Amelle's first thought was that she'd been robbed.

That was ridiculous, of course. It wasn't as if she had a great many things in her room—only what she'd packed in a whirlwind after receiving that thrice-damned letter from Jessamine, and the dresses and gowns and assorted thingsthat had managed to simply appear since she'd taken up residence.

But now everything was gone. From the intricately carved hairbrush and mirror, to the tiny bottle of Orlesian perfume, to the delicately crafted decorative combs and pins Tasia had presented her in an effort to make her haircut look "less like a boy's." All proof she'd ever spent any time at all in this room was gone.

Amelle felt a little kick of panic. What if Starkhaven's templars had been sent to collect her? What if they were coming for her even now and her room had simply been cleared out preparatory to her inevitable departure and incarceration? Had Cullen's lie been discovered? Had he been arrested? Panic turned to nausea and one hand shot out as Amelle braced her weight against the wall. The room swam dizzily and she closed her eyes, breathing in and out, taking slow, deep breaths, reining in the swirl of energy that had kicked up inside of her.

"…My lady?"

Amelle turned to see Tasia, evidently on her way to some errand or other, her arms laden with brightly colored silks, a quizzical, almost worried look marring her otherwise pretty face. Amelle realized how she must have looked to the young woman, standing in the doorway of an empty room, hovering on the brink of panic. She swallowed hard and attempted to calm herself, but her voice still shook slightly when she spoke.

"Tasia? What… happened?" she asked, indicating the room.

It might have been her imagination, but she thought a tinge of blush colored the maid's cheeks. Amelle wondered for a moment if it was a guilty flush, and if Tasia had been in charge of the mass exodus of her belongings.

"You… you will have to speak with my lady about that."

"Okay…" Amelle replied faintly. "But can you… can you at least tell me where it all… is?"

Tasia straightened slightly, the blush still upon her cheeks, and cleared her throat. "You've been relocated to another room in the palace, my lady."

Cool relief washed over Amelle, leaving her lightheaded and almost giddy, and she closed her eyes, sagging heavily against the wall. "Oh. Oh. All right. I thought…" She swallowed hard and waved weakly at the bare room, feeling silly now. "I thought I'd been evicted," she managed, not wanting to share with the other woman her other panicked worries.

The blonde shook her head. "No. My lady—your sister—thought you might rest more easily in another chamber."

"Ah," Amelle said, unable to keep from feeling slightly foolish. "So, where is it?"

The blush returned. "I believe that is a question best answered by your sister, my lady."

Amelle had the fleeting wish that everyone would stop with the "my ladys," but that was a battle for another day. It was time she had a talk with her sister.

Kiara was holding court in her rooms. When Amelle peeked in, she almost turned around again directly. It appeared as though some kind of wedding demon had been viciously massacred in her sister's bedchamber, leaving behind scraps of silk and flowers and other things best left unidentified. No less than a dozen ladies of the court were in attendance, all—it seemed to Amelle—talking at the same time, and at full volume.

Kiara sat at the center of the maelstrom, her expression somehow managing to be both amused and patient at the same time.

Amelle knew at once Kiara wasn't paying a lick of attention to the women chattering in her ear. She nearly laughed. Poor Lady With The Shockingly Red Hair was going to be so distressed when she realized her epic monologue on the suitability of lavender over lilac—Amelle didn't know if it was colors or flowers, and she wasn't sure she wanted to—would amount to nothing. Kiara was likely pondering archery practice. Or perhaps killing slavers. She wondered absently if, in Kiara's fantasies, the slavers wore the gowns of court ladies.

But Kiara glanced up when Amelle entered, and a genuine smile overspread her face. She clapped her hands once and all the ladies silenced at once. Amelle smirked, wondering if her sister might teach her the trick of it. As she shooed them away—"I need a moment with my sister, Ladies, I'm sure you understand."—the women drifted away on eddies of silk and overwhelming scent.

"Thank the Maker," Kiara said by way of greeting, rising to press Amelle into a swift embrace. "Who knew the debate over silk, satin and samite could be so volatile? Lady Ambralee was very nearly beheaded by the mob when she had the gall to propose velvet. Please tell me you're not here to talk wedding."

Amelle grinned. "Well, I thought we might discuss seating plans. I heard a rumor you were going to sit Lord Saggy-Britches next to Lady Heaving Bosom and I must tell you it simply isn't to be borne. Why, where would Lord Devastatingly Dull be placed?"

Kiara laughed and squeezed Amelle again. "I love you, Mely. In case I haven't told you lately."

Amelle arched an eyebrow. "You love me enough to have moved me to some other part of the castle without telling me?"

"Ahh, that, yes."

It was just a little startling that Amelle couldn't read her sister's expression at all.

"Well?"

Kiara raised both eyebrows. "Well what?"

"Where is my new room? Tasia wouldn't tell me. And why in the Maker's name was it so important I be moved? And why didn't you just tell me?"

"Andraste's knickers, Mely. You're worse than my passel of planners. Your room wasn't nice enough. I found a nicer one. I had the servants move your things—it wasn't meant to be a vast conspiracy or anything."

"I thought you were kicking me out." She didn't mention the first thought she had, and didn't plan to. Templars and the hovering lack of anything resembling a firm decision regarding her… situation was a battle she still wasn't prepared to face.

Kiara snorted indelicately at this. "Please. Not after all the effort took to get you to agree to stay."

Amelle arched an eyebrow at "Well?"

"Well what? Again."

"Kiri, honestly. Where's my room? What does a girl have to do to get a nap around here?"

"Sell her soul probably," Kiara murmured mournfully. Then her brow furrowed. "But… are you not feeling well?"

"I'm fine." Amelle sighed, pressing her palm to her forehead. "I haven't… sleep has been somewhat elusive, but I am fine, I promise you."

Kiara echoed Amelle's sigh as she gestured at the guts of the wedding monster strewn about her chamber. "I'd take you myself, but we'd never make it before the planners found us. You don't want them to drag you in, Amelle. There's no escaping their clutches. Soon you'll be dreaming in ribbons and rosettes. Run. Run far and fast." Kiara winked as she said it though, and Amelle had the strangest feeling her sister was actually… enjoying the madness. "Fenris knows where your new room is. Ask him to take you? He'll be in his chambers, I think. I know you know the way."

Kiara pressed a quick kiss to Amelle's cheek. "Best go, Mely. If you're here when they come back, they might start hounding you about your dress."

"I thought we already decided on my dress."

"You say that as if it would stop them."

Amelle was most of the way to the door again when Kiara called out after her, "Amelle? I'm sorry for not seeing to your room earlier. The new one's… much more comfortable, I think."

"The old one was fine, Kiri." But her sister only shooed her off.

She knew the way to Fenris' chamber by heart by this point, her feet following twist after turn of marble hallway. There was a time when she'd considered leaving a trail of breadcrumbs just to find her way around, but now she simply knew, just as she rounded another corner, Fenris' bedchamber would be on the left.

As luck had it, his door was wide open and she could see he was within, though he didn't see her. If his expression was anything to go by, he was pondering something else entirely.

Fenris stood in the middle of his chamber, arms folded and head bowed slightly—the posture of one in deep, intense thought. Amelle cleared her throat and rapped lightly on the open door; when Fenris looked up, she saw his brows were lowered in something akin to a scowl, but lacking entirely in heat. It was the expression of one exceedingly puzzled. The expression lightened when he saw her, but only somewhat.

"Amelle."

"Fenris, I…" she trailed off, narrowing her eyes at him. "Are you well? You look… confused."

Before he could answer, however, Amelle spied the very item that appeared to have Fenris so deeply confused. There, on an ornately carved table situated incongruously next to a weapons rack laden with Fenris' blade, was a tiny, delicate crystal bottle of pale amber liquid Amelle knew to be the very Orlesian perfume that had vanished from her bedroom.

"I am… puzzled, yes," Fenris admitted, casting about the room again. Amelle stepped over the threshold and looked around the room—Fenris' room—and saw not only the perfume bottle, but several potion bottles, her hairbrush and comb, and her staff, laid carefully upon the weapons rack, just under Fenris' Blade of Mercy.

Kiara, I am going to kill you.

"These are… your things, Amelle, are they not?"

Fenris knows where your new room is.

There was nothing accusatory in his tone, but Amelle still felt the heat of a monstrous blush creeping up toward her hairline. "I… this wasn't me." He tilted his head ever so slightly, but he might as well have shouted his question. "Yes, they are my things. I don't know why they are here."

The new one's… much more comfortable, I think.

Amelle put her face in her hands for a moment, seething with embarrassment.

"I confess I expected to find you," he said, looking once more around at the room and its new contents, "but instead I found only your things. Hawke's little page indicated you were looking for me here."

"I am going to kill my sister, Fenris," she said, the words coming out strangely choked. "I am actually going to kill her. I'm probably going to choke her with my bare hands, but I might go for something more explosive if the mood strikes. And it might strike. Like lightning."

Fenris' eyebrows twitched. "She is somehow to blame?"

"Of course she is," she cried, looking around her and feeling a fresh wave of horrible prickling heat creep up from her toes and rush all the way to her hairline. "When isn't Kiara to blame for things that leave me dying of embarrassment? Fenris, don't you see? She has moved me into your room. Without asking. Either of us."

Though Fenris was often a man of few words, it was nevertheless startling to see him rendered actually speechless. His lips parted, but nothing emerged. Then he blinked. And blushed.

"I'm going to kill her," Amelle said again. The more she said it, the more it felt right. She could do it. She could. She was even reasonably certain Cullen could be persuaded to see it had been the only course of action available to her. And Sebastian… well, he'd get over it. He might even understand.

Fenris looked around again, evidently taking in the scene with new eyes. The blush didn't abate. Amelle knew how he felt; her own face felt as if it were on fire. "She…"

"Yes. She did."

Fenris shook his head slowly and walked around the room—he had so few belongings to begin with that the room had been positively spartan even when he had been staying in here alone. Somehow that made the contrast between his things and hers even more obvious. The armoire stood next to an armor stand—Amelle's dresses hung neatly inside, but alongside Fenris' armor the whole affair simply looked strange.

He shook his head and looked again at Amelle. "Why?"

"Because she's sadistic and apparently bored?" she asked tartly. Fenris said nothing—he only furrowed his eyebrows at her, clearly skeptical, and Amelle threw up her hands. "I don't know. I don't know why she'd do something like this."

He looked at her for a second or two. "She must have a reason. You spoke with her directly—did she tell you nothing?"

The blush heating her face had just started to recede when it flared back to her cheeks with a vengeance. "She was bloody evasive as all the Void, and you'd think I'd be used to it now." Huffing out a breath, Amelle pinched the bridge of her nose and thought back to the conversation she'd had with her sister. "She said she thought I'd… she said it was a nicer room and that I'd be more… comfortable in it," mumbled Amelle, looking away suddenly. Oh, this would never do. She'd have to move her things back—maybe Fenris would help—and then she would strangle her sister. Possibly with a length of rosette-studded ribbon. That had the air of poetry to it, certainly.

"And you are clearly uncomfortable."

"I'm getting the feeling my sister has…" Maker, she was going to burst into actual flames if her face got any hotter, "made certain… incorrect assumptions. About us. And the state of our… um." She couldn't finish, couldn't actually give voice to the words, I think Kiara thinks we're sleeping together.

She'd never seen quite that look cross Fenris' face, and so she wasn't entirely sure how to categorize it, but it certainly bore a striking resemblance to discomfiture. Intense discomfiture. Blindingly intense discomfiture.

He coughed and looked away. "I… see."

Amelle grimaced, checking surreptitiously to make sure the heat of her blush hadn't set the sleeves of her gown to smoking. But no, it was still confined only to every inch of flesh on her body. "Oh, Maker, I'll just—"

"Am I to assume then you are… averse to the idea?"

"—Collect my things and—what?"

The world had gone mad. Amelle had the sudden urge to pinch herself—she didn't feel like she was dreaming and this didn't look like the Fade, but Fenris was still blushing and he had the strangest expression on his face and she thought he'd just—

"What?" she repeated.

"It is nothing," he replied.

"What?" Pure, unadulterated shock had modulated her blush somewhat, in favor of open-mouthed gaping. "Did you just ask if I was averse to the idea? Of staying here? With you?"

Fenris said nothing. He picked up her bottle of perfume and focused on it with the kind of intensity he usually reserved for slavers or blood mages.

"Are you… are you not averse to the idea?" she choked out. "Fenris?"

He did not look up from the bottle, and cut crystal bottle looked so strange in his hands—it would have looked stranger still had he been wearing his gauntlets, she had to admit, but something so delicate, so undeniably feminine in those deadly, calloused hands was unspeakably bizarre. Also strangely, inexplicably appealing.

"Fenris…?" she asked again, unable to keep her voice from cracking even as the second syllable of his name slid into a question.

"Yes?" he asked quietly, concentrating entirely on the bottle as he turned it this way and that, evidently admiring the way the sunlight in the room caught the crystal in a riot of color.

"Are you saying you… are not averse to… to me, um, staying… here? In this room? With you?"

His eyes slid away from the crystal bottle, but his expression revealed nothing. "Would I ask you such a thing if I were?"

At that moment, Amelle honestly didn't know. Because the world had gone bloody backwards mad at some point when she hadn't been looking.

"If the prospect of remaining is so… unpleasant, perhaps—"

"No, wait—hey!" When he lifted his eyebrows, tacitly inviting her to continue, Amelle said, "I never said anything about it being unpleasant. Just… embarrassing. Because… Kiara."

Fenris' expression was carefully, studiously neutral and Amelle cursed silently, covering her face with her hands. "Maker, what a mess." Kiara, I am going to kill you, bring you back, and then kill you again for this.

"If you prefer it, I will help you move your—"

Amelle dropped her hands and took several steps closer, plucking the perfume bottle from Fenris' hands. "Fenris. Please. Just…" She drew in a breath and let it out again. "I don't find it unpleasant. Just a little…" A little too terrifying? Intimidating? Maybe just a little too tempting? She closed her eyes and bowed her head, letting out a soft huff of laughter. "I'd just like for something like—like this to be our decision. Not my nosy, meddling sister's. Especially if we haven't even—" Amelle snapped her mouth shut and grimaced, feeling heat flood her face all over again.

"Amelle…"

She closed her hand tightly around the cut-crystal bottle until she could feel its edges pressing into her palm. "It's not that I don't—"

And then Fenris kissed her. One hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head for a better angle. The other reached for her waist and pulled her flush against him. With a sound halfway between indignation and pleasure, Amelle snaked her arms around him; the perfume bottle fell, and only the plushness of the carpet kept it from shattering. She didn't care. With Fenris' lips on hers and his hands skimming her body and his hair brushing her blushing cheeks suddenly things like a few moved objects and wanting to kill her sister—okay, she still wanted to kill her sister a little bit—seemed very far away indeed.

When Fenris finally pulled away—just enough to look her in the eyes—her blush was everything to do with having been thoroughly kissed and nothing at all related to embarrassment.

"All other concerns aside," Fenris said, his voice low and gravelly and positively rich with the kind of emotion that made Amelle's heart pound and toes curl, "if my options are sending you to sleep in a different bed, or having your face be the first thing I see upon waking, I would choose the latter, Amelle Hawke. Your nosy, meddling sister be damned. As to the rest? It will be our decision, as you say."

The words Fenris said and the tone in which he said them made Amelle's breath catch and her whole body shudder. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against his. The fiery blush had left her skin aflame, but this warmth, Fenris' warmth was something else entirely. She tightened her arms around him, pressing closer, though she was nearly certain not even a scant breath of space remained between them.

"You certainly make a persuasive argument," she murmured, before dropping her head to rest upon his shoulder. She could see the pulse beating at his throat and brought her fingers up to feel the thrumming beneath his skin. "Nervous?" she breathed.

His fingers ghosted up the length of her arm and along her shoulder, following the path to that same spot on her neck. His chuckle was deep and rich and she shivered as his breath hit her ear. "I could ask you the same."

A husky chuckle escaped her lips as she captured Fenris' hand and kissed his palm. "Maker, all I wanted was a bloody nap. If I'd known this is what was in store…"

"Yes?"

"Well. I probably would have come here first."

The answering laughter was soft but genuine and Amelle let herself snuggle against him and close her eyes. His arms were around her and every ounce of tension seemed to drain from her limbs the longer Fenris held her.

Several heartbeats of time passed in this manner, and by the time Fenris said, "A nap?" Amelle felt positively boneless.

"Hmm?"

"You said you were in need of a nap." He paused, rubbing a circle against the small of her back. "Are you not sleeping?"

"Mm. Not that well, I'm afraid. Not for lack of trying, though," she added, stifling her yawn.

Before she could do more than yelp a slight protest, Fenris stepped away just enough to bend and hook one arm under her knees. The other supported her back and he carried her effortlessly to the—their?—bed, settling her gently amongst the pillows.

"Fenris, honestly—"

He pressed a fingertip to her mouth to silence her. A surge of warmth that once again had nothing whatsoever to do with embarrassment curled in her belly, and she swallowed hard to curb the instinct to capture that insistent finger between her lips. Before she could act, Fenris vaulted over her, landing lightly on the other—his?—side of the bed. Spero, who'd been sleeping curled in a tiny ball at the foot of the bed, raised her head and meowed at their antics before settling back to sleep.

"The kitten knows the way of it," Fenris murmured in her ear as he settled beside her. Propped up on one elbow, he carded his other hand through the hair swept across her forehead, his fingers light and his touch soothing. "Sleep, Amelle."

When she opened her mouth to protest, another yawn betrayed her. Fenris smiled, bending to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, and then a second to her lips.

"Just a nap," she replied, curling onto her side. She smiled when she felt him curve behind her, fingers still skimming lightly along her neck and shoulders and down her spine. After a moment, he let his arm rest at her waist, and she… relaxed, comforted by the sheer presence of him.

And as Amelle drifted into sleep, her last thought was that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't kill her sister after all. Maybe.

#

For what felt like an eternity, Kiara bore with the flock of ladies all twittering their plans and opinions. She had long since lost the ability to tell the difference between the hundred and three shades of white—to say nothing of the accent colors—she was meant to be choosing from. Two weeks, she told herself firmly. Two weeks and this is a memory.

Finally, Tasia appeared to shoo the pack of planners away and Kiara was left, at last, to her own devices. Oh, and they were such devices, she could hardly contain herself.

"Did she run back to her room right away?" Kiara asked Tasia, and when her maid arched an eyebrow and shook her head, it took a supreme effort of will not to bounce out of her chair and dance for joy. She contented herself with a grin and a giggle. When Tasia stepped behind her to begin fussing with her hair, Kiara sighed. "Sebastian and I are dining alone tonight, Tasia."

"That's no excuse for an unkempt hairstyle, my lady."

Kiara gave her maid a skeptical look. It seemed every reason for an unkempt—nay, nonexistent even—hairstyle, but she'd long since learned it was best to let Tasia do as she willed. Arguing only meant the primping took longer. "There we go, my lady. That was none too strenuous, was it?"

Kiara was in such good spirits that she ignored Tasia's snideness entirely and rose, embracing her. Tasia sputtered, momentarily speechless, and Kiara giggled again.

Sebastian was already in his vast suite when she arrived, a book open on one knee and a glass of wine in hand. He took one look at her, set the book aside, poured a second glass, and offered it at a distance. "I'm terrified," he said by way of greeting, but his eyes were sparkling.

"Why so?" she asked.

"You've done something. I don't know what it is, but I can tell you are inordinately proud of yourself."

Kiara only grinned more widely and crossed the room with a light step, taking the glass and immediately sipping from it. It was an extraordinary vintage. "And why should that terrify you, I wonder?"

"Where shall I start? Perhaps it's the smile, smug and pleased and oh, just a little mischievous. Or maybe it's the sparkle—nay, the gleam in your eye. Yours is a dangerous gleam, Kiara Hawke, and I know it well. If it is neither your smile nor your gleam, it might be the spring in your step. But it isn't merely one of these things, love—it is the combination of all three. Such a combination I know to be trouble." He took a sip from his glass. "And so I am terrified. Rightly so, I imagine, if you're trying to play coy about it."

As Sebastian spoke, Kiara leaned against the back of an upholstered armchair, taking absolutely no pains to look guileless, lifting her glass up and examining the color of the liquor in the firelight. "Maker," she said when he was through, "I'd no idea you were so suspicious of me, Sebastian."

His brows lifted. "Suspicious? No, you mistake me, love. I would be suspicious if you were not on my side. I'm merely wondering how many conciliatory letters I'm going to have to write to—oh, sweet Andraste, please don't tell me Cullen smote Aileene Caddell again." But he didn't sound terribly worried about the prospect; in fact, something in his tone sounded almost hopeful.

Kiara laughed and moved around to fling herself into the very chair she'd been leaning against. "It grieves me to have to tell you I think it will be a very long time before Cullen is impaired enough to smite a forked-tongued harridan like the good Lady Caddell again."

"More's the pity."

"My sentiments exactly."

"Am I to guess, then?" Kiara lifted her glass, inviting him to try, and he narrowed his eyes either in scrutiny or thought. "Were arrows involved?"

"No."

"Weapons of any kind?"

"This is hardly a compliment to your future wife, Sebastian."

He chuckled and sank down into the seat opposite her. "No physical damage done, then. Are the wedding planners still in possession of all their wits?"

"As much as they ever were."

His expression turned long-suffering. "Dearest, how much paperwork will be on my desk tomorrow because of whatever you've done?"

"No more than was there when you left it today, I promise."

Sebastian looked off thoughtfully, toying with the stem of his wine glass. Kiara, still nearly vibrating with excitement, raised her eyebrows and watched him intently. At length he fixed her with a look bordering on mortified. "You did something to your sister."

"Not to. For."

"Kiara…"

She affected a look of innocence she was certain bore little resemblance to the actual state of being. "Yes, heart of my heart, light of my life?"

"What did you do?"

"Nothing much. I just moved her things to a different room. You know, I am her very observant sister, and I could tell she hasn't been sleeping well. I thought perhaps it was that she was getting so very much morning light."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, warily parsing her words for meaning. She could see the thoughts turning over and over, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from giggling yet again. "You're only telling me part of it."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean."

"Maker, but you are insufferable when you're smug."

"I'm not smug. Or insufferable! I'm just… pleased."

"Because?" Sebastian pressed.

"I thought maybe Amelle was having trouble sleeping because she was lonely."

"Kiara Hawke! You didn't!"

She batted her eyelashes. "Won't it be funny when you have to call me Kiara Vael in that same horrified tone of voice?"

"You are changing the subject."

"He hasn't been sleeping well, either."

"You are smug. And insufferable. And a terrible meddler."

She laughed. "And you love me. I'm not sure what that says about you."

"You do realize, heart of my heart, light of my life," he said, but with a far more ironic edge to the words, "one of these days your sister is going to turn you into a frog, and there won't be a blessed thing I can do about it."

"That's just an old wives' tale," Kiara said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. "Mely can't actually turn anyone into a frog."

"I suspect recent events might induce her to try," he remarked dryly, looking at her over the rim of his glass.

"Then I'll think her horribly thankless."

"Your sister has been through a great deal even without the stress she put upon her abilities. Just because she isn't bouncing back as quickly as you'd like—"

"It's not that at all. On more than one occasion, while she was watching over Fenris, I did catch her resting peacefully."

"She was emotionally and physically exhausted, Kiara."

Here, Kiara held up a finger. "Proper rest was the only way she would have been able to maintain her mana for Fenris despite… everything. A restless sleep does a mage no favors. I know my sister."

"All right," he conceded. "Let us assume for the moment you're correct—"

"My, how generous," drawled Kiara, swirling the liquid in her wineglass.

"Why did you not simply tell her you planned on doing such a thing? Surely if she and Fenris are…" Sebastian gestured a little uneasily as if it were his little sister he was speaking of, and the sudden hesitation and awkwardness in both his words and movements struck Kiara as perilously adorable.

"Because if I told her, she would have said no," Kiara explained, as though to a very slow child or very thick prince. "Unless I am much mistaken, she discovered my little—" Kiara wiggled her fingers, "—planand proceeded to plot my demise for, oh, the first ten minutes at least. Then she… warmed to the change. And decided against murder. She won't actually ever thank me, but she didn't stalk back to her old rooms in a huff so I know things were successful."

"Did you warn Fenris, at least?"

Kiara gaped at him, aghast. "Maker, no. Why would I do that? He might've gone over all proud and noble and resistant to good sense. Trust me, love. I'm not wrong about this. If you look very closely you may actually see Fenris smiling tomorrow."

Sebastian glanced down into his wine, and Kiara caught the telltale hint of a blush at his cheeks. "Why in the Maker's name you think this is any of your business I will never understand."

She felt a twinge of dismay. Just enough to make her feel she had perhaps been just a little insufferable. Very slightly. An iota. "You think I did wrong?"

On a fond glance he rose and set his wine glass the table again. Then he offered her his hand and helped her from her chair. "I suppose we shall have to wait and see how the reluctant lovebirds react."

"I only want them to be happy."

He ran the ball of his thumb over her cheekbone and she leaned ever so slightly into the touch. "Your good intentions don't make you less of a busybody, love."

"And is that a punishable offense, Prince Vael? Will I be sent to the stocks?"

"I doubt the stocks will be necessary."

Kiara sighed. "I don't know. What if I don't learn my lesson? It's a very small leap from trying to make my sister and Fenris happy to, I don't know, rampant matchmaking and general romantic mayhem."

The look he gave her was a knowing one, at once too shrewd for Kiara's liking. "I rather imagine if your little scheme turns out counter to your expectations, the sting of it would cure you for a long while."

Kiara opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it again, frowning.

"Second guessing your best-laid plans, my own one?" he asked, brows raised as he lifted the glass again.

"No," she retorted, but there was no heat behind it. "…Maybe a little. A very little. An infinitesimal amount." She bit down on her thumb, bottom teeth worrying against the nail. "Tasia told me Amelle didn't storm off. I know this worked. I'm certain it worked."

"Would it have been so horrible to let them find their own way? It is more than obvious they are dear to each other."

"And in the meantime they'd be getting less and less sleep." This time Kiara was certain Sebastian's cheeks had turned pink, and she somehow doubted it was entirely the wine's fault.

"You are… assuming a great deal, my love."

"I can hardly see how they'd sleep less now that—ah. Ah." Kiara felt a matching blush creeping up her own cheeks at the thought—which she stifled immediately lest her thoughts drift places she absolutely did not want to go when considering her sister. "Doubtless that kind of sleeplessness would only contribute to the happiness that was my primary objective," she retorted defiantly.

Sebastian chuckled. "Very well. I see you are resolved to be in the right. And while the happiness of your sister and Fenris is yet to be determined, you are clearly very happy, and I've no wish to cure you of that."

She pouted at him, which only made him laugh and pull her closer. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she was surprised when she felt him deftly pluck one of the pins from her hair. A lock tumbled across her shoulders, followed by a second and a third. "Tasia won't be happy with you," she warned.

"Tasia is not here," he replied. "And I miss seeing your hair loose."

"You know, if you told her that, she wouldn't make me suffer so much."

Sebastian pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "She'd find a different way to make you suffer, love. You make it so much fun for her, with all your bluster and petulance."

"I am never petulant!"

"She said, petulantly."

"You are spending entirely too much time with Varric. I ought to banish him back to Kirkwall at once."

Sebastian laughed and repeated, "She said, even more petulantly. And you are not princess yet, my dear. Your banishing lacks the authority of the crown."

"Now who's being insufferable?"

"Oh, both of us, I daresay. Good thing we've no audience but each other."

Kiara smiled up at Sebastian, marveling for a moment at the warmth of his gaze and her own answering contentment. For the first time in a long time, she was happy. She wasn't sure she'd truly been anything like happy since Mother had been killed. And at the time she hadn't been sure she'd ever reach happy again.

She brought one hand up to Sebastian's face, her thumb lingering over his cheekbone as she remembered warm hands covering hers, washing away days' old blood from her skin.

"You are thinking," Sebastian murmured, never taking his eyes away from her face.

"I am." She sent him a faintly crooked smile. "And does that terrify you, too?"

"Never." Sebastian set down his glass with a soft clink, took her face between his hands, and kissed her. The emotion poured into the gesture made her heart twist and ache sweetly in her breast. Sighing, she rose on tiptoes, pressing back into the kiss, resting her hands flat against his chest. She felt his heart beating hard against her palm.

Happiness, she thought, was something she could get used to.

When Sebastian pulled away, his hands still cradling her face, he looked into her eyes. For the space of a heartbeat, of a breath, Kiara was certain he could see into the very depths of her soul, casting light on every piece of her, every secret she'd ever held. And she didn't care. She knew he would love her regardless.

Tears prickled at her eyes and Sebastian raised his eyebrows.

"I am nearly certain my kisses should not make you cry, my love."

She didn't say anything at first. Instead, she slid her hands from their resting place on his chest up to his shoulders. She loved his shoulders, broad but not bulky, with all the lean muscle of years spent practicing archery. He tilted his head ever so slightly, faint concern furrowing his brow. She even loved the way his bloody brow furrowed, though the current concern was unnecessary. Slipping her hands further, she interlaced her fingers behind his neck. Looking up into his face, she felt a tear slide down the curve of her cheek. "I love you," she said at last.

It certainly wasn't the first time she'd said the words, but still Sebastian looked slightly taken aback. It was, perhaps, the first time she'd uttered them so seriously, without immediately adding a jest or a grin or a deflection. She felt his breath catch, and saw him swallow hard. "I love you," she repeated, tasting the words with something like wonder.

Sebastian ran his fingers through her freed hair to lift the strands away from her face, brushed away her tears gently with his thumbs, and then bent his neck to touch his forehead to hers.

"You're right," she said softly. "I should have let them find their own way. I just…"

"Want them to be happy."

She smiled slightly. "I am a meddler."

"I hear meddling is a fine trait for a politician to have. Use your powers for good, my own one."

"I'll try."

"I know you will," he murmured. "It's one of the reasons I love you."

Here, she did grin, pushing herself once again onto her toes to better follow his kiss with one of her own.