9:24 Dragon, Late Summer

Mistress Samantha,

I hope my letter finds you in the throes of celebration on the occasion of your sixteenth name day. It is with considerable regret that I am missing out on the festivities, as I recall discussing all of the wonderful things that we planned to do on this day and the day after and the day after… These are memories I hold close to my heart and it is my wish on your special day that you are afforded the opportunity to do all those things we talked about and more. I am sure my cousin will see that you are appropriately celebrated and entertained.

I apologize for not writing to you sooner, but I felt an apology in writing was rather gauche. Yet I have no other avenue so I must use this crude method, and hope that the feeling behind the words is enough.

I am truly sorry for my behavior on the night before I left. It a shameful thing to ignore the wishes and desires of a girl when she has given herself over to the passions of a man. It was wrong to hold you in my arms and act out of selfishness. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me someday, and I would very much like to continue our friendship; though, if Corbinian has anything to do with it, I'll likely call you cousin, soon.

I was distressed to hear about Innley. I'll light a candle for him during service.

Yours in spirit,

Sebastian Vael

"What does he say?" Flora asked, seemingly uninterested. "I bet it's lovely. He always could pen a beautiful letter."

Samantha tossed a grin over her shoulder while she messed with her hair. She lied terribly but Flora didn't seem to notice: "Just... wishing me a happy name day."

She had been trying to tie a ribbon into her long brain for the past ten minutes, but couldn't get the knot quite right, and was rather regretting having sent her maid away, some little elf girl who was all thumbs. Finally, Flora got tired of watching her.

"Here, let me do it." Her fingers deftly maneuvered the ribbon in and around her braid until weaving it perfectly.

She hadn't told Flora about Sebastian's behavior that night. She couldn't articulate why, but she had felt embarrassed by it. He had behaved so miserably; he had been correct in his letter and the apology was long overdue, but Samantha didn't want so spread gossip about her friend. She knew he wasn't himself that night. She didn't want others to judge him for it.

Inspecting her braid in the mirror, Samantha was in awe. "How did you do that?"

Flora wiggled her fingers. "Sebastian isn't the only one with nimble fingers."

"What does that mean?"

Flora leaned down to her shoulder, staring at Samantha's reflection in the mirror. "Every girl has her secrets. Now, tell me about were those naughty things that he told you?"

Samantha giggled. While she hadn't mentioned Sebastian's behavior, she had told Flora all about Corbinian's as he walked her home after service. It didn't help that their little scene at the fountain of Andraste had all the nobles gossiping. Flora had only asked what everyone else probably wanted to know.

"Andraste's holy word!" Flora swore, and Samantha delighted in having a secret from her friend; a reversal from the normal way of things. "If you don't tell me what he said—!"

Samantha turned around in her chair, a maniacal grin on her face. "He described, in vivid detail I might add, how he wanted to touch me... with his lips."

Flora lifted her eyebrows high upon her forehead.

Samantha had wondered about Corbinian's intentions. He'd intimated that he knew Sebastian had kissed her and how she had bitten him, and perhaps he was even teasing her because of the hell she had been through with the nobles of Granite Circle over the past year. Maybe he would lord it over her in some way and she would have to do unspeakable things to keep the secret – never mind that the thought of those things excited her.

"What are you going to do?" Flora seemed thrilled by this story.

"I'm going to listen." Samantha whirled back around to the mirror and fiddled with her braid.

"Listen?"

"Let him say all that he likes. But if he wishes for more, then he will have make good on all that... talk." With a nefarious grin, Samantha reached for a hand mirror to check the back of her hair. "Now, about that other thing—""Yes, yes," Flora huffed. "It's all arranged. I swear, without me how would you ever get into trouble?"

"I likely wouldn't. I'd be a good girl." Samantha acted the innocent. "I'd probably even close my eyes while praying at church."

"And look forward to tea with the Garrity's."

Samantha set down her mirror and turned back around. "And never speak out of turn at social luncheons."

Flora sat up on the bed, giggling. "And always agree with your father!"

"And ask the maids to tighten my corset just a teensy bit more!"

"You don't need the maids for that," Flora said with a sigh. "For that's what marriage is."

"Another corset?"

"Essentially," Flora shrugged. "The way my mother talks about it. Men don't desire a lady's thoughts."

"It's so odd; she seems to despise the ladies of Starkhaven, yet she's encouraging you to follow the same path," Samantha said thoughtfully.

"It's dreadful." Flora agreed. "But sometimes, I think she's more concerned about her well-being than mine."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I just..." she hesitated but the secretive Flora returned with a laugh. "Oh, who knows with that woman? In any case, I don't think I shall ever marry! Once I have my inheritance, I will travel the world in search of adventure!"

Samantha and Flora often joked of such endeavors. "I can see your mother now: showing off your postcards to all of her uppity friends!"

Flora glanced out the window, noting the setting sun. "Speaking of my mother, I better dash. She will hex me if I don't eat before your party. A lady must never eat too much in public!" She hopped off the bed.

"Enjoy your pre-eating!" Samantha called as Flora headed out. "And don't forget—!"

"I won't!" Flora called back from down the hallway.

Samantha turned back to her mirror. It was customary in Starkhaven to wear white when attending the sixteenth name day celebration of a noble's daughter, and Samantha had ordered her dress two months ago from Orlais. It wasn't silk, rather lace, delicately hand stitched and beaded from the hem up, letting her collarbone show. She decorated her neck with a silver necklace, her profile in ivory plated on a rose stone. It was fashionable trend amongst the daughters of Starkhaven.

She primped herself for a few moments longer, setting a white rose in her hair before—satisfied at last—she left the chamber and met her mother in the corridor. Lady Mayweather was positively glowing, and Samantha was forced to suffer through her sickening smile, along with the preening and those familiar phrases that Flora had parroted earlier: you're a lady now, don't show your teeth when you smile, be sure to dance with only a few of the boys, remember: tiny bites of food will keep your waist tiny, too! Samantha was so thoroughly bored of all the miniature lectures that she had been forced to endure for years that she thought, surely someday during one of them, she would die from the monotony.

When the guests had finally all arrived, Samantha's mother led her to the terrace that overlooked the gardens and, as instructed and practiced a thousand times over, Samantha exited the house. She smiled demurely, fluttered her eyelashes, and curtsied low like a soufflé falling, the memory of her mother's voice itching her ear. As the guests turned to gaze at her, their expressions were as expected: a little admiration, a bit of jealousy, and then boredom, as the novelty of her arrival gave way to their eagerness to down spirits and food.

The elaborate nature of these parties were more for her parents than for her, and so Samantha did what she could to ignore her mother's advice– she drank so much wine and ate so many oysters that it was equally likely she would vomit or laugh giddily throughout the night; either might have struck her at any point. Thankfully for her sake and that of the rest of the party she composed herself long enough to personally thank most everyone for coming. Before long, the band was playing loudly and the drunken revelers were dancing the night away. Jackets were left on chairs and shawls were thrown across tables as the heat of the evening rose with the dancing, and she did more than her share, her mother be damned.

At last, she was able to find a dark corner to drag Flora into. "Did you bring it?"

"Yes," she answered excitedly, her hair a little damp from dancing. She handed over a small vial with maybe a thimbleful of thick blue liquid, swirling with a magical shimmer. Samantha's eyes widened.

"I can't believe you got it."

"Well, you only turn sixteen once!" Flora lifted another vial from a hidden breast pocket and winked.

"What's this supposed to feel like anyway?" Samantha peered into the tiny vial, mesmerized by the metallic swirling.

Flora looked into her vial as well. "The alchemist says it's not nearly as potent as the stuff the Templar's drink. Just a little kick."

With a cursory glance to her parents, Samantha popped the cork, and she and Flora emptied the contents into their mouths. The liquid fizzled, coating their tongues with a distinctly bitter taste. They hastened onto the terrace, and grabbed the first passing servant with a tray of wine, and they both laughed ridiculously as Samantha tossed a glass back without a lady's pause.

Flora laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Slow down, will you? Your parents could be watching!"

"Oh, the Maker can have them," Samantha held her glass to the servant who silently accepted it and handed her another. "I doubt they'll even notice. My mother is nearly weeping, she's so smashed."

"No wonder your father hasn't left her side." Flora eyed them from across the room. "She doesn't drink much, does she?"

"Only on rare occasions." Samantha scanned the terrace.

Lady Mayweather was swaying from side to side and her lids were blinking almost independently of one another.

"Don't look now, but I think a certain boy who likes to talk is considering doing some more." Flora pointed to a corner of the garden next to a row of high hedges. The boys at these parties usually gathered together and roughhoused while the girls sat around and giggled. She gave a sigh. "Sebastian and Innley would be over there right now if they hadn't been sent away."

"I know," Samantha felt a tinge of sadness for the brother that was missing, now locked away in the Circle. She would have given anything to see him at his moment. And Sebastian...

Samantha had a passing thought of the young Vael, sitting in his brother's robes, perhaps sulking, refusing to come out. Perhaps he never thought of his old friends at all. Perhaps he did and was denying himself the torture of seeing people live their lives freely and without bonds since he had been forced into chastity. Perhaps he was drunk and climbing out of a window somewhere. The thought made her smile.

"Perhaps I will see Sebastian next time I am in Kirkwall." Flora stated the words as though they were an admission of something.

Flora's family visited Kirkwall about three or four times a year as they had a second estate there. During her spring trip, she had waited for Sebastian to visit, but he never did. She didn't see him at service, and later suspected that he never knew she was in town.

"Why haven't you written to him, anyway?" Samantha waved to someone who'd waved at her – she couldn't tell who they were or even if she knew them.

"I've been busy," Flora smoothed her hair away from her face. "Who are we dancing with now?"

"Whoever asks!"

It would have been rude not to dance with her party guests, but the one that had curiously not asked her to dance was Corbinian. She saw him look over at her pointedly as if the boys around him had been speaking of her, and he looked away.

"What a tease," Flora sneered. "You want my advice, Sammie? Ignore him. Make him think you're completely uninterested and show interest in everyone else."

"A jackal's game." Samantha finished her glass of wine. The tiny vial's contents were making her feel fantastic. "They should be fighting over us, Flora. Not the other way around!"

"If you say so." She sighed, and Samantha wondered who she was thinking about. It had to be someone...but she knew that Flora would never tell her without an interrogation, and Samantha didn't feel like pulling the information from her friend. At least, not on this night. This was her party!

"Here he comes. Good luck." Flora giggled while she walked away and Samantha looked across the terrace.

It seemed Corbinian's inhibitions had taken the path of his jacket, which he had thrown casually across the banister. He strode through the dance floor like it was his own and these were all his guests. The moment he took her hand into his was marvelous thanks to the tiny vial that Flora had obtained. She felt a strange of surge of energy, like she could do anything with his hands on her, but instead of flying to the Maker's kingdom, he led her out onto the stone slabs of the patio. Many had gathered here, swaying together with their bodies close as if they were alone. He hadn't even asked her to dance, the brute, though when he stepped nearer she no longer cared. Samantha would never know if the prickles along the back of her neck were from Corbinian's closeness or the cool evening breeze that filtered through her hair. Corbinian lifted her left hand into the air, and she had to adjust to dancing backwards – of course; he was left-handed. The switch left Samantha feeling somewhat awkward.

"Finally made time for the honoree, have you?" she teased, and she could feel the ribbon in her braid loosening from the heat.

"I figured I owed you that much." He was a little breathless, having spent most of the night drinking and running around outside – such a boy.

"Your dancing is atrocious."

"You should see Goran."

He looked over her shoulder and she turned to the sight of Goran Vael, Corbinian's younger brother, fumbling artlessly around the dance floor with Flora, who gave her a pleading look. Samantha turned her face away, trying to hide her desire to laugh very loudly.

"I see your point." She sneaked a look over her shoulder again. "Who invited that poor sod?"

"Oh, we're related, haven't you heard?"

"I wouldn't admit to that too loudly, Beenie. You might get kicked out just so he'll have to leave with you."

"Well if I get kicked out, I'm taking my gift with me."

"Too late!" She shook his shoulders a little, as much as she could anyway, he felt immovable. "I've already seen it. Great big box. White paper. Gold ribbon."

"A lady's riding saddle," he announced with flat affect. "My mother picked it out. I'm sure you'll adore it if you ever decide to take up riding horses."

"How dare you come to my party without a gift," she said, feigning offense.

He gave her a funny look, a pause, a consideration, and then he said, "It's hot up here."

He never let go of her hand as he guided her through the other dancers, all of whom paid absolutely no attention to them – what was this all about? He was royalty and this was her party! Shouldn't they be—wait, where was Beenie taking her? He led her from the floor, past the string quartet that kept everyone in each other's arms, down the wide stone steps and into the gardens. She hopped a bit to remove her shoes: the cool grass felt oh so pleasant upon her bare feet.

"Where are we going?" She asked, but she wasn't protesting that they were leaving the party.

Corbinian turned around, walking backwards. "I'm leading us to our doom."

"Of that, I have no doubt." Samantha dropped her shoes, forgetting them immediately because Corbinian smiled at her again, and it was then that she decided that wherever her doom was, it was likely a lovely place.

Eventually they stopped and she looked behind her to see the tiny twinkling lights of her party, still raging well into the night.

"They say the Maker can see you better out from under the light." Corbinian dropped her hand, lifting his face to the stars.

"You wish an audience with the Maker?"

"They say he is always in audience. Even now." He lost his footing a little, likely lightheaded from his wine and looking up.

Samantha looked up too, but Corbinian caught her before she fell over. The wine had gone straight to her head and the vial had brought her body to life, and she truly loved this feeling. Their everyday lives were lived with restraint; mustn't smile too big, laugh too loud, ask too many questions or talk too much and definitely no cracking jokes or poking fun. Impropriety was defined in many different ways, and in their caste it seemed like everything that was any fun at all would fall under its banner.

"Watch those ankles." He smiled down at her again.

His eyes were still so blue even under the star's dim light, most especially when he brushed her hair away from her face. Maybe it was that simple gesture, or her conversation with Flora earlier that day, or any other time where he had winked or smirked or had given the impression that everything in the world existed only to entertain him. In any case, the tiny vial had infused her limbs with playful energy, and she was determined to catch him in his tricks.

"I'm onto you." She poked a finger into his shirt. "I know what you're doing."

"I doubt that," he mused, setting her back on her feet so she wouldn't fall over.

"You're trying to seduce me." She wasn't so much drunk as the vial had shed her of her inhibition.

"Succeeding is more like it."

"You take me away from my own party." She tapped his chest with her finger. "After barely dancing with me, I might add, and I'm supposed to swoon?"

"Swooning is optional, actually."

"You never wrote to me while you were away."

"I wasn't allowed sharp objects inside the house."

"You didn't eat with me this evening, either. I had to eat with Gwendolyn Fortney." She waved her hand in the direction of the party. "Or rather, I ate while she watched."

"Truly, she is a gorgeous young skeleton." He chuckled at Samantha's condition.

"More your type."

"Yes, but mostly because she spreads her legs for all the neighbors."

She couldn't help the loud laugh that escaped her for Miss Gwendolyn Fortney was a sickly young girl who fainted whenever there was a knock on the door. The thought of her whoring around Granite Circle was preposterous! In that moment, she had forgotten that they were alone, and instinctively slapped a hand to her mouth as if it were too loud for propriety; she inwardly cursed her mother's fastidious tutoring. Corbinian chuckled too, but his gaze seemed to get caught on her necklace He seemed lost in thought before moving his eyes back to hers.

"So, I've made a decision." He was so mischievous.

"How very grown-up of you."

"I've decided that I'm going to kiss you tonight."

She couldn't help laughing again. "On my neck?"

"No." His half-grin returned. "Right on your lips. With your permission, of course."

"And why should I give it?" she teased.

"Because it's the natural way of things, Sammie. First the lips, then the neck."

"Clearly, I need to bone up on the rules."

"I'll educate you." He smiled, and she opened her mouth to respond but found nothing coming out, for the tiny vial was encouraging her to accept his offer. "But I'm not going to right now." He slipped his hands into his pockets.

She stood flat on her feet, and the hem of dress settled into the cool grass. "You're so considerate, Beenie."

"I just want you to open your gift first."

"Your mother will be so proud of you."

"Not that one." He lifted a hand from his pocket – always his damnable pockets – and in his palm sat a small box.

Samantha raised a brow. "Spending all your allowance in one shot again?"

"Something like that."

But she made no move to take it and he just stood there, holding it out in his open palm. This was a game of chicken, and Samantha wondered about the stakes.

"Go on, then," he prompted.

This was unusual. Gifts were almost always opened the day after, never in front of the giver unless it was a special gift, a gift with meaning and purpose. Little velvet boxes that emerged from dashing young cousins of the prince of Starkhaven definitely fell into that category. Suddenly nervous, her resolve flickered - but, no, she couldn't let some boy dupe her into giving away her virtue so easily. She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off by taking a step towards her.

"Before you say something cute," he said quietly. "Just open it."

She carefully took the box from his palm, and with its passing, his hand retreated back to his pocket. The box was warm. Warmth transferred from his body to the box and now to hers. To Samantha, it was quite the erotic thought, and she wondered about its path from place to place to end up in her hand. She was thankful for the wine and the little vial's liquid courage as she let her eyes drop down and, making sure her expression was nonchalant, she casually opened it up.

In the moments that followed, she was grateful that she was standing flatfooted in a garden with the soft grass, because for an instant she thought she might faint. Her corset felt too tight and she couldn't draw a breath, for what lay inside the box was not what she expected.

It was a golden locket. The design on the top was the Vael family crest. The hook for the chain was empty, because there was no chain. This locket was a family heirloom and for some reason, Corbinian had just given it to her. Such things were rarely given to anyone of only passing importance. No, things of this nature were given as promises and she could feel her heart thumping so loudly that she thought maybe he could hear it, too. The muscles in her body wouldn't respond to the normal commands; the best she could do was to move her eyes and when they reached his, he smiled at her – that Vael smile.

They had been playing games all their lives, from the moment they met and he stole her painting oils and dumped them over her head, and she had cried and cried and then later when his mother marched him over to her, his chin tucked firmly against his chest, and made him apologize. And he had, but he'd lifted his head and stuck his tongue out to suggest he wasn't sorry at all. He had that same sort of look now, the one that implied how very not sorry he was.

It was at this moment that she considered he wasn't playing games. The idea felt unfamiliar.

He tilted his head. "You look confused."

"This is your grandmother's locket," she said dumbly.

"You remembered."

"Does your mother know you're gifting it to me?"

"Of course she does—woah—" Corbinian caught her, his hands firmly on her arms, because that answer caused her to wobble, suddenly a little lightheaded. She tried to take a breath, but felt only her stiff stay pressing against her ribs. "If I had known it would provoke such a reaction I would have given this to you in front of your parents."

"That would be just like you…" she said weakly.

She had wobbled up against his chest, bringing a hand up to keep steady, and the box was still open, the golden locket shining bright like its own star. In the silence of the next moment, with her hands on his warm chest through his half-unbuttoned shirt, she could feel the thumping of his own heart, strong and steady, predictable even as he was not.

"Why are you giving this to me?"

He smirked, bringing his hand to her chin. "I think now I'll kiss you."

She made some small noise, she was sure of it, because his lips were against hers a moment later, soft and warm with wind and crickets and the sounds of two people breathing in and out. He radiated heat through his tunic and her white Orlesian lace, warming her up; there was strength in that, like she could live off of that fire, be rejuvenated by it. In between the breeze in her ears, the orchestra still played, strings with differing pitches that changed from some boring tune to a melody of memory.

She had never been kissed like this. Sebastian's kiss was drunken and sloppy, aggressively only pleasing himself. She had kissed other boys before, but she was young and rich and unsupervised and often ended up in dark rooms with a bunch of other young, rich, unsupervised people and unseemly things always occurred. But those were just play kisses, and never like this one. This was a kiss reserved for a sixteenth name day celebration, crafted for her and her alone.

When he pulled away, still holding her close, for a moment she thought that he might be at a loss for words, because his mouth was still open but nothing was being said. And Corbinian always had something to say.

The seconds passed like ages and when the orchestra changed songs, the silence punctuating the end of the moment. She smiled. "I could still slap you if you like."

He laughed wildly then, pulling her tight against him. "My Sammie, how you have ruined me."

He kissed her again, but it was a softer kiss, a kiss meant as an end to the kissing which was sort of disappointing because she strongly felt like she wasn't nearly as lightheaded from the kissing as she was from the wine. Anyway, the greatest romance stories always had the man kissing the woman until she was utterly spent.

He grinned. "I'm going to send you and your family and invitation to the palace tomorrow."

"First the locket and now this?" She glanced back at the party that she no longer wanted to rejoin. She wanted nothing more than to stay just like they were. "Beenie, you're going to make me think you're serious."

He offered a roguish grin as he pulled the white rose from her hair, slipping it into the lapel of his coat. "Oh, I'm very serious."

But, always sardonic with that silly shine in his eyes, she had to wonder if he was truly capable of being this serious. He would likely be bored of her by the beginning of winter, just like he was with all the others. Samantha wondered about that as he held her hand while they walked back to the house. She wondered about that as he danced with her again, one final time, before his mother found him and informed him that they were leaving. And she wondered about it again as he kissed her hand and winked at her before strolling out of the house, his jacket over his shoulder, his hand in his pocket. The cheeky bastard.