It didn't get easier for her, sitting on the dais next to Sebastian wearing a stony expression and pretending she'd jump at the chance to capture a mage if she could. She wished instead to be back amongst the crowd, but Sebastian wanted her visible. Even if their engagement was not yet public, he wanted his people accustomed to seeing her. It still felt strange, though, and perhaps a little wrong to sit where she sat.
She wondered how many people had guessed. In a Court like Starkhaven's, she doubted their glances and smiles—no matter how discreet—went unremarked upon. She wondered how many Aileene Caddells spoke behind their backs, whispering poison.
As if sensing the tenor of her thoughts, Sebastian sent a swift glance her way and arched one brow.
Fine. They had to get used to her sometime.
And she supposed she had to get used to them, too.
After that first day, the bounty trials had become a daily occurrence. Instead of allowing the townsfolk to dictate the terms, to come and go as they wished, Sebastian let it be known they would be allowed entrance daily for three hours after luncheon.
She had to hand it to him—the imposed timeframe seemed to work. The news from the city was increasingly positive: the markets were open again and functioning almost at capacity, and the Revered Mother sent a message indicating her pews were filling for services once more. The only threatened burning had been halted not by guards or templars, but the townsfolk themselves.
When person after person was proven innocent, and their accusers sent home with no coin to show for their wasted day, Kiara couldn't help noticing the crowds beginning to thin. On the first day, the mob had been a hundred strong. Four days later, perhaps fifty stood before their prince, shuffling their feet and looking, for the most part, ashamed of themselves.
Sebastian handled it all with grace. Instead of condemning their stupidity—as Kiara did vociferously within the safe confines of her own skull—he was patient as he explained their wrongheadedness, their prejudice, the extent of their fear. And always, at the end of each interview, he asked, "Is there anything you would ask of me?"
Some said nothing. Some were too embarrassed to do more than shake their heads. But others revealed their troubles, the unhappiness, their fears—founded and unfounded. And Sebastian listened. Whether it was fear of heavy rains—which he could do nothing about—or concerns about bandits—which he could—he listened. She remembered him saying once he'd been permitted to hear confessions in the Chantry, and it was this these sessions reminded her of: he gave his people the opportunity to speak their minds without judgement from him.
When he could, he offered aid: soldiers to help with the bandits, promises to see to rumors of slavers, repairs to decrepit city works and buildings. Even when the fear was beyond his control, he did not belittle the one revealing it.
Looking down upon their faces, Kiara realized his people were beginning to trust him—to love him, even. And she let herself hope, just a little, he could do half the things he promised, and that one day not too long in the future, she'd no longer have to see terrified innocents dragged before her, and she'd no longer need to wear the mask that pretended to distrust magic as much as they did.
For her part, Kiara attempted to blend in. As much as one could blend in whilst sitting next to a prince. Even with the goodwill she knew she was slowly building in the city, the people still looked at her warily, distrustfully, and when they brought forth their accused mages, it was always she they looked at first, and defiantly, daring her to raise her voice in misguided defense.
Nor did she enjoy watching the templars work, though she knew their presence was necessary. Even aware their victims were likely innocent, the templars could not go too easily on them, could not be accused of showing mercy, for fear of repercussions from the mob. So they threw all they had at the poor terrified farmers and merchants and shopkeepers and folk who'd, for some reason or other, been accused.
It made Kiara feel marginally better knowing it was these falsely accused mages going home a few sovereigns richer for their ordeal.
On this particular day, there had been several accused mages, but just as many petitioners came because they'd been told the prince would hear them if they spoke. Her legs were growing numb from sitting so long in one attitude, which was how she knew the session was nearly ended. Just behind and to the left of her, she heard Ser Kinnon shift, his armor creaking lightly.
Sebastian rose, holding his hand aloft for silence.
Today, silence did not come. Near the back of the gathered crowd a knot of activity refused to quiet.
Even knowing how futile a weapon it would be in the face of any real trouble, Kiara had her jeweled knife in hand and was at Sebastian's side in an instant. Ser Kinnon startled behind her, armor clanking, and she heard him draw his blade.
"The prince!" someone cried. "She's going for the prince."
"Maker's balls," she growled, raising her hands in surrender. "Sebastian, get down—there's something not right."
"I see it," he said. "The guard—"
She cast her gaze about the chamber, skimming over unthreatening faces, ignoring even the unruly knot that seemed to be all noise but no peril.
"The Kirkwall bitch is going for the prince!"
"My lady," whispered Ser Kinnon, "perhaps you'd best drop the knife."
"Oh, for the love of Andraste, you don't honestly think—"
"Of course not. But the crowd will see what it wants."
She dropped the knife in a clatter, still looking for the source of the trouble. The hairs on the back of her neck rose; she knew something was wrong. She'd been in bad situations often enough to recognize the peculiar tension in the air, the feel of something awful about to happen. People were milling, confused—those not calling for her arrest or death—and—
—She saw the archer half a heartbeat before he loosed the arrow. He was standing in the shadows, far from the original knot of trouble. Their eyes met and he whirled away, but the arrow was already aloft. She reached for Sebastian's sleeve but the slippery silk slid between her fingers. "Arrow!" she shrieked, but it was too near.
Ser Kinnon dropped his blade, raised both hands, and shoved her with all his strength into Sebastian. They went down in an awkward tangle of limbs and fabric, Sebastian rolling atop her, protecting her. All she could think of was the unprotected expanse of his back, exposed to the hostile room, but all the breath had been knocked from her lungs and she could not find the voice to warn him, no matter how she wished to.
A moment later, Kinnon grunted and fell to his knees, a black-feathered arrow sprouting from his shoulder.
Trapped beneath Sebastian, she couldn't see what was happening, but she could hear voices raised, "The prince! To the prince! Archers!" and above them all, Captain Elias calmly issuing orders.
The entire debacle had taken only moments, and only a few heartbeats later a wall of armored bodies surrounded them, a living shield standing between them and any other archers or determined bladesmen.
"Are you hit?" he asked, his gaze frantically scanning her face and what he could see of her body beneath him.
She shook her head, tried for her breath again, and found enough to gasp, "You?"
"No. Kinnon is."
"Is he—?"
"I don't know."
As they began to extricate themselves—no small task considering how little room the guards had left them—Elias pushed his way through a narrow gap in his men and said, "Your Highness. My lady."
"We're fine," Sebastian said, before the man could ask. "Ser Kinnon?"
"It's a flesh wound. He will have a new scar, and may now boast he saved the lives of the prince and his lady, but he'll survive."
"Bastard," Sebastian muttered, pushing himself to his feet. "I'll have to like him now."
Kiara raised her eyebrows, surprised, and gripped Sebastian's forearm to haul herself upright. "Did you not before?"
Sebastian and Elias exchanged an inscrutable glance.
On the other side of the dais, Kiara heard Kinnon chuckle and knew the knight would be fine, but still her heart raced. Too close. Too close by half.
"I saw him," she told Elias. "He was near the entrance. Didn't recognize him, but he was professional. I know that much. He didn't so much as flinch when I spotted him. I was only trying to warn—"
"The people will come to understand," Sebastian said. "They will feel bad for blaming you, later."
Kiara shook her head, rubbing a sore spot on her hip that was bound to end up a purple bruise. "If you say so," she muttered.
"I do," he said, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently while they waited for the room to clear, surrounded by their cocoon of guards.
#
The knock at the door brought her head up, and she called out a greeting.
"My lady?"
Ser Maisie stood on the other side. The woman was unfailingly polite, unfailingly proper. She always knocked before entering, rarely spoke unless spoken to, and certainly indulged in none of the light conversation and joking asides of her partner.
"Ahh, Maisie. How fares your poor heroic comrade?"
Maisie smiled fondly. "Kinnon's in the infirmary complaining mightily and letting the healers fawn all over him. Which means he ought to be right as rain by tomorrow. Takes more than a stray arrow to fell a Royal Guardsman for long."
"I don't doubt it." When the woman said nothing straight away, Kiara asked, "Do you have need of me? Does Sebastian want me for something?"
The woman ducked her head. "Not the prince, my lady. I am… forgive me for bothering you on what may be a fool's errand, but a fellow came to the gates claiming some acquaintance with you. Says his name's Joff? He said you would know him."
Kiara's eyebrows rose. "I do know him. Did he state his business?"
"No, my lady. He was adamant he would speak it to no ears but yours. But after today…"
"Yes, I understand. One can't be too careful." Rising from her seat, Kiara marked her place in her book and set the volume on the table. Her unfinished pot of tea she gazed at with melancholy desire. No matter. Time enough for tea later. She debated her bow for a moment before deciding archery gown or not, after one assassination attempt in a day she preferred to be armed. The guard nodded approvingly as Kiara swung the weapon up and over her shoulder.
Joff jumped up the moment he saw her, and the two guards standing near him drew their weapons. He raised his hands and Kiara said, "Stand down. He's a friend."
She didn't quite miss the look the guards shared—evidently news of her nocturnal city adventures was slow to spread. She was almost glad of it. In one respect, it meant she was going about it in the right way.
"My—Kiara," Joff said, earning even stranger glances from his guards. "It does my heart glad to see you unharmed. When I… when news came, I feared it was repercussions for my request of you."
Kiara smiled and waved the man back into his seat. She'd have dismissed the guards if she thought they'd listen, but after today… instead she gestured for them to stand a little apart, and then she sat opposite Joff and drew her own chair near, keeping her bow nearby. "I am unharmed. As is the prince. And I don't think the archer was an acquaintance of… our large friend. Too professional. If he'd had someone like that in his pay, he'd not have been bothering you for coin."
Joff did not look surprised. In fact, he only looked more concerned. "That's why I'm here, m—Kiara. We heard rumors right away, and none of them good."
"Bad enough for you to run up here to me?"
"Bad enough I was afraid—" he lowered his voice, "I'd meet with resistance trying to get to you."
Kiara shot a glance toward the guards, but neither of them had so much as twitched. "So you believe—"
Joff shook his head briefly but emphatically, his own eyes darting toward the guards. He said, "No, my lady. I'm only here because my wife wanted me to thank you personally. She said there are always cheats in the marketplace, right under her nose; sometimes they wear the faces of friends. One can't be too careful."
"No," Kiara said, "I suppose one can't. Thank you, Joff. And… thank your wife. Do be sure to tell her I'll be careful when I go to market. Now, can I send for refreshments for you? Anything? I've been a dreadful hostess, I'm afraid."
"No, thank you. I only came to pass on my wife's respects."
"And you'll be—"
"Perfectly."
Kiara did not quite believe the sureness of the man's claim—if what he indicated was true, safety might not be assured for anyone suspected of speaking with her. She rose, and the guards stood to attention. Joff stood also, and she clasped hands with him. When he met her gaze, she saw the faint distress flit through his eyes. "Ser Maisie, would you escort serah Joff home? And then report to Prince Sebastian. You'll find me there."
The woman's eyes narrowed slightly, but she gave a brief, tight nod and gestured for Joff to precede her. Joff frowned, but Kiara refused to retract the order. Instead, she sent a silent prayer to Andraste, interceding for the man's safety. He'd taken no small risk to warn her; she hoped he would not pay for it.
She did not bother to swing her bow over her back; she kept it in hand as she strode through the halls toward Sebastian's office. A few of the ladies she passed tittered behind their hands or made a great show of watching her with wide eyes, but Kiara paid them no heed. When one had to doubt everyone and everything it was better to face it armed; she'd learned that much, certainly, over the years. Let the delicate flowers tremble and giggle; Kiara would have none of it.
Guards stood outside the prince's study, but they did not attempt to stop her from knocking or entering when Sebastian called out. Two more guards stood within the doors, their sharp, keen gazes scanning the chamber even though it was only Sebastian within, reading missives at his desk. He glanced up when she entered, and smiled, though the smile faded somewhat when he noticed the bow.
"Kiara," he greeted. "I had not thought—"
She didn't give him a chance to finish; it took only a few strides to cross the room, and she dropped into the deepest, most gratuitous curtsey she could manage, her skirts a pool around her. He blinked, startled, but he knew her well enough to know something was up. Which, of course, was exactly her intention. He'd know her behavior was out of character, but she hoped the guards wouldn't notice anything amiss in it.
When he reached out to take her hand and lift her from her obeisance, she used the nearness to whisper, "Send them away. We have to talk."
Sebastian's nod was so small even she almost missed it. She winced when he gripped the hand she'd used to punch Tiny a little too tightly; her knuckles were still tender. He frowned at the bruises and raised an eyebrow.
"Broke a man's face," she said.
Sebastian sighed. "Which is your idea of not taking unnecessary risks?"
Kiara grimaced. "It was entirely necessary, I promise you."
She didn't miss his slight smirk as he lifted her hand and kissed the bruised knuckles in a completely innocent, completely courtly gesture. Then, with a bland expression, he looked up at his guards. "Sers? If you… wouldn't mind?"
The guards shifted slightly, and shared a look. "Are you… certain, Your Highness?"
Sebastian didn't answer. He merely fixed them with the look she was coming to recognize as his are you really going to argue with your sovereign? expression. A moment later, they departed. One cast a glance backward over his shoulder. Kiara made a note to ask Elias about him, and then regretted her lack of trust.
But if distrust would save Sebastian from days like today, she'd doubt every damned soul in Starkhaven.
As soon as the door finished closing behind the guards, Sebastian pulled her into a brief embrace and dropped a kiss to her furrowed brow. "What is it?" he whispered. "You look prepared to murder someone."
"Don't I always?"
His smile was fond, but his eyes missed nothing; they were sharp and wanted answers. Kiara sighed. "I made a friend last night. I helped him out. Today he returned the favor."
"He broke someone's face for you?"
"Not exactly. He… he said there are troubling rumors. That the archer today was allowed into the palace by a faction opposed to you."
His arm squeezed her lightly. "Aye. He is… not the only one to suspect such a thing, I'm afraid. But it is more troubling if these rumors are already being heard in the city."
Kiara stepped out of the circle of his arms, pacing several strides before turning back to face him. "You know what Varric says. If rumors are coming from more than one direction, they're much less likely to be unfounded."
"I have the Eyes—"
"And you can trust them? Every one of them? Absolutely?"
He shook his head, sinking back into his seat behind his desk. "I trust no one absolutely, Kiara, save you. But I trust them… more than I trust anyone else. If my elimination were their goal, I would be dead already. Elias is… restructuring the guard, pairing those he trusts more with those he… trusts less." He waved toward the doorway. "I'm not sure if more guards is the way to best protect ourselves, but for now Elias will have his way."
Kiara frowned. "I don't… you're doing good for the city. Don't they see that?"
"Like Kirkwall saw the good you did for it?" Sebastian leaned forward, resting his head on one hand. His tone held no accusation; if anything, his expression commiserated with her. "Politics and logic do not often go hand in hand."
"Someone shot an arrow at you in public today. Please tell me you're not joking about how serious this is."
"Of course I'm not joking, but what would you have me do? Interrogate everyone in Starkhaven? We have seen firsthand what happens when paranoia is allowed free rein. We must be vigilant, but I will not descend to Meredith's level. Even if it costs my life."
Kiara blew out a heavy exhale. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that. It makes you sound so noble. And doomed."
Sebastian's answering smile was weary, but genuine. "I have any number of things to live for, Kiara. I intend to avoid trouble if I can." He glanced down at her hand again. "Do we need to discuss your death wish?"
"I brought the Eyes," she retorted, with a hint of sullen pride. "It's not like I went alone."
"Thank the Maker for your having that much good sense," he replied.
"You're teasing me."
"Of course I am."
She threw herself into a chair opposite his desk and shook her head. "You think I'm overreacting?"
"Not at all. But I hope you trust me enough to believe me when I say I am absolutely taking the threat seriously, but there is no cause—yet—for losing our minds to worry and worst case scenarios."
She almost laughed. "You're infuriating when you're reasonable."
"And you are infuriating when you're overprotective." He winked, smirking slightly. "I find myself sympathizing with your sister more and more."
Whatever mirth she'd been on the cusp of feeling dissipated at this; unless her courier had met with serious trouble, Kiara knew she ought to be hearing from Amelle at any moment. Sebastian noted the frown and said, "Soon, Kiara. I am certain it will come soon."
"There you go being reasonable again."
"We must play to our strengths." He glanced down at the paperwork scattered across his desk. "I don't suppose I could interest you in any of this?"
"Curtains?"
He chuckled. "Hardly. Those go in the trash. But I have some troublesome disputes to mediate and a coronation to plan and a w—and celebrations to prepare. Amongst other things."
Reaching across the desk with her unbruised hand she took his fingers in hers and squeezed them. "Tell you what," she said, "order me the largest pot of tea the kitchen can find and I'm yours for the afternoon."
He raised an eyebrow.
"And ever after, of course, but paperwork only gets an afternoon."
"Tea I can do."
"Excellent," she replied. "Let me at those troublesome disputes."
#
Sometimes Sebastian was afraid it was all a dream.
Every morning when he woke, he lay with his eyes closed, trying to prepare himself, just in case. He wrestled with panic, with the sense that some Fade demon was merely tormenting him with everything he'd always wanted and everything he'd never thought he'd have. And then every morning, when he turned a corner or walked into his office or his manservant opened the door to reveal Kiara, smiling a certain secret smile meant only and entirely for him, it was proven all over again. No dream.
It was probably an abysmal lack of faith, but he couldn't help expecting something to go wrong, to go awry. Oh, there were assassination attempts and obnoxious nobles and the bounty courts hadn't instantly made Starkhaven's mage—or, rather, not-mage—troubles disappear, but he was Prince. He was Prince, and Kiara Hawke would be his princess, and for all that it was still a secret, it wasn't a dream.
It had been nearly a week since he'd stood before her and spoken honest words he'd only ever dreamt he would hear spoken in return. The secrecy of it chafed at him, when all he wished to do was shout his happiness from the rooftops—or at least declare it openly in front of his court—but Kiara had the right of it when she only shook her head and said, "Not yet. Not with the… things still happening in the city. They know who I am. They think they know what I represent. Not yet."
What she meant was not until they trust me. He knew that. He simply wanted everything to move more quickly.
Then again, patience was a virtue the importance of which the Maker had been trying to impress upon him for quite some time.
Flanked by a pair of guards—he disliked the necessity, though he understood it, especially given the attack the day before—Sebastian made his way to the practice yard. Sunny days were increasingly fewer and farther between at this time of year, and it was all but guaranteed he'd find Kiara enjoying outside enjoying the current one.
He heard her laugh even before he saw her. She was many things, Kiara Hawke, but demure and retiring and aware of how her voice carried were none of them.
It was so rare to catch her unawares, and Sebastian paused on the threshold to watch a moment before she noticed him. He wondered if others noticed the same things he did: the way she always turned toward anyone speaking to her, her body language so open, inviting trust; the way her whole demeanor shifted when she smiled; the way her hands fluttered and danced and gestured almost constantly when she spoke. Even from across the yard, he knew by following her hands alone she was explaining a complicated point about fletching.
It had taken him years to truly figure out the language of Kiara Hawke, and now he found himself learning new phrases, adding new entries to the dictionary of her: shyness without affectation, when stolen kisses became stolen caresses, accompanied by an entire vocabulary of gasps and cries and breaths he wanted to hear again and again; the secret way she glanced at him, carrying echoes of things he almost recognized now—she'd been looking at him for years, and he'd never noticed how much emotion those looks had contained; resolve and humility and greatness, all dancing in and out and around each other, somehow perfect, somehow fitting together to make the Kiaraness of Kiara Hawke.
Maker, but he loved her.
Kiara was wearing one of the gowns Tasia insisted on (the maid had reluctantly come around to the necessity of armor for evening adventures, aye, but Sebastian had only convinced Tasia to give it back with a promise her mistress wouldn't start wandering the halls in it day in and day out; it was a hard-won compromise) and she was patiently correcting young Lord Garreth Grayden's stance. The lad seemed more interested in watching Kiara than following her direction, but Sebastian could hardly fault him that. She glowed in the sunlight, and the ease and fluidity of her movements—the subtle, elegant grace of her—was intoxicating. Especially when she lifted her own bow and effortlessly shot an arrow into a distant practice butt. Whatever she then said made Garreth laugh and ruefully shake his head. Sebastian imagined it went something along the lines of See? Anyone can do it. Just like that.
Sebastian found himself glad of the budding friendship. Garreth was young, certainly, but his holdings were not small ones, and the Graydens had long-reaching connections. If there were better friends to make in Starkhaven, Sebastian did not know them. A Grayden's commendation was worth far more than a Caddell's censure, that much was certain. Given that Sebastian was relatively sure it had been a Caddell who'd maneuvered the seating plans throwing Kiara and Garreth together in the first place, Sebastian found it amusingly ironic.
With Kinnon having earned a hard-won day off for his heroics, Ser Maisie was their lone guard, and Sebastian was relieved to note the knight's gaze tirelessly sweeping the practice yard. He saw her notice him, but he waved her to silence. For another quarter of an hour, he watched Kiara and her young charge. Finally, Kiara glanced up and saw him, smiling that smile. She clapped Garreth lightly on the shoulder and set him to practicing once again before meeting Sebastian halfway across the yard. Sebastian's guards were not privy to their arrangement, so smiles had to stand in for kisses.
"Beautiful day," she said.
"Yes," he replied, wanting to kiss those lovely, smirking lips, "lovely weather we're having."
She snorted. "For a change, yes. I assume this is a social call, since I don't suppose you'd have stood in the doorway watching me for twenty minutes if something important had come up."
He felt the faintest warmth staining his cheeks, and knew it couldn't entirely be blamed on the sun. Grinning at him, she nudged him playfully with one elbow. "You didn't know I knew, did you?"
"I didn't."
Her answering giggle was infectious, and he laughed with her. "Not a real rogue. Ha."
The recollection of Varric and Isabela sobered her somewhat, however, and he was sad to see the shadow cross her face, because he already knew what her question would be, and he already knew he did not have the answer she wished. "Soon, Kiara," he soothed. "I've heard nothing at all out of Kirkwall. And with Kirkwall's… reputation—"
"We're going with the 'no news is good news' school of thought?" She sighed. "I suppose it does have certain merits over the 'mindless insane worry without substance or proof' alternative."
"Why, Kiara Hawke, I do believe that's growth. Amelle will be so proud."
Her answering smile was too small and too strained. "You don't suppose…"
"No," he replied firmly, "I most certainly do not suppose what you're supposing."
"It's been… it's been a month—more than a month—since we fought. I can't… when I think of the things I said, it's like I'm hearing someone else's voice, but I see my lips speaking. What if this is her way of… of cutting me off? Permanently?"
She bowed her head, but Sebastian would have none of it. Crooking his finger, he used it to tilt her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "When has your sister ever withheld her opinion, Kiara? You do her a disservice. She is neither spiteful nor unfair, and I am certain you will hear from her soon."
For a moment she looked so genuinely distressed he wanted nothing more than to press his lips to her forehead, if only to smooth the lines of anxiety there. He saw her decide to be cheerful, the clouds clearing from her face with a deep inhale and long, slow exhale. The smile that replaced her frown wasn't a false one, but neither was it quite so carefree as the ones he'd seen earlier. "Okay," she said, as though making a decision. "Okay." Then she looked at him with wry amusement. "Are you just here to watch me?"
"I'm here to recruit you, I think. It's obvious young Grayden's improved even in the past week under your tutelage."
"So I don't get to be the head of your super secret spy network, but I do get to take over teaching your archers?"
Sebastian laughed. "Elias would hardly thank me for that. But your skills are different than those the Royal Archers learn. I wouldn't mind if you… shared some of your experience."
"I can do that." Her gaze turned shrewd. "You're not just trying to exhaust me so I won't run amok in the city at night, are you?"
He touched his fingertips briefly to her cheekbone before dropping his hand. "You've discovered my ingenious plot, aye."
"See? I should be the head of your super secret spy network. I'm terribly clever."
"Terribly."
"I'm also terribly hungry. I've been out here all morning. I don't suppose you've time for a meal?"
"Perhaps if we take it in my office," he said mildly.
"Why, that sounds perfect, my lord. Very… private."
She spoke the last word in a whisper—and, oh, it was a whisper so very much like a promise—already turning back to Garreth, leaving Sebastian with yet another blush and his uncomfortably vivid imagination. Whatever it was she said to him made the lad grin meaningfully, and she laughed as she punched him lightly on the shoulder.
Maisie fell in behind Kiara, eyes still constantly watching, constantly wary. He appreciated that in the young guardswoman—Kinnon would have been all distraction and conversation, as ever. Oh, he did his job, but—
He reprimanded himself for his unkind thought—the man had taken an arrow for him, after all—and offered Kiara his arm. She accepted it, leaning ever so slightly against him in the closest they were permitted to a public embrace.
Even with the silence out of Kirkwall, even with his people still angry about rumors and shadows, even with people taking shots at him, he was happy.
And it wasn't a dream. It wasn't.
But he still wasn't entirely relaxed, entirely comfortable. And the shiver that ran the length of his spine had very little to do with the coolness in the air.
