9:35 Dragon, Spring

"Goran!" Samantha huffed. "Goran! Fix your cufflinks later! I want you to read this."

She was standing in the middle of Goran's room, which wasn't that much larger than Corbinian's room, or hers, but still dwarfed her room at her parents' estate—the Mayweather Estate—her estate. She went there sparingly, often to fish trinkets of memory out of dusty trunks.

She was wearing a long formal gown. Draped in silk, it was the color of pearls and shimmered whenever she moved. Over the silk lay a cover of lace, golden as the sunshine on an autumn evening, with tiny beads made to look like tiny pearls etched in swirling patterns along the hem, sleeves, and neckline. The bodice had been finished only three days prior by the best seamstress in Starkhaven.

She had raced to this room was fast as she dared, hoping that her hair wouldn't suffer too greatly with the effort, for her maid had spent over an hour tucking the golden primroses in just the right places. A string of pearls longer than she thought she deserved wrapped around her neck and fell over her bosom. They had been a gift from Lady Pentaghast over the summer along with a curious little box that contained an enormous bug.

Samantha had shrieked like a little girl upon its opening, and it was all Goran could do to prevent Keis was squishing the thing under her boot. Lady Pentaghast had sent Samantha a Death Watch Beetle.

The bugs were famous, and not just for their predictive abilities, although the soothsayers of Antivan swore by them. In Antiva, it was said that when the Death Watch Beetle started to hiss, death was coming and there was no stopping him. In Rivain, the beetles were considered such terrible omens that they were killed on sight; to simply see one was to bring about misfortune. But in Nevarra, the beetle was revered as a ward against death. Many considered the insect a status symbol, and the high nobility often kept them as pets in elaborate cages and even brought them into their elaborate mausoleums upon death. Samantha couldn't help laughing at the silliness of taking a Death Watch Beetle into the death chamber where no would ever hear it foretell its ill omen.

As a courtesy, Goran had allowed Samantha to write to Lady Pentaghast about the possibility that Corbinian might be alive but that the news was not publicly known. Lady Pentaghast had responded promptly, not only by sending out her own teams to find him, but by sending Samantha one of the disgusting creatures as a good omen. She called the insect her "favorite baby from her favorite litter" having bred them for more than three decades. Samantha couldn't believe such a woman would consider having a pet – especially a bug! – and instructed the servants to keep it in a glass cage in a room far away, and to keep her appraised of any escape attempts. She didn't want to wake one morning to find it hissing on her chest, its long antennae tickling her nose.

"Sammie, don't you have to get ready?" Goran fumbled with his cufflinks as a servant tried to wrap his cummerbund. It was red and gold and shiny.

Samantha was ready. "I'm serious."

"I'll read it later—ow!"

"Sorry, my prince," the tailor mumbled, a needle between his spindly fingers and a length of measuring tape draped around his thin neck.

Samantha brandished the letter she held: the cause of all her hurry and consternation. It had been handed to her three hours ago and written fifteen days before that. Its writer lived in Kirkwall, and named himself Sebastian Vael. Sebastian hadn't signed his last name since before he had committed himself to the Chantry. The fact that this letter was signed in this manner, not to mention the content of the letter and the way he spoke of Goran, made her suspicious of the ground he was laying. Perhaps for his return.

"This is important," she stressed.

"Everything is important," Goran muttered in response. "The farmers haven't had enough rains, the Harvest Festival needs a Princess, we have to honor the Margrave of Ansburg, there is an influx of elves in the alienage, and the Tylers' winery was attacked by maleficarum!" He threw his hands in the air. "It's all very important!"

Samantha's mouth turned down a frown. "I didn't mean—"

"I'm sorry, Sammie," he interrupted, sighing. "I don't mean to burden you." The tailor had pulled the needle up far above his head, a length of thin thread drawing a line through the air. He was tightening Goran's cummerbund – it was apparently too big. Goran sighed again, but this time at the details of his attire, giving up on his cufflinks and thrusting his wrists out to Samantha. "Can you do this?"

With a silent sigh, she stepped forward. "Of course." She used to watch servants affix her father's cufflinks when she was a girl. She worked the small metal between her own fingers, threading it through the slits in his cuffs, and while she worked, she said, "I think it's good you are holding this dinner." When Goran grumbled something in response, she continued. "The people don't see you enough. They don't know all that the prince does – all the important matters you attend to!"

"Well, they will," he mumbled.

Samantha wasn't sure what he meant, but she was too preoccupied with Sebastian's letter to think on it. "If you have a few minutes—"

He looked to her plaintively. "Can I read it after?"

She could never refuse him. "After."

They nodded in agreement.

When the tailor was finished with his stitching, Goran turned about to check his clothing in the mirror and Samantha peeked around his shoulder – he was too tall to peek above it – and she agreed that he looked very fine. For some reason, however, he seemed nervous.

Keis was waiting in the hallway wearing golden armor – the official armor of the royal guard, its seal emblazoned upon on the breastplate. Her mesh underlining was golden too, and coupled with her black hair, she looked like a golden mare readying to show. No other soldier or guard in the royal family's employ wore gold. But Keis was different.

The trio walked together down the wide hallways of the royal estate, Keis and Goran chatting briefly about security, a topic which concerned her much more than him, until they reached a set of double doors.

Goran paused, looking down his arm to Samantha, and she grasped his elbow as was proper. He just smiled.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Let's do it."

Keis gave a small knock on the door and a trumpet sounded, following by a very loud squire who announced, "Ladies and gentleman of Starkhaven, Her Grace the Grand Cleric, His Prestige the First Enchanter, and Knight Commander Rayce. I have the pleasure of announcing the Prince of Starkhaven, Prince Goran Vael and his charge, Lady Samantha Mayweather."

The great double doors clicked open and swung wide, and there was polite applause as Goran and Samantha stepped into the Great Hall of Starkhaven's royal palace.

The Great Hall was just that – it was a great big hall. The colors of Starkhaven were everywhere. Presided over by golden chandeliers and blood-red tapestries, the walls were lined with deep red trim and golden-framed portraits, not of royalty but of citizens who had risen in rank to own glorious titles. Corin the Grey Warden was immortalized upon the wall as was the Champion of Starkhaven. Garehel's portrait was quite large, but his elven ears were obscured by a blazing trail of fire. He had been given honorary citizenship posthumously, and the running joke among Samantha's friends was that having died to the Archdemon was the only way an elf could have become such.

Goran held up a hand. "Thank you all for coming. I am pleased to play host to the great minds of our great city as we welcome our neighbors to the east, the Margrave of Ansburg and his family. Let us have a round of drinks and enjoy each other's company before dinner."

A murmur of polite agreement echoed throughout the Great Hall, and the serving commenced without pause. Glasses both tall and skinny, short and fat sat upon every tray as spirits were offered from endless bottles. There was even a champagne fountain in the center of the room, the glasses stacked so high that Samantha had a rebellious urge to remove the one at the bottom and watch the tremendous crash of glass and bubbles all the way down.

Arianna ambushed into her in the middle of the Hall, already tipsy from what looked like a rich port.

"Sammie! You look divine!"

"As do you, Ari!"

Samantha could only stay irritated at her friend for so long, and after a few months it seemed pointless to try. It was the only grudge she had ever held, and after half a year had passed, she couldn't figure out why so many would hold onto their bitterness for so long – but then again, such matters worthy of rancor were far less trivial than hers and Arianna's.

Arianna's golden hair was decorated with tiny red silk flowers woven together at the stems. Her ample endowments proudly teased from beneath a thick red satin bodice, fanned at the top and slender at the waist, and Samantha thought she resembled a daiquiri glass, as though she were poured into her dress.

"What is this?" Samantha pointed to a golden brooch that sat egregiously upon the bodice just above Arianna's left breast.

"This is the symbol for the Antivan Crows," her friend responded, sounding almost bored.

"What?"

She giggled. "When I visited over the summer, I met a curious little man who showed me a thing or two about… well, about the little death as he called it."

"Is that what they call it in Antiva?" Samantha mused.

"He had these daggers, and when he ran them over my—"

An audible gasp interrupted the pair, and they both turned to see Lady Preston, her puffy cheeks wobbling with offense. The elderly widow had seemingly chosen this formal dinner to wear all of her jewelry and a dress that looked older than Samantha. It was made of thick satin and stretched across her body with so many thick and lacy embellishments that Samantha thought she resembled a tablecloth.

Arianna looked innocently confused, speaking to Lady Preston. "What? I didn't pay for it! I am not so desperate."

"Well – I never!" The lady exclaimed with a small bejeweled hand over her large frilly bosom. She quickly turned away, stomping through the crowd and waving for the attention of the elder Lady Kendall.

Samantha broke into a fit of giggles, which Arianna enjoyed immensely. "These perfect ladies with their perfect modesty. I do not understand how their live."

"Behind closed doors."

Arianna sipped her port through her ruby-red lips. "You should come with me next time I go. You live amongst the repressed! And how long has it been, truly? Four years? Too long, my darling Sam-mie."

Samantha flushed, finding offense at the idea of intimacy with anyone other than Corbinian and couldn't believe Arianna would suggest it, but of course Arianna didn't know that her Beenie may yet live. No one knew. Samantha's shoulders fell at that thought right as the trumpets sounded again and an unknown voice boomed across the Great Hall: "Dinner is served!"

Tipsy giggles and amiable voices abound as they were ushered into the Grand Dining Hall with the rest of Goran's two-hundred guests. In front of a pair of adjacent seats, Samantha and Arianna found tiny cards with their names etched in fancy handwriting. Samantha had arranged for Arianna and her to be seated together, and as they sat, she looked around the unbelievably long dining table which had been set up with the royal family's best place settings and dinnerware. Servants, elves and human, were alive with activity refilling glasses with spirit to keep everyone bubbly.

To Samantha's left sat a lord whom she had never formally met, but rumor had it that he was from Cumberland. He was but one in a long list of specially invited lords and ladies from foreign lands that had been seated along the table nearest to Goran, who sat at the head near the Margrave of Ansburg and his family. Across from the girls sat the Luxleys who were far more interested in conversing with a young noble couple visiting from Orlais. To Arianna's right was Lady Preston's visiting nephew and niece from Tantervale, the twins Paavo the Handsome and Taru the Morose. Down the length of the table, everyone she knew was here, along with many she had never met.

"What is he announcing tonight?" Arianna whispered into Samantha's ear.

"He doesn't tell me about city politics," Samantha explained, finishing off her wine.

"Then do you know why we are playing host to this family again?" Arianna smirked. "Wasn't one state dinner enough?"

Samantha gave a small smile, remembering Goran's first meeting with the Eberstarks. It had been on the afternoon after he had heard news of his brother's life – and enslavement. He had been so unsettled that the Margrave thought his visit unwelcome. It was only after Samantha's encouragement that Goran explain the reason behind his strange behavior that Lord Eberstark had understood. Though their visit had been pleasant and filled with banquets and galas, it was also marred by Goran's princely duties as he made arrangements to track Corbinian's movements in Antiva. He hadn't felt that the Eberstark's were given a proper greeting and insisted they return the following spring.

"I like the Eberstarks," Samantha said amiably, and it was true. Their daughter, Lady Sophine, was an adventurous girl, and Samantha had enjoyed her company immediately. "But I think this evening is partly about holding a royal banquet. He has held too few."

"That's true." Arianna's tongue rolled the words off, and then her eyes caught the slight bulge in Samantha's black satin gloves and clutched at her arm. "What is this?"

"Oh." Samantha placed her hand atop Arianna's. It was Sebastian's letter. She hadn't had time to put it away, and so she had tucked it into her glove. "It's a letter… Would you like to read it? It's from…" She lowered her voice. "Sebastian."

Arianna's eyebrows raised into steep arches above her pretty brown eyes. "Is it a love letter?"

Samantha responded with flat affect. "No."

"Oh," Arianna seemed disappointed, but still held out her hand, palm up.

With a cursory glance around them, Samantha stealthily slipped her the letter, but Arianna unfolded the thick parchment without subtlety and began to read.

Samantha, my friend,

Your concern is appreciated. Truly, I wonder who else in the realm cares for my safety as you do. Regardless, know that I appreciate it. It's nice to know that someone out there still thinks of me as family.

I know that I haven't written much, and I thank you for allowing me the time to contemplate my future. Elthina has given me consult, and even the famed Champion of Kirkwall has provided guidance, but I am no closer to knowing what if the Maker intends for me to remain in the Chantry.

To answer your questions and allay your fears, know that the Qunari attack left me undamaged. Yes, the Fereldan refugee that I hired to avenge my parents was responsible for the Arishok's death – in single combat no less. An exciting tale to be sure, but trust me when I say that watching such an event is more vicious and bloody than it is exciting. For once, I find that I am glad you are in Starkhaven and not here, because Kirkwall is not a safe place at the moment. I admit, I have my doubts about the safety of Starkhaven – a Circle in shambles, the Chantry struggling for resources, the nobility angling for power. You are as yet unharmed, and I pray that the Maker keeps you that way.

It also concerns me to know that our mutual acquaintance, Taletha, has not returned to Kirkwall. She writes that she is a guest of the palace, but I fear that she is not allowed to leave. Have you seen her, and is she well? The chanters here ask after her. I am concerned that she is unduly influenced living in the royal palace. I have also heard rumors of Goran's "Ghost Hunters". Tell me they are fabrications, Sammie. Rumors such as these do the prince's seat no justice.

I am pleased to hear that everyone else is well, and extend my greetings to all.

Maker watch over you,

Sebastian Vael

Arianna folded the letter back up, snickering. "Warm greetings like applewine. More tart than sweet."

"He all but called Goran a usurper!" Samantha hissed, working to keep her voice down.

This prompted Arianna to laugh until her eyes wetted without giving a fig for who saw. She finally lifted her wine into the air. "The day Goran is a usurper is the day that I marry a Fereldan!"

Samantha laughed at that. "I don't know if Sebastian is thickheaded… or…"

Arianna sighed with a great big smile. "All men are thick in the head. Especially Sebastian…" His named contained four syllables the way she said it. "Such a devil, that man. A devil disguised as an angel."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on." She giggled flirtatiously. "He would come back to Starkhaven, take you for his wife, have a thousand beautiful babies and be a role model to all!" She then rolled her eyes.

Samantha laughed reactively right as Lady Luxley, who was seated across from them, coughed, and it was all the girls could do to reign in their amusement.

Arianna gave the elder lady only a passing glance. "He lives a fantasy land where every wrong he does is never his doing. He has always been this way. I swear to the Maker, since he was fourteen."

Samantha tried to remember back that far – it had been more than twelve years! It was difficult to admit that he hadn't really changed that much. Though he claimed otherwise, all his roundabout talking seemed to imply that he still dreamed of glory, power, and respect, just as the prince's seat commanded. Did he dream of being prince?

"Do you think…" Samantha paused, not really to say wanting the words out loud but finally relenting quietly. "Do you think he'll come back? To lay claim to the throne?"

"Oh who knows?" Arianna brushed it off with a wave of her hand. "I doubt he would make a better prince than our cowardly Goran. At least he understands his limitations." She then took a long drink from her goblet.

Samantha paused, staring into the space between her and Arianna, and wondered if the rest of Starkhaven felt the same way beneath their discontent. Cowardly? Samantha felt he was anything but cowardly. The citizens of Starkhaven liked to complain about him, because he was young and lacked proper manners most of the time, but he hadn't done a terrible job for someone who had never been groomed for the prince's seat.

The salad course was served moments later; strawberry and frisee salad with walnuts, and Starkhaven Harvest Bread with pear jam.

"Goran isn't a coward – just the opposite," Samantha said earnestly, lifting a forkful of salad into her mouth and crunching into the sour leafy greens mixed with the sweet juice of the strawberries. Arianna just shrugged. "Besides, I don't think many would accept Sebastian back. He was exiled by his own father. The people here won't forget that."

Arianna rolled her eyes. "You are right about that. The people here forget nothing! Why, just the other day I was walking by Lady Fortney's gazebo, and she was telling Lady Luxley how she caught Benji and Flora in the upstairs portrait room of the Kendalls estate during Lord Kendall's ninetieth name day celebration. Remember that, Sammie? I sure don't, and that was more than ten years ago."

Samantha laughed, but paused, wondering if everyone in Starkhaven knew of Sebastian's efforts to reclaim his birthright.

"Does everyone know about Sebastian's travels?"

"Not everyone." Arianna looked into her empty wine glass longingly.

"Why is he doing this, I wonder? Only a few years ago, he wrote to me that he was happy in his life as a brother in the Chantry. And now, he seems to be making an argument to abandon it." Samantha sighed at her now-empty salad plate. "He changes his mind faster than the season's fashions."

Arianna set down her wine glass, and leaned back in her chair. "You know, my father always said that when our goblets are empty, we either die of thirst, or we fill it back up. It's up to us, yes?"

Yes, Samantha thought silently to herself, staring into her own empty wine glass before a passing servant filled it with her choice of reds. She would have chosen Corbinian Vael if he had been on the servant's tray.

"So Sebastian's cup is empty…" Samantha prompted and Arianna made a face.

"That boy is never satisfied with what he has. You could pour and pour, and it would never be full."

After the salad course had been cleared from the table, a strange little dish of crispbread topped with roasted leeks and blue cheese was served, and everyone commented on the unusual flavor combination. Most were delighted, and even Taru seemed to break from her melancholy, but only for a moment.

The main course was Starkhaven Goose stuffed to their necks with sage cornbread and celery, their skin was dark and shining with a honey glaze, and the plates were adorned with blackberries and little white flowers. More than two dozen of them were carried out on sterling silver trays which sat on the fingertips of lithe elves. They made a big production of cutting into the glistening birds, and the chef came out of the kitchen to personally arrange the Eberstarks' and the prince's plates.

"Ahh, Starkhaven goose. At least we don't have to suffer the Fish Pie." Arianna set back her shoulders as the servants served them tiny plates stacked with three layers of goose, cornbread filling, and blackberries.

Samantha hadn't tasted something that unearthly in much too long; savory and sweet, she had forgotten how much she missed these banquets just for the exposure to new types of food.

A clanging of silver upon glass quieted all conversation and Goran stood up. Samantha craned her neck around to watch him. On one side of him sat the Grand Cleric and the First Enchanter, and on the other sat the Margrave of Ansburg, Frederick Eberstark and his wife and daughter, and Ser Rayce Taaramäe, the Knight Commander of the Templar Order, who slyly winked at Samantha. She let out a small huff in response without being able to help it, and the lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled at her reaction.

"Thank you again for coming," Goran announced. "I hope you enjoy the feast this evening. Most of you know that I have announcements to make. Before too much speculation takes up the conversation, I'll take this opportunity to make it. First, after much deliberation and debate, I have decided to name a Regent to aid me in my duties as prince."

An inquisitive murmur cannoned along the table.

It had been five hundred years since the prince of Starkhaven had appointed a Regent to handle the small matters of governance. Many assumed that Goran would have no qualms about the appointment, but they had been wrong for years. He was too old, he said. He could govern, he said. He wasn't infirm nor was he going away, he said. These were the reasons he gave, but only in private did he confide to Samantha that naming a regent was akin to admitting that he didn't possess the ability to govern, and that might give others leave to claim rights to the prince's seat. If there was anything Goran was passionate about, other than his art, it was that a Vael – and not an exiled one – sat on the throne of Starkhaven. Appointing a Regent had been a tough decision to make, and while he rarely had to make important decisions, it was the Council that hadn't been met with much approval, and Goran had failed to navigate their political maneuvering. He needed help.

Besides that, it was fairly well known that Goran didn't especially like the minor duties that accompanied being prince of Starkhaven.

But Samantha felt differently; she thought that his decision to name a Regent was an acknowledgement that he was willing to learn how to be prince. He needed help, and it wasn't such a bad thing to admit it. The people would respect him for that.

Goran stood tall at the head of the table. "I have refrained from this for a long time, because I want everyone to know how hard I am working at learning governance. My parents always said that cities run themselves, but I don't think they ever worked as closely with the Council as I have to."

Everyone from the front of the table to the very back chuckled, and Samantha wondered if any Council members were present.

"My parents didn't raise me to be prince, though I am not the first Vael to assume a throne he was not raised for." Goran was referring to King Maksimilian of the late Black Age. He had assumed the throne at the age of twelve when half the Vael family – and the Free Marches – had been decimated by plagues which many believed they were magical in origin, sent from the newly formed Chantry of Tevinter by the Black Divine himself. "I convened a special advisory group to put together a list of suitable names. It has taken some time, but I have selected Lord Arthur Garrity to serve as Prince Regent."

Lady Luxley bristled across the table from Samantha. Lord Luxley, who wasn't much for words, hummed in agreement next to her.

"This is not to say that I will be stepping aside or handing off my formal duties – quite the contrary," Goran said, and Samantha thought that he looked somewhat nervous. "Rather, Lord Garrity will be assisting me, providing guidance as his knowledge of the law is unparalleled."

Lord and Lady Luxley both huffed, but Arianna leaned forward and whispered, rather loudly, "Something in your throat, Lady Luxley?"

The lady bristled in her chair, turning her entire body sideways so she didn't have to face Arianna, and Samantha had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"Second," Goran continued. "Tonight, we honor our neighbors to the east, the Margrave of Ansburg, Lord Frederick Eberstark, his wife, Lady Harriet, and his daughter, Miss Sophine."

Goran gestured to his left, and seated in a stiff suit with tassles hanging from his shoulders was a solid man with grey hair and large hands. He stood briefly, giving a solemn bow. Seated next to the man was a slender woman who looked much too elegant to be the wife of a military leader, and finally a tall young girl with flaming red hair. Samantha gave her reassuring smile when their eyes met.

"This man has done Starkhaven a great service." Goran clapped the man on the shoulder. "He has given us the gift of friendship. We wish good relations with our neighbors, and Starkhaven has seen too few of them in recent years. I aim to change that, starting tonight."

A murmur of what sounded like approval stretched around Samantha, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding; for a moment, she thought Goran was going to tell everyone about Corbinian. Lord and Lady Luxley shifted their bodies suspiciously as their gaze danced down the table looking for allies, for whatever position Samantha could not tell. When she followed their gaze, she found nearly everyone, including all the leaders of Starkhaven, staring at Goran who stood tall at the front. For the first time ever, Samantha thought he looked like a prince.

Arianna leaned over to Samantha's ear and whispered, "Strong silent type."

Samantha had to close her eyes and bite her tongue not to laugh, and even though these same words infuriated her before, she now found them a sharp knife through the tension in her body.

"I offer a toast," the prince of Starkhaven said, raising his glass. "To new friends. New allies." He scanned the table, finally finding Samantha. "And to family."

Every glass raised high in the air and all voices breathed the same word: "Aye."

And then the string quartet began again, torturing an emotional tune from those heavy strings that stirred the people at the table to set aside their disapproval, if only for the night.

The murmurs about town would probably die down sooner, Samantha suspected, if Goran took a wife and produced an heir. Though unpopular at the moment, he was still royalty, and there was no shortage of women who were eagerly interested in becoming the next Princess of Starkhaven. His lack of interest in any of them was the reason many assumed that Samantha had his affection, but they couldn't have been more wrong. She still slept in Corbinian's room, and stared out of Corbinian's window every day. Waiting for him to return. Of course, they didn't know that.

"I've never had goose, and this is delicious!" Paavo the Handsome announced.

"It is most remarkable," Taru the Gloormy agreed.

"Wait until you try the green beans." Arianna slurped one into her mouth and winked at the boy.

At first bewildered, a sly grin eventually spread wide his thin lips. Dutifully, he lifted a bean to his mouth and crunched into it heartily. Arianna, without looking away from him, leaned back in her chair, reaching for her glass of port. Samantha recognized this routine; it was something her Antivan friend had perfected. She would have this boy wrapped around her finger by dessert.

Dessert was served just after Arianna managed to get Paavo to loosen his bowtie. His sister Taru was completely snookered on champagne, sadly sighing every so often. Lord Luxley was starting to behave rather inappropriately for an older married gentleman; he giggled ridiculously at every comment the moody Taru made, and even mumbled a compliment or two about the young girl's beauty. Lady Luxley rose stiffly at one point, and beckoned him to lead her in a dance, to which he hastily acquiesced.

Arianna dabbed her mouth sensuously after swallowing the last of her flaming cherries jubilee, and just as she made to rise from the table, Paavo jumped to his feet and asked her to dance as well. She agreed with a playful smile.

Samantha watched Arianna as she moved, like a hunter that knew her prey intimately. She had felt like prey on a dance floor once, and the hunter had teased her spine through an elaborate gown.

Have I told you that you look lovely?

"Lady Samantha." A velvety voice drifted from over her shoulder. It was Ser Rayce, the Knight Commander of Starkhaven. "You look as beautiful as the royal gardens. And smell as nice, too."

She tried to retain her civility, because she wanted to hate him. It was very important that he stay the evil stranger who had turned Innley into a monster.

She curtsied. "Messere."

"Would you honor me with a dance?" He extended his elbow to her.

She was more inclined to dance with Lady Pentaghast's Death Watch Beetle. "It would be my honor, ser."

She placed a hand upon his arm as he led her past many turned heads. She was certain they looked the odd pair, because next to her, he was downright plain. He was wearing the traditional formalwear of the Templar Order, which consisted of a plain black suit, a crisp black shirt, and a golden vest with the Templar's symbol stitched onto the left panel, a downward-pointed sword with wavy lines resembling flames. She tried not to pay attention to the fact that his vest perfectly matched the golden lace of her dress.

"My Lady," he said amiably as he placed his hand upon her waist. "I have asked you before. Please call me Rayce."

"I would sooner call Goran 'Your Highness'." She placed her hand in his, held high in the air.

He grinned. "You are referring to the familiarity of using one's first name? A common courtesy among nobility, I understand."

"Indeed, ser."

"You haven't answered my invitation to tour the Circle, my lady. The offer still stands. I believe you will find the new accommodations less… stifling."

Samantha's gaze snapped to his. "A prison is still a prison, no matter the plush pillows and fine linens."

He smiled greatly, warmth radiating from his eyes. "Worry not. There are neither plush pillows nor fine linens in the Circle Tower of Starkhaven."

When he smiled like that, she felt completely disarmed, because it was quite clear that in his youth, he must have been devilishly handsome. Even with his hardened eyes, a clever brow presided over a winning smile and a strong jaw that likely made many maidens weep when he joined the Templar Order.

Though he was charming, she couldn't stand his tone. "Do you enjoy mocking me, ser?"

"Rayce." He didn't blink. "And I would never mock a woman such as you, Lady Samantha."

"Then you are teasing me. Playing me for a fool."

"You are no fool." He spoke with a tenderness that made her feel entirely uncomfortable. Was he interested in her for more than acquaintance or even friendship? But then he said, "I had the dungeons completely redone. You would approve of them now, I think."

She couldn't believe his audacity and scoffed. "You take me for a moron, then! I will have nothing more to do with you, ser." She made to back away, but he was too quick, taking a step towards her at the same time, as though part of the dance.

"Your brother said the same thing."

She stood still for a moment before she realized that leaving him on alone on the dance floor would only incite gossip, and she didn't want to cause a scene at Goran's formal dinner. She stepped back into his embrace. He moved slower this time.

"He chose that cell, you know," he said quietly.

She didn't believe a word of it. "No one would choose that cell."

"But he did. I gave him the choice, and he chose the cell."

"Over what?" She sniped. "Tranquility?"

"Oh, my sweet lady Samantha…" He spoke carefully. "There are other ways to be rid of demons. I don't like the Rite, never have, and I've always preferred alternatives. In retrospect, I should have performed the Rite, but I didn't. I felt sorry for him. I felt sorry for all of them. I thought that I could save them. I thought that the mages wanted to be saved, but I underestimated the value they placed upon what they defined as freedom. It turned out that we had very different definitions."

Shocked, she nearly raised her voice above propriety when she quipped, "Is that what caused the rebellion? A simple disagreement over terms?"

"You dislike me so!" He chuckled. "My lady, nothing is ever simple. There are layers of complication for everything. Risking death, risking Tranquility… it is not something mages do lightly. They had their reasons."

"And what were Innley's?"

"Maybe one day he will be caught and I will have a chance to ask him. Likely he will say freedom. Perhaps even love. That is something we can all understand."

Was he being purposefully cruel? Samantha decided that she wasn't going to let him get to her. "Is it such a bad thing? Allowing mages freedom like ours?"

"Such a naïve question for one as astute as you, my lady!" he said, laughing. "Mages… they are doorways. One does not leave the door unlocked when there are murderers outside. It's the same thing."

"But… surely there is a compromise!" She protested. "Not all mages are like—"

"Your brother?" He closed his eyes briefly. "I mean no offense, my lady, but freedom… it's not ours to give. The Maker has given us a divine command."

"Funny," Samantha seethed. "I don't recall seeing the word shackles in the Chant of Light."

His smile grew wide, as though he enjoyed arguing with her. "He had as much freedom as any Circle mage could have hoped for. I even looked the other way when you and the Marquess and that other little girl visited him. But it was never enough."

"What girl?" Samantha felt the affront like a bee's sting – what girl would visit her brother, and that he would never tell her? Why did he keep so many secrets?

"That little girl who died. She was the death of him, too, I think." His eyes clouded over. "Such is the way of things."

Samantha felt weak. "Helena…?"

"Ah, yes. That was her name."

She let go of his hands, bringing the dancing to a halt. In the blur of the golden room, she remembered her confrontation with Innley after the first rebellion. Innley had been so different; angry and discontent, he had referred to his life at the Circle as an amputation… maybe he had meant his heart. She felt this slip of information was such a revelation, providing insight into her brother's life, a brother that she was beginning to think she had hardly known at all.

Samantha tried to imagine how shocking it must have been for the Luxleys to discover that their daughter actually favored Innley! A mage! Did they blame him for her death? Did they blame the Circle? Did they blame the Vaels for their loose restrictions?

"Decimus incited him, then? Using Helena?" Samantha wanted it to be true.

"Decimus?" He frowned. "He was part of the problem, but a minor player if anything. No more powerful than a firefly. From what His Highness tells me, there was another who did the inciting. But that is neither here nor there. Until he is captured, we know only scraps."

She shook her head, disbelieving the evidence laid out before her. "But Innley would never… He was a kind boy! A gentle boy! He didn't want people to die!"

"Indeed, my lady," Ser Rayce said apologetically. "Demons prey on the best of us, and they take as much."

Samantha was getting very upset despite her resolve not to. "Why are you telling me this?"

The Knight Commander bowed gracefully, placing her hand on his arm as he led her away from the dance floor. "Pray tell, is your brother the reason you avoid visiting your estate? Has he ruined it for you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" she answered immediately, not lingering on how he knew such things.

"A pity. 'Tis a beautiful house."

She let out a quiet huff of frustration. Could he not see how a place can be forever tainted by death? "I would tear it down if I could. Maybe build it anew if I thought it would help."

"Just like the Circle Tower, and yet you don't visit that place either."

She could feel herself shrinking under his potent gaze, and if she didn't work hard to control it, the tears would leak out of her eyes straight from her heart. "Maybe the dirt holds memory. Maybe the air stinks of death."

"And every year the flowers bloom to cover it all up," he said quietly. They stared at each other for a long moment before he offered another grin, this one smaller and full of compassion, and she considered that maybe he wasn't who she thought he was. Maybe he had been right about that. "For what it's worth to you, I never saw the Marquess in the Tower. I was in the thick of it, and I watched many die, but I never saw him."

Corbinian. She could see him as clearly on the inside of her eyelids as she had seen him that night on her front porch. With his empty eyes and loose fingers, dangling a sword split in two.

It had been four years, and still the loss was rooted within her like a personality. There were days when she wondered if she had an identity outside of Corbinian's widow, defined by that singular experience. Her pink heart swelled for him like a fresh scratch every day, but she imagined it turned more grey with every inch it sunk into the fear that he might never come back. And the more she learned about that night, the darker the days ahead seemed.

She wanted to tell Ser Rayce that Corbinian was not dead, that he lived still. But she couldn't say that to him. She could tell him that Corbinian was out in the world, fighting slavers and apostates and evil little men who would sell humans for coin. She couldn't tell him about the evil of the world, because he was a part of it. Even if he thought he was not.

"You ask me why I say these things to you?" he asked gently. "You may never acknowledge it, but there is a debt between us, my lady. One that I will pay. It may take all of my life, but I will pay it."

She didn't want to cry. Not in the bustling room among the dancing nobility where all the people who were likely watching them. She blinked rapidly, trying to calm herself. "You are too familiar, ser."

"Rayce," he insisted, gazing square into her eyes. "And you are so sad. Si je pouvais prendre qu'un once pour moi-même, je voudrais vous soulager de ce fardeau."

Samantha swallowed hard, and for a few brief moments of the string quartet's song, she could hear only her breath and see only his eyes as the molten room dissolved until there was nothing left.

When the violin sung its last sad note, he stepped away, lifting her fingers to his lips. "My lady, you honor me with every word you speak to me. Please come for the tour. I will give it myself."

He bowed low and she managed to curtsey as he bade her a good night, retreating into the crowd. She watched him casually stroll to join the Grand Cleric, but he still glanced her way every so often, smiling that warm smile that creased his face.

"There you are!" Arianna surprised her. "Andraste's stake! You need another drink, yes?" She snapped her fingers in the air, looking for a servant. "Maker, they are never around when you need them… Have you seen our prince? I swear, the liberties he takes… If he weren't the last Vael then he would likely get dethroned this very night."

"What?" Samantha asked distantly. She was still watching the Knight Commander, who bowed low as Lord Garrity approached, clapping the man on the shoulder with a smile.

"He has been giving all his attention to that Ansburg girl. People are going to start talking about a political marriage… " Arianna gasped dramatically, but it was clear she was holding back sarcastic laughter. "Such a scandal!"

"A marriage?" Samantha blinked, scanning the room for Goran. She spotted him on the dance floor, his hand gently cradling the tanned fingers of one Sophine Eberstark, a tall, slender girl with flaming red hair and skin that branded her a Marcher. She smiled at him shyly and he actually blushed.

Arianna was muttering something again, but Samantha didn't hear her. She was staring at the pair, watching her best friend let his guard down for someone other than Flora. She watched him sneak glances at Sophine's eyes, which were as green as spring. She watched him fumble a little in his dance steps, forgetting the movements. Samantha smiled absently, knowingly. Sophine Eberstark, affectionately called Sophie by her family. An interesting choice, Samantha thought, and not just because of her father, but because of her striking features. Her eyes were nearly reflective in their shine, slightly tilted up at the far corners and framed by her heart-shaped face. Her wild hair had all the colors of fire, and was pulled back into a long braid as though she couldn't do anything else with it. She had narrow shoulders, but was tall, nearly his height and beautiful in an unusual way. Likely, Goran saw her the way an artist would – unique and striking.

"Is that an…?" Arianna squinted across the room. "Who is that?"

Samantha redirected her gaze to where Arianna pointed, and saw a small girl sipping from a glass of brown liquor, chatting amiably with the First Enchanter. It was Amethyne. "Oh… she's the assistant to the First Enchanter. She holds a high chair at the Circle."

Arianna sighed, her shoulders sinking dramatically. "Whatever. She's an elf. Next thing you know, our head maids and butlers will be clamoring for a place at the table! Ha!"

Samantha rolled her eyes, redirecting her gaze to the Knight Commander, who was now chatting formally with the Grand Cleric. Francesca was tiny next to him, but then again, everyone was. It was then that she realized she didn't know much about him. Who were his parents? Why had he joined the Templars? How had he ended up in Starkhaven?

"Arianna? What do you know of the Knight Commander?"

"That he is driven," her Antivan friend replied automatically, scanning the room for a servant to refill her glass. "Everyone says so."

"Yes, but what about him personally?"

She turned a curious eye to Samantha. "You wish to know the Knight Commander personally?"

"Not like that!"

"Oh, yes, yes. Of course." A playful laugh escaped her throat. "I only know what they say. And aside from his ambition, they say he is a widow and that he never lies."

Samantha looked back to the Knight Commander, finding him spying on her from the corner of his mysterious eyes, and he winked one last time.

Ser Rayce Taaramäe knew nearly everything about her and yet she knew nothing of him.