Whatever he expected when he rose to answer the urgent knock on his office door, it wasn't Kiara herself, dressed in leathers instead of a gown, eyes shining and pale cheeks mottled with tears. He reached for her, then stopped short of actually touching her shoulder or her face or the loose fall of her hair. His fingers twitched, and he let them fall back to his sides.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, because he was. He'd been waiting for news—hadn't wanted to interrupt the sisters at their vigil—but had been expecting Braden or Kinnon or even Cullen, perhaps, to bring it.

Kiara tilted her head, her brows coming together in confusion. "Oh. No. Sebastian." A smile pulled at her lips, though her eyes were still damp. He couldn't quite make sense of it. "That's why I—he's alive."

It was Sebastian's turn to furrow his brow. "It's been three days."

She nodded, shifting her weight from foot to foot before sending an uneasy glance over her shoulder. "Could we—can we talk about this somewhere… not out here?"

Because this was the closest she'd come to speaking with him at all since the moment she last walked out of his office on the words it was folly for me to think I could stay, he stepped back immediately, gesturing for her to enter. He almost stumbled in his haste. He heard the sharp inhale of her breath and thought perhaps she'd only just remembered the last time she'd been within. Still, she did not hesitate. She strode past him, chin up and shoulders back, and moved immediately to the chairs by the fire, as if to prove she would not be undone by whatever memory had caught her breath.

She didn't sit. Resting her hands along the back of the chair, she bowed her head briefly, as though praying, and then turned to face him again. He closed the door and took a few steps toward her, trying to keep his posture open, receptive. Her arms started to cross, but then she lowered them again, leaning against the chair.

"He did die, for a moment," Kiara said without preamble. "I'm certain of it. His heart stopped. His… his breath. He wasn't breathing. He didn't have the antidote. We knew he didn't have the antidote. It had been three days. Of course the poison killed him." She shook her head, putting a hand to her temple. "Amelle… I've never quite seen healing like it."

For a moment, Sebastian's lips parted to question what kind of magic might have such an effect, but then he let his mouth close again as a tangle of half-formed thoughts and memories ran circles in his head.

"You're wondering if it's… safe," Kiara asked, too astutely. She didn't, however, sound accusatory. He wondered if she hadn't considered the same question. She had, after all, spent the entirety of her life around magic in spite of being no mage herself. She knew the best and worst of what power could do. "What she did?"

"I was," he admitted. "And then I… realized perhaps it is not the first time she's done such a thing."

She cocked her head. "How do you mean—oh. You think perhaps you…"

"I cannot know. Not for certain." He took another step nearer, watching to see if she'd pull away in equal amounts, approaching her the way he'd approach a skittish horse. She remained where she was, her eyes not leaving his. "But I know she did the right thing by me, and I believe I have never felt ill effects because of what she did to aid me."

"She has too much experience bringing people back from the brink of death," Kiara said. Her hand hovered above her belly, doubtless tracing the scar left by the Arishok's blade and her own near-death experience.

"And Fenris will recover? Fully?"

"He was already scowling and muttering about wine when I left." Her expression turned fond, and she lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. "I imagine complaints about being bedridden and a demand for his sword will follow."

"You could not have brought better news."

The faint smile on her face was tinged with sadness. "Indeed. I believe we oughtn't push our luck, though. We have had more than our fair share of miracles of late. Still, I—wanted to bring the news myself. Amelle will want some time, I imagine, but your visit will doubtless be a welcome one."

And she began to walk toward the door.

She's used to making the decisions and expecting them to be followed without question.

"No," he said abruptly, the word echoing oddly in the silent office. There is a reason for that. She's usually right. Startled, Kiara hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. "Wait."

He reached out and grabbed her hand, lightly. His heart tripped over itself and then began to beat twice as fast as normal. He knew—he knew—if she walked out the door now, he'd never have another moment to speak the words he needed to speak. In a matter of days she'd be gone. She'd be gone, and all his unspoken words would lie like stones in his belly.

Usually. But not always.

"Sebastian—" she protested, giving her hand a tug.

"No," he repeated, though he let her go. He would not hold her where she did not want to be. She did not immediately run from him, however. Her hands curled into loose fists at her sides. "Your sister was right. I let you speak your piece last time. You did not let me speak mine."

"My… sister?" she echoed, baffled. "What are you talking about? Sebastian, we've already—"

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing toward the hearth. She raised her chin defiantly and looked about to protest, but whatever she saw on his face silenced her. "Please," he added, unashamed of the raw note of pleading in his tone. "Please."

Biting her bottom lip, she moved back to the chairs by the fire and sat primly in one of them, not looking at him. He didn't take the other. Instead, he paced to the window and gazed out. He could see Starkhaven laid out beneath him, with its glowing windows and wide, rain-soaked streets. In the distance, the chantry rose, its tall towers reaching toward the clouded sky. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene. Andraste, give me the right words. He couldn't see the river from here, but he could feel the coolness of it on the breeze. "You're wrong," he said at last.

"I'm not," she riposted at once. "I've thought about it—"

"You think I haven't?" he shot back, and was both alarmed and oddly satisfied when his words silenced her immediately. "By the Maker, you will listen to me, Kiara Hawke, for once in your life. And you will let me speak my mind the way I let you speak yours, though it broke my heart to do so. Aye, I deserve that much, and will not have you claim otherwise."

Her brow furrowed and he watched the protest form on her lips. Then she swallowed hard and nodded once. Her eyes shone in the firelight, and he though he knew it might be folly, just for a moment he allowed himself to hope. Looking out at his rain-blurred city a final time, he took a great, steadying breath and pulled the curtain shut.

"I love you," he said. "I believe you love me."

"That doesn't change—" she began. On a muttered curse, she covered her mouth with a hand and watched him as he paced, her eyes wide and wary.

"As I see it, Starkhaven has two choices," he explained, aiming for patience and still falling short. Settling instead for insistence, he continued, "Their prince must marry; that was never in question. It's the who of the matter though, isn't it? On one hand, Starkhaven can have a prince whose princess is the woman he loves. On the other? A princess he will attempt to do his duty by, but whom he will never love. Politically it may bring temporary… stability, that was the word you used, but in the long term… in the long term it will bring coldness and resentment. I can envision no other outcome. Whoever this poor girl might be, she will not be you, and I will never love her. And I will never be able to lie to her. She will know, Kiara, and she will become bitter and resentful as well, no matter how pretty the trappings of this life might be. Is that truly what you'd wish for Starkhaven, knowing—knowing—there is a different option?"

He moved closer as he spoke, and was certainly near enough to see the tears in her eyes. Much as he wanted to kneel at her feet and brush them away with gentle thumbs, he forced himself to stand, to press on.

"You have seen me cold," he admitted, voice rough with emotion. "You have seen me angry and you have seen me cruel with resentment. I like these pieces of myself no more than you do, believe me, but I am not fool enough to contend they do not exist. I'd like to believe you've also seen me loving, and kind, and concerned about the welfare of others. I was selfish, aye, and I know you might think it selfishness guiding me now, but I do not think it is. It's… preservation. For myself and for Starkhaven. How can anyone watch their heart walk away and retain the best parts of themselves in its absence?"

She closed her eyes and tears ran down her cheeks, glimmering gold in the firelight. He clenched his fingers tight to the back of the chair in front of him and shook his head. "The things you said—the fears you related—those are true things, and they are valid fears. I do not deny it. Some of my court may not love you. Some will scheme against you. The same might be said for any girl I choose. There may be war, or not. There may be struggle, or not. There may be anger, or not. But all these mays and mights and maybes do not shake the one thing I know to be unalterably true: I love you, Kiara Hawke. I will suffer another princess if I must, but I want no one at my side but you."

She raised her eyes to him again, and he did not wince or falter. She waited until he nodded, and then she asked, "And if Starkhaven comes to resent your choice? What then?"

"Then we deal with it as it happens. Since when do you live your life from unfounded fear to unfounded fear?"

"Since…" she drifted to a halt, brushing at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. The gesture was done in vain; tears still fell unchecked to drip from her chin to her leather jerkin. "I have lived my whole life ready to run. Oh, there were moments of peace, certainly, but the knowledge that I might have to flee at any moment was never far. It's all I've ever known." She swallowed and twisted her fingers together in her lap. "The night we—the night Meredith died—I was going to run then, too. I was already making plans, formulating plots, considering where best I could lie low."

"But you didn't run."

"You were dying on my kitchen floor. And you were in no condition to go anywhere. Amelle made that clear enough. I could hardly leave you there."

He tilted his head. "But you could have. I was an enemy. I had declared my foolish war against you. If you were so certain you had to run, you should have left me to die."

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and she bent her head to rub the tears from her cheek onto her shoulder. This was only moderately more successful an attempt to dry her eyes. He wasn't sure she realized she was still weeping. "I never let myself love anyone, not really. I never let anyone get too close," she admitted. "Only Amelle, and—and my family, because I knew wherever I was running, they'd be running with me. Perils of the apostate. But even though you'd—you'd said such horrible things to me, and made such horrible vows… when I saw you pale and bloody on my kitchen floor, I realized I'd slipped. I'd let myself fall in love with you without even trying. Before that… I'd never thought the words. Oh, I realized I started asking you to come along on my little missions and adventures more and more often, even when I hardly had need of another archer, even when it might have made more sense to bring Isabela or Aveline, but I put it down to… I don't even know. I valued your counsel. I appreciated your evenness. I admired your faith, and I admired the way you didn't feel the need to preach that faith. And then, there you were, bleeding out, and…"

"And you didn't run."

"And I didn't run."

"Then don't run now, Kiara. Stay. Help me here."

He could see her trembling, but still he forced himself to remain behind his fortress of a chair, gripping the upholstery as though his life depended on it. "I'm afraid," she whispered.

"As am I, love, as am I."

She didn't quite cringe at the term of endearment, but it was a near thing. "Your… your Eyes must tell you. And Corwin. And—people like Aileene Caddell."

"You give too much credit to Aileene Caddell and her ilk. Let them speak their poison; there will always be Garreth Graydens, Ser Kinnons, young Davins, Tasias, and aye, Corwins, to act as antidote, I have no fear of that. Are you really so blind to it, Kiara? Some hate you, but more rally to you, just as it was in Kirkwall. Let them all speak; I think you would find yourself surprised how much support you actually have."

"So, what?" Kiara asked pointedly, hugging her arms around herself. "You want to put me on trial, too? Tally up those for and against?"

"No," he replied. "In the end I care for no opinion but yours. And mine. I want you to agree to stand beside me, come what may. Watching your sister—watching her hope against all reason, all common sense—made me realize I cannot let something as transient as the current state of politics determine the course of my life. There is too much at stake. I cannot bear to lose you. And I cannot bear the thought of you being in the world without me."

She blinked, but said nothing.

"You must see that love will speak louder words to Starkhaven than any nonsense a marriage of convenience might spout."

"You seem awfully certain about that."

"I am," he replied. "I have thought of little else for days. I guarantee the people of the city already love you better than they love me. All those things that man Joff said—they are true. You are not a burden, Kiara. You are not an encumbrance. You are a complement."

She froze, and he watched a silent war do battle across her pale cheeks. "I didn't—I didn't make my decision to hurt you. I knew—but that was never my intention."

"I know," he said. "But it is still the wrong decision. I am awfully certain about that, too. No resolution that causes so much misery where there was previously so much joy can be the right one."

Her breath hitched a moment before her shoulders curled forward, she buried her face in her hands, and she began to sob.

Sebastian didn't try to stop himself from going to her then. Kneeling at her feet, he let his fingertips skitter down her arms, tentative and gentle. As soon as she realized he was there, she flung herself from the chair and threw her arms around his neck, pressing her weeping face into his shoulder. He ran his hand along her unbound hair and murmured soothing platitudes, rocking her in his arms until her fury of tears was spent.

"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly, her breath catching. "I didn't mean to—I only wanted—I'm sorry. I just didn't want to—after Kirkwall—after everything… I didn't want you to regret me."

"Never, love."

Expression still pained, she began, "Even if—" but he pressed a finger to her lips to silence her.

"Never," he insisted. "And the rest we deal with, one thing at a time."

He bent his head to kiss her forehead, but she met him halfway, and was insistent a mere forehead kiss would not do. Desperation fueled the first moments, as her hands caught in the fabric of his doublet and tears still ran down her face. One arm still cradling her, he carded the other hand through her hair. She leaned into the touch, closing her eyes, but her breath was still catching on the memory of sobs and after a minute he pulled away. After an instant of disappointment, she settled against him, pressing her cheek to his chest. "I'm sorry I hurt you," she said. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"I know."

"Is that what Amelle told you?"

He chuckled. "Amelle didn't tell me anything. She only reminded me that sometimes you are not as right as you think you are."

"Cheeky girl."

"She was right, though."

He felt Kiara grin against him, and his chest tightened painfully with the joy of it. "She is a Hawke, after all." Then, after a moment, she added, "Sebastian? I-I do love you. I'm… I know I'm not very good at it, but I love you."

He bent his neck to press a kiss to the crown of her head. If she felt his tears drop into her hair, she made no comment, but she did squeeze her arms around him more tightly, and Sebastian began to feel—to believe—the worst had finally passed.