiny was a giant giant. If he was less than seven and half feet tall, she'd eat her own shoes. But he was no Arishok. Peering through the window of his house, Kiara shook her head and gestured for Joff to stay down. The poor man trembled in his boots and looked ready to soil himself at any moment. Kiara almost felt sorry for him, but Tiny—giant or none—was not going to break any arms or steal any more hard-earned wages; that she was certain of.

Holding tight to the edge of the roof, on the count of three she swung herself down and kicked in the shutters. Though they did not precisely approve of her actions, the Eyes followed, dropping down behind her as she rolled to her feet and drew her bow.

Tiny, caught completely unawares, turned away from the hearth and threw a pot at her. She dodged the wave of scorching soup, aimed, and caught the man square in the left foot with her arrow, effectively pinning him, unless he wanted to do more damage to his foot than would easily heal.

"Hello," she said as he shouted epithets—some very creative, she had to grant—at her. When he bent to attempt to remove the arrow, she nocked another, drew and cooed, "Uh-uh. I would think twice about that, friend."

"Andraste's fucking tits, who are you? Breaking into my bloody house! I'll call the fucking guard, you bitch, you—"

She grinned, aiming the point of his arrow for his other foot. "Will you? I wonder what they'll have to say about a sweet man like you threatening law-abiding citizens and nearly breaking the arms of clearly monstrous women? In front of her devilish children, no less."

"What the—?"

She spoke over him, "I'm Kiara. I hear they call you Tiny. Can't imagine why, unless it's a nickname for some part of your anatomy I'm not presently familiar with. Like your… knees."

"Bitch, I'm going to—"

Her second arrow thunked into the floorboards an inch from his foot. "Speak to me calmly and respectfully?" she asked. "Because I really think you ought to start now. Before I get annoyed. And before I think too hard about what I like to do to men who get off on breaking arms instead of using words. Or, you know, following the law."

"I didn't break any—"

A third arrow whizzed by his left cheek to land, quivering, in the wood of his mantel.

"I dislike liars even more than I dislike bullies, Tiny, and when you put the two together? I get terribly put out. Now, here's the thing: you've a mighty fine house here. And that looks to have been some mighty fine soup filled with mighty fine vegetables. Maybe you start paying market price for those vegetables, and we don't have to have a repetition of this conversation. And it stays between us."

"I'm supposed to be scared of you? Supposed to think you have some power? Some foreign bitch with a fancy bow? You looking to muscle in on my territory?" He tried to move and winced as his foot caught on the arrow. Then he gave her a half-leering sort of smile and added, "I'll give you the bloody vegetable market if you want it."

"Oh, Tiny. My fancy bow and I dislike you so very much." Glancing back over her shoulder just slightly, she added, "Can you arrest him?"

Tiny lunged forward with a scream of rage, pulling the arrow straight through the flesh of his foot. He made it three steps before Kiara felled him with an arrow through one knee. He stumbled, tried to rise, and fell flat on his face, screaming. Crouching beside him, she spat, "I was missing you on purpose, you idiot." Then, to the Eyes, she said, "Arrest him. If he resists, kill him. I'll answer to Sebastian for it."

Tiny glared up at her through pain-bleary eyes. "S-sebastian? You? You're the prince's foreign whor—"

Kiara punched him, feeling the deliciously satisfying crack of his nose shattering beneath her blow.

"Now arrest him," she said calmly. "If you happened to break his arm in the process, I wouldn't be sad."

Outside, Kiara shook the lingering pain from her fist as Joff looked on, amazed. "He won't bother you anymore," Kiara said, grimacing.

Joff blinked. "You've, uh, got… blood. On your face."

"Do I?" she replied, dashing her hand over her cheeks and frowning when they came away smeared with red. Glancing down at herself, she swore in pure annoyance. "Damn, my armor was so clean."

He bent in an awkward, too-deep bow. "My lady, if there's anything… anything me or mine can ever do for you, you have only to ask."

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a wry half-smile. "There is one thing you can do for me, Joff."

"Anything, my lady."

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Quit it with the 'my lady's and the 'messere's. I introduced myself as Kiara; that's what I'd like you to call me. And invite me for dinner sometime. I'd like to meet the wife that stood up to that sodding shit-for-brains."

"Aye. Uh. Kiara."

"Good man. Now, I don't suppose you want to walk a lady home? My friends have their hands full."

Joff nodded, mouth still slightly agape, and offered his arm.