9:25 Dragon, Autumn

"Oh, hoo, hoo, hoo!" Lady Pentaghast's sing-song laugh was utterly infectious, and her blue eyes sparkled. "My dear, you are ever as delightful as my nephew described!"

Samantha could see she had once been a great beauty. Now older, she had the fine lines of a distinguished lady and in Samantha's world, distinguished meant very, very rich. She was a Pentaghast after all. She and her sister, Corbinian's mother, were the daughters of a wealthy Nevarran nobleman whose name dated back centuries. He had been smart enough to marry them both off into extreme wealth. One sister to the Pentaghast Clan of Nevarra, a family renowned for their dragonhunting and with a standing army that the magisters of Tevinter paid notice; and one sister to the Vael family, the royal and ruling family of Starkhaven, the largest city in the Free Marches. The two sisters also bound the Pentaghasts and the Vaels together, an alliance that made many Marchers nervous.

Though dressed in the finest silks of the land, with a string of pearls around her neck that would have made the Empress of Orlais jealous, Lady Pentaghast had clearly never let go of the behavior of her youth. With a smile as big as her personality, there was something in her eyes that twinkled of deviancy. Her ginger hair was well stocked with ribbons and jewelry, and every time she turned, it made a soft tinkling noise as the chains brushed up against the clasps. She wore the strangest-looking brooch that Samanth had ever seen, and if she didn't know better, she would have sworn it looked like a beetle.

Lady Pentaghast was neither skinny nor plump, rather somewhere in-between with curves that swayed from side to side with every step. Instantly likeable and never one to let a moment of silence pass her by, she had been talking non-stop throughout the last three of the dinner's five courses. This woman was clearly used to being the center of attention.

Samantha did her best to stifle her giggles like a lady should, "Lady Pentaghast, you flatter me."

"On the contrary, my dear." Her voice was soft and rich like velvet. "It is Corbinian who flatters so well. What did you say about her, darling? Hmm? Something about seeing her smile in the flowers? Yes? And her stars in the eyes – er, eyes in the stars! Yes, that was it! And then—" She paused dramatically, lifting her eyebrows and tapping her chin "—then he called it torturous!"

Samantha's mother was giggling like a monkey, but her father looked somewhat perplexed as this was not the Pentaghast he had expected. Goran looked a little annoyed while he continued to eat as he was once again going mostly ignored by his own parents who sat with tired expressions, mournfully lifting their forks to their mouths and back down again as though the entire evening was beyond saving.

Corbinian looked closed to mortified. "I don't recall using those exact—"

"Nonsense! Don't listen to him dear, for men tend to deny all those things stated in the heat of passion. Don't you let him get away with it!" She then turned to Samantha's mother. "Next year, you simply must have her come to Nevarra City with the Vaels. I will honor her myself."

Lady Mayweather smiled. "What a splendid idea."

"I will show her Corbinian's statue. She will love that." Lady Pentaghast winked at Samantha. "Maybe the portrait of him as a boy? The artist was not as good as Goran, but it will give her an idea of what her future children will look like. Oh, hoo, hoo!"

Now it was Samantha's turn to blush, but Corbinian just said: "Ahh, yes, the statue." He looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and die.

"But there's plenty of time for that. You're both still young! I was older than you when I met my husband – may the Maker watch over his soul – and I remember how he used to read poetry to me as well. That must be where Corbinian gets it."

"But I'm not related—"

"He had the most wonderful ability to turn a phrase, and I recall several nights where he would send me poems that made my head just about spin off my body!" She sighed dramatically. "Such a romantic, he was! Just like our Corbinian here. Too bad Goran hasn't picked this up – he must be a Vael through and through!"

Goran scrunched his brows together. "What else would I—?"

"This is why that girl you pine for pays you no interest, Goran. You must woo her! Are you listening? Woo!" She took a long drink from her brandy. "I'm going to send you some of my husband's poetry – Andraste watch over him – and perhaps you can pick up a thing or two about women."

"Oh, Maker—" Goran was turning green.

"I know the Vaels have a love of Chantry books – may the Maker bless each of you – but there are better texts out there on the words of love."

"Perhaps you could help Goran find one, then." Corbinian smiled wide and his brother shot him a fierce glare.

"A fine idea! The Vaels are such a solemn lot – no offense my dear sister, to you or Duke Vael – but it's true that you simply don't have a romantic bone in your body."

The dessert course came in and Lady Pentaghast finished off her third glass of brandy only to watch with bright eyes at how it was refilled almost instantly.

"I saw that utterly enormous library, sister, which surely contains some books on the language of romance that our young Goran here can study?"

Corbinian's father just sighed.

"I seem to recall a rather thick volume of sonnets that my father gave to me – Maker preserve his memory – that you perhaps have in your collection? Of course, there are numerous texts out there, but this one in particular spoke to my heart when I was but a girl, and I am sure that Goran will be inspired by the classics! Indeed, he will."

"I don't like poetry," Goran mumbled.

"What?" Lady Pentaghast stared at him in shock. "You don't like poetry? What utter and complete nonsense! Everyone loves poetry! Darling sister, have you not been keeping up on Goran's studies? Surely, with Corbinian such an accomplished wordsmith? Of course he may be a bit dim, but surely you have time to devote to your other son!"

"Of course, sister—"

"I'm not dim!"

"There, there." She patted his hand while finishing off her fourth glass. "No offense intended, darling. Oh that dinner was just lovely, dear sister. Truly, you never fail to disappoint with the food!"

"So glad you enjoyed—"

"Nevarra City is no slouch when it comes to decadence, but this layer cake!" She dragged her fork from her mouth, savoring the last bite. "Mmmm."

Lord Vael opened his mouth, but reconsidered as he looked to his wife who gave him a small nod and a unenthusiastic smile. Reluctantly he stood up, his expression somewhat pained. "Shall we retire to the study for a spot of… tea?"

"What a marvelous idea!" Lady Pentaghast stood up and Corbinian and Goran jumped to their feet, for in Nevarra it was customary for the gentlemen to stand whenever a lady stood. "Come Goran, we have some reading to do!"

Though she had at least four glasses of brandy in her, Lady Pentaghst strode elegantly down the hallway as she led the sulking younger Vael, and Samantha noted how Goran moved much more gracefully than he did on the dance floor with Flora. The group traveled down a long hallway as wide as the granite path outside the castle, finally settling into the egregiously large Royal Library.

Books of all sizes and thicknesses stretched the walls into the receding darkness, because there weren't enough candles to properly light every inch of the room. Where there weren't books, family heirlooms sat on display under cubes of glass, and some of them dated back to the first prince. Baleon Vael's Rattle: a gift from the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale to the first heir to the throne of Starkhaven. The Chant of Light with handwritten notes in the margins by Quinn Vael, the first of the royal family to take vows to the Chantry. Finally, in all its gleaming glory, Ironfist's Sword: a silver monstrosity that was wielded by Starkhaven's last King before the Vael's took the title of prince. Surrendered to the Chantry but loaned to the Vael's library for safekeeping, its blade was sharp and clean as the day King Ironfist handed it over.

"She's not always like this," Corbinian whispered to Samantha as he directed her to the other side of the vast room. "She doesn't drink much back in Nevarra, but once you get her outside her house, she thinks she's on vacation or something."

"I like her."

"I thought you would."

Corbinian sat next to Samantha on a small green velvet sofa in a corner, but they still spoke softly as the others settled into their own quiet conversations.

"Your father said you aren't having a lavish party this year for your name day." Corbinian opened his book – it looked like a random grab from the shelf; he had no idea what it was.

"Just a few friends this year for dinner in the gardens," Samantha whispered back. "My mother thought it would be ill-mannered to have two lavish parties in two consecutive years."

Lady Pentaghast's voice drifted over from the other side of the room. She didn't seem to be paying attention to Goran as she prattled on. His expression was thunderous, and his cheeks wobbled with the growing insult.

"Your brother is going to explode," she remarked casually.

"He's not used to this much attention." Corbinian mindlessly turned a page. "She paid him no notice back in Nevarra, but apparently she caught enough to learn of his fancy for Flora."

"He doesn't hide it."

"Nor should he, but he doesn't show it that well, either. He's sort of a nitwit around girls."

Samantha feigned shock. "What? You must be joking!"

He gave a half-smile. "I guess he didn't inherit all that Pentaghast charm."

"Too true." She flipped open her book, catching that her father was watching. "Often, the bonds of marriage are stronger than blood."

Corbinian smirked. At that moment Lady Pentaghast gasped loudly and Goran slapped a hand to his forehead in apparent shame for letting something slip that he hadn't meant to let slip.

The pair couldn't help but look in their direction, but Samantha spied something else. "Ugh, are your ears burning?"

Corbinian followed her gaze to see both of their respective mothers watching them from behind their playing cards. The pair had been whispering ever since they sat down.

"Let them talk. Doubtless their imaginations aren't anything close to our real debauchery."

Samantha reined in her giggles when she saw her father look up from his conversation. He was standing at the bookcase with Corbinian's father, who held a match to a very large pipe that protruded from his mouth. The smoke that wafted out created a foggy haze that made both men harder to see – but likely made it hard for them to see out, too.

Samantha leaned in a little. "You were going to tell me about Sebastian…"

"He and I got into a fight."

"He said as much in his letter."

"Well, another fight, I guess. It's an… old argument between us."

"I didn't realize you had any feud with him." She fiddled with the pages of her book, running her thumb over the edges.

"He seemed very different when I saw him in Kirkwall, but he…" Corbinian glanced at their parents. "He actually wanted me to join him in the Chantry. He called me a sinner and a…" He clenched his jaw. "Let's just say that I found his accusations hypocritical."

She wanted to hold his hand, but instead kept her fingers firmly on her book. The edges of the pages were dipped in a golden dye to make the closed book shine, but it also made the thin leaves soft to the touch. It made the book look prettier, but the story hadn't changed. She wondered if that was like Sebastian. "He seemed quite remorseful in his letter to me."

"I'm sure he did."

Lady's Pentaghast's voice softly cut through the room. "No, no, no, no! Read it again! With feeling this time!"

The pair looked over to Goran and Lady Pentaghast, the former in what could only be described as apparent agony, and the latter finishing another glass of brandy, for she had waved the tea away. Corbinian and Samantha smiled a little at the interruption.

"Lord Kendall should have apprenticed your brother," Samantha whispered.

"He's a lost cause, I'm afraid." But her smile got wider when he said: "But I am not. I have a feeling that your father is going to talk with me tonight."

"How do you know?"

"Because our mothers are more interested in our father's conversation than us."

Samantha spied her mother and the Duchess, who were no longer playing cards, but instead sitting wide-eyed and focused on the men. Even from the other side of their smoky haze, Samantha could see plainly that they were deep in conversation.

"Well, it's about time."

"I had hoped to drag out the moment as long as possible, I admit it."

"You just like climbing through my window."

"Getting your father's permission won't change that."

She twisted her mouth, trying to keep her smile from growing so big that everyone would see it and, after a moment fighting to hide her mirth, she leaned back over. "Does your aunt really have a statue of your likeness at her estate?"

"Oh, yeah," he groaned. "She keeps it in the room with all the other statues of all the other Vaels, which I have to say, is somewhat disturbing. We're all painfully white."

She pressed her lips together to keep a laugh from escaping, and kept her eyes on her book. "I missed you, Beenie."

"Well, I must have missed you, too, because I I've arranged a visit to the Circle – don't smile too big now."

"How did you manage that?" She glanced at her parents.

"I'm a Vael." He said as though it should have been obvious, but then added: "Also, I paid off the guards."

Her eyes widened, because something about the ease with which they could get in was bothersome. "How wonderfully lax Circle security is. I wonder if we might bribe our way into the Grand Cleric's bedchambers next? I have an eye on that snazzy robe she always wears."

"I could just have a copy made for you. Maybe you could wear it and I could wear the First Enchanter's robe and then we could turn off all the lights—"

She gave him a good jab in his ribs with her elbow and he oofed softly. "Okay, noted. Grand Cleric / First Enchanter roleplay a little too risqué…"

Samantha giggled a little too loudly at that, and when her father looked over, it took everything she had to stop laughing and refocus on her book.

When she had calmed down enough, he leaned over. "Don't worry, Sammie. You'll be safe, because I'll go with you."

"Oh, right. I forgot how important you are."

"Clearly." He smirked and she relaxed a little.

It was true that things had been calm for a while and there hadn't been a rebellion in fifty years. Even then, it had been just one mage. The Starkhaven Circle treated mages better than most, and the First Enchanter kept his charges under control – everyone said so.

"When can we go?"

"In a few weeks."

"Lord Corbinian," Samantha's father called from the other side of the room, and Corbinian's father was standing next to him. They looked quite serious.

"And away we go," he whispered with a grin as he rose and calmly walked across the room.

It had been over four months since Corbinian's initial request for permission to court her, and Samantha had a sneaking suspicion that was the reason for Lady Pentaghast asking to dine with her. Samantha's mother was turning a curious shade of pink, probably flushed with excitement at the prospect of their connected families. Lady Mayweather had only breathlessly mentioned Corbinian's name nearly every day. She thought she heard her father mutter something which sounded like the word inoffensive before the dinner, but his tone clearly suggested some prejudice, still. Still! It had been more than a year since Corbinian had returned from Nevarra.

Sitting on this small sofa, watching all the people in the room, Samantha couldn't help feeling like her life was being planned for her. Her mother was ready to consent to anyone with a title, her father was more concerned about her reputation than her actual happiness, and the Vaels, as pretentious as they were, were clearly concerned about her family's character. They had been carefully evaluating them at every turn; Samantha could see that even if her mother could not.

She turned to spy Goran suffering Lady Pentaghast's attentions as she finally selected a book for him and he traveled the length of the room to sit down next to Samantha on the sofa, holding his book distastefully, turning each page as though they were made of iron.

"Goran," she whispered a greeting and he didn't respond; he had terrible manners – everyone said so.

After a long pause, he looked up. "What?" He had the same Vael-blue eyes as his brother.

"Nothing," she answered defensively. "Just saying hello."

"Oh. Hello."

Andraste's breeches! Samantha silently wondered if this was how every conversation with Goran went. His puffy cheeks were a little flushed still, but his shoulders seemed to relax sitting next to her – or maybe it was just being away from Lady Pentaghast.

"What are you reading?" she whispered, figuring that she should try to get to know him. At least a little.

"Poetry," he said sourly. "What does this even mean? She stalks the night. Filtered through the clouds and rounding out the outlines of my hands as I work in shadow."

Really? Could he be that dense? "It's the moon."

"What?" His favorite word.

"The moon, silly. The night. Filtered through the clouds. Round and shadows? The moon."

He looked back down to the book. "I'd be better off painting her a picture of the moon."

"Only if her face is in the moon," Samantha said quickly.

"What?"

"Flora likes… portraits…" Samantha bit her lip; should she not tell Goran any of Flora's likes or dislikes? Would Flora be upset with her if she did?

Certainly Flora had suggested on numerous occasions how much she disliked Goran's attention, but if Helena and Vincent were to be believed, perhaps she just didn't know him. Samantha supposed it mattered little; if Flora was going to spurn him, nothing he did would make any difference.

"Portraits?"

She couldn't leave Goran's questions hanging in the air like Lord Kendall's always were.

"That's why I said that… about the face… in the moon. So the moon would be like a portrait. I didn't mean literally, of course. It was just a joke!" Maker! Why was it so difficult to talk to Goran and so easy to talk to Corbinian?

Corbinian returned then, wearing a serious visage as he sat down on the other side of Samantha, turning a dark look to the other side of the room.

"What did he say?" Samantha asked him, looking in the same direction, and she noticed that Goran was interested in the answer as well.

"Not here…" he responded, but he gave her a lingering look before he lifted his book back up to his eyes.

"Oh, Goran!" Lady Pentaghast called over. "Have you finished that one yet?"

"Andraste's ass…" Goran muttered, standing up and sulking back over to his aunt.

Samantha's father moved towards her mother and they both stood up – it was getting dark out and she recognized their farewells.

"Go to your window at dusk," Corbinian whispered into her ear as her father called her over. With a slight nod, she rose from the velvet sofa and curtsied her goodbye. Corbinian kissed her hand, Goran bowed elegantly, Lady Pentghast embraced her like a daughter, and the Duke and Duchess of Starkhaven bowed deeply in formality to say goodnight.

Her family walked home in silence, the whoosh of the night winds ushering the Mayweathers along their way.

Once back inside the confines of her estate, her mother and father parted, going in separate directions as was their wont; her mother to the kitchen to tell the staff what she expected for breakfast, and her father to the study, likely to have a drink in private. He did that often.

Samantha ascended the stairs in darkness. The candelabras had burned low and the servants hadn't renewed them. After her bath, she donned her dressing gown and let the servants escort her to her room, helping her to dry her hair. Some little elf came in and hastily lit a fire in her hearth which helped considerably with the chill in the air. She settled down by her window, a shawl over her shoulders as she waited for Corbinian as he had promised to come. Just when she started to assume that Corbinian couldn't get away, her mother appeared in the hallway. Samantha met her at the door to her room.

"Darling Samantha." Her mother grasped at her hands, and she looked a little upset.

It was at that moment that she finally heard the tell-tale tapping noises at her window. He was tossing up pebbles to hit the thick glass. Samantha couldn't tell who had worse timing, Corbinian or her mother.

"Yes, mother?" she asked sweetly, trying to act like nothing was amiss.

Tap.

"You behaved well this evening, my love," her mother said, tucking Samantha's hair behind her ear.

Tap. Another pause. Tap. It sounded almost like raindrops, but the sky had been clear enough to see all of the Maker's stars that night.

Samantha tried not to appear nervous. "Thank you, mother." She rubbed her neck, discreetly pulling her hair back out from behind her ear. She always hated it when her mother preened her.

"Best get a good night's rest, darling. Your father will want to speak to you tomorrow."

"Is everything all right, mother?"

Tap. A pause. Tap.

"Oh, dear. I hope that's not rain. The gardener just watered the grounds."

"I'm sure it's just a light sprinkle," Samantha laughed nervously.

"We'll talk tomorrow," her mother said lovingly before she hugged her daughter – a hug! Something her mother rarely did. She then turned down the hallway, likely heading for bed.

Whatever her father was going to talk to her about the next day likely had to do with Corbinian, who was no longer tossing pebbles up to her window. She fumbled for the latch on her door before dashing across her room to the window. Holding her dressing gown closed at her knees so it wouldn't get caught by the wind, set her knee on the sill and pushed her large bedroom window open. The hinges grated loudly enough to cause Corbinian to stop and turn back around – he had made to leave! He was a few feet from the fence where he had snuck in. It was easy enough to do if you knew the estate. Just under the hedges was a gap in the fencing and one could easily slip through without even ruffling clothing. Flora and Ruxton had rigged it years ago when Samantha and Innley had been the only ones left out of her all her friends who were not allowed outside after tea. That had taken a year longer than everyone else, and Samantha always assumed her mother had pressured her father into letting them have more freedom, mostly for appearances' sake. Sometimes, she wondered if her father had a mind to keep her locked up for as long as possible – like the Circle locked up Innley – and all in the name of protection.

She leaned out and called his name. With a cursory glance to the other windows, he snuck closer.

"My mother was here," she said, but he lifted a hand to his ear; he couldn't hear her. "My mother!" She gestured behind her to indicate that someone had been in her room – at least, she hoped he understood what her feverish pointing meant.

He said something back, but Samantha couldn't hear him either.

"Beenie?" She called down. "Come up here." She tapped the tresses that held up the vines.

His gaze darted over the tresses for a moment and, though there was a chill in the air, he hastily shrugged off his overcoat, letting it fall to the grass. He climbed adeptly, for he had visited her in this manner enough times to be an old hand at this; besides, his arms and legs were strong from practicing with the sword and they carried him up like it was nothing. When he reached the top, he swung a leg over the sill, careful not to make too much noise, and sat down. She sat across from him, their knees touching, their bodies framing the window.

"I will never tire of this, I think. Coming through your window is the highlight of my week." He was trying to make a joke, but he couldn't hide the look in his eyes. Surveying her room from the window, his expression was somewhere between distracted and disappointed.

"What did he say?" Samantha asked about his conversation with her father and his.

"Your father thinks that I'm doing quite well to change the perception of my character."

That sounded like a bad thing. "But..."

"But your father's opinion of me is not based upon such things. Regardless of the opinion of the Duke or even the Prince," Corbinian told her sadly. "Usually, I can get away with a fair amount simply because of my family, but your father has made a demand of me before he will grant me… before he will allow us to be tied to each other."

His choice of words was intriguing, and Samantha didn't know what to ask first but settled on: "What does he want?"

"He says that I must prove to him that I am a gentleman with honorable intentions and a good reputation." Corbinian sounded like he was quoting her father. "The latter seems to be of greatest concern."

The fact that he had climbed the side of her house to sneak into her room through a window made Samantha almost laugh at all three requirements but for the disappointment in his eyes. "He still hasn't forgotten the night I hurt my ankle, you mean. The night Sebastian was sent away."

"The night I was found by the city guard passed out on Lord Garrity's steps." He couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I suppose that wasn't my finest hour."

"I blame Lord Kendall."

He smiled so wide, she thought his face might crack open.

"What did your father say?"

Corbinian's smile faded to a knowing grin. "He said he has never known a Vael with a greater ability to win people over."

She reached for his hand. "You will, you know. Prove yourself to my father—I mean, if that's what you want to do."

"My Sammie." He turned her hands over in his, lifting his Vael eyes to hers. "I would remove the Black City from the Fade if that's what your father demanded."

She had no answer to that, for it was by far the most romantic thing he had ever said to her… the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her. The most romantic thing she had ever heard, and between her and Flora, they had heard nearly everything that every boy in Starkhaven had ever said to every girl.

"This is very storybook of us," he said quietly, looking down at the grass far below. "What will the bards say when they tell our story?"

"I hear they sing, Beenie."

"Well, whatever," he said as he reached for her, pulling their bodies together on the threshold of her window and firmly pressing his lips to hers. Samantha closed her eyes.

His left hand, his sword hand, was more callused than his right; she felt his palm scratch against her jaw. The cool breeze of the evening swept through her window, a stark contrast to the heat between them, and it ruffled her lace dress and his silk shirt. She didn't want him to pull away when he did, and she both delighted and lamented the windowsill, imagining the many breezy nights to come where he would sneak through her window because her father refused him on this night.

He ran a hand over the top of her hair and smiled. "I've always wondered what it would be like to do something this poetic. Though, I wonder what Lord Kendall would say."

She lifted her chin. "He'd likely challenge you to a duel for my heart."

"However many it takes."