Cullen stood outside Prince Sebastian's fine villa, cursing the fact that he never took up smoking. If ever there was a time he wanted a cigarette, it would be now. He had told Elena he would wait for her in the car, but he was too antsy, too anxious to sit in one confined place. So instead, he began to pace.

Sebastian was still in love with Elena–it was about as difficult to see as a pride demon. And she, well, she had said it all last night: I think a part of me will always love him. With a sigh, Cullen sat down on a marble balustrade and raked his fingers through his hair. What could he offer her that a prince couldn't? He had no fine villas, no sure sense of his place in the world. He was the son of a Fereldan farmer, a lyrium addict, for Andraste's sake.

He stood up again and began to pace along the terrace. What on Thedas was taking so long? He had half a mind to march back into that office and carry Elena out over his shoulder–not that he thought such strong-armed tactics would win him any favors. No, she was made for finer things. Reaching the end of the terrace, he turn on his heel and marched back the way he came.

But dammit, he didn't want to give her–them–up not now, when he'd only just gotten her back. As the thought struck him, Cullen squared his shoulders. Elena was still with him–surely one afternoon hadn't changed that–and he would do everything in his power to show that while he may not have a title or hold the rule of a city-state, he could make sure she never wanted to for love.

Love. He paused as the word slipped through his mind. Did he love Elena? Surely it was too soon, their relationship too new. But Maker, he had spent the last three years aching for her. Cullen shook his head. Best not to think of it now.

With a wry smile on his lips, he headed for the car to wait until Elena was finished meeting with the Prince. Though they still had a number of leads to tie up in the city, he had a mind to take the evening off. Surely they deserved a night of relaxation.

The door closed behind her with a soft snick, and Elena turned to face Sebastian. He was looking at her with a calculating gleam in his brilliant eyes, and she wondered when he would reveal his hand. She met his gaze, willing to wait him out, make him speak first, since it was his idea to speak privately.

After a moment, Sebastian stood and walked over to a sideboard where a set of crystal decanters held various amber liquors. Dropping ice in two tumblers, he splashed what she assumed was scotch into them before returning to her. Instead of sitting in his chair however, he perched on the edge of his desk in front of her. Wordlessly he handed her a tumbler.

Elena took a drink, letting the bitter liquid roll over her tongue and down her throat. Scotch wasn't her favorite drink, but she'd trained herself to stomach it with a smile. She set the glass on the floor next to her chair.

"Elena," Sebastian began, setting his tumbler on the desk next to him after a sip, rolling her name over his tongue as if he savored the flavor of her instead of the drink. "I am sorry, lass, truly, that these things happened under my watch. It was no' my intent to bring more suffering to this city. Just the opposite."

Elena frowned as he took her hands in his, this thumbs stroking over her palms. "It's not me you have to convenience, Sebastian. It's the people of Kirkwall."

He smiled at her, a full, cheeky grin that she was used to from their time together years ago. "You never were afraid of tellin' me what you think."

She winced. His words were meant to be complementary, but they brought back a well of feelings–feelings she thought she had escaped when she'd turned her back on this city. Indeed, there had been a time when what she she told him was only tangentially the same as what she thought, obscured in riddle upon riddle meant to lure him into her father's web.

"So you're the new novice Sister," a teasing voice said from behind her.

Elena started and let out a little shriek in surprise that he'd actually managed to sneak up on her–a feat not many could boast. Spinning around, she dropped her gaze and let a blush grace her cheeks, though not before she noticed he winced–either at her screech or perhaps guilt for making her do so.

"I'm sorry, you startled me," she murmured. "I mean, yes, Ser. I'm the new novice…"

There was silence a for a moment, the only sound in the otherwise deserted library the crackle of fire in the hearth. She wondered if she might be laying it on thick. Usually she could gauge her marks, but Sebastian was proving to be something else all together. Just as she was about to beg off and leave the library, retreat and regroup for another day, she felt gentle fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his.

"There's no need to call me 'ser', lass. I'm nought but a Chantry brother now."

Elena seriously doubted that he would ever be a simple chantry brother, but she certainly couldn't say as such. Instead she kept quiet, hoping he would take her lack of response as shyness.

"What's your name?"

Though he had tipped her chin up, she had kept her gaze lowered. At his question, she raised her eyes to his, and was struck once again just how handsome he was, just how much his picture couldn't quite represent the reality of seeing him–the bright depth of his eyes, the quiet authority and power that emanated from him.

"Elena Trevelyan…I suppose Sister Elena now, though." She frowned, as if the change felt bitter on her tongue.

Sebastian chucked her under the chin before dropping his hand. "You did no' wish to join the Chantry?"

He certainly was good at ferreting out what was left unspoken, even if she was leading him in a certain direction to begin with. So, he was insightful and walked with a light step. Elena wondered if Sebastian hadn't been employed in a similar manner as she for his own father before he joined the Chantry…before his family was murdered.

Elena widened her eyes in surprise and innocence. "No, certainly, to give my life to the Maker is a noble calling." A pause, another glance up at him only to see that his expression was a mix of incredulity and pity. "It shall simply take me some time to remember my station now."

Dropping her gaze once more, she gave him a weak, watery smile, as if she didn't quite believe the words herself.

His looked gentled, "I can understand that, certainly."

If his dossier was correct, he did understand. Elena was suddenly aware of just how alone there were. Which was strange indeed–she hadn't been left to her own devices since arriving in Kirkwall's Chantry two weeks ago. Though they had't spoken save for her first day here, she had seen him around, at meals, at worship, always watching her or rather, the cluster of novitiate sisters she often worked with. Had he arranged for them to be alone? Elena's mind reeled at the possibilities, mapping out each of his possible motivations and moves, trying to decide how best to proceed.

Perhaps the former rake was not as contrite as he led everyone to believe. Could it be while she was attempting to ensnare him, he was laying a trap for her? He was so close to her, certainly closer than correct behavior between Chantry brothers and sisters dictated. He had touched her for Andraste's sake, chucked her under the chin.

That would certainly make her goals easier in the long run. Nothing would force a gentleman to the altar faster than a compromised, aristocratic Chantry sister. So, let the prince catch me, but not so quickly that he suspects that I willingly followed him to my ruination, she mused. Perhaps this assignment would be easier than her father thought. She might even be out of this dreary place and living in comfort at Starkhaven's royal palace by Satinalia.

And a widow by Wintersend…

Sebastian looked as if he would say something more, his big body tilted towards her, his eyes liquid and warm, but the sharp tones of Sister Patrice's voice cut through the library. "Sister Elena, you're needed at vespers!"

Elena started at the woman's call, and quickly turned away from Sebastian as if guilty or embarrassed by his closeness. "Excuse me."

As she dashed across the room towards the frowning older sister, he called out to her.

"Perhaps I'll see you here tomorrow, Sister Elena."

She paused in the door, turning back to give him a small smile. Count on it, your Highness, she thought, before following Patrice through the hallway.

As the memory swarmed her, Sebastian must noticed the look in her eyes, the slight frown worrying her mouth, and he brought her hands to his lips, turning them and brushing a soft kiss across her palms. The action jolted her from her reverie, and she shook her head, clearing the ghosts of the past. She slammed down the metals doors of her mind, blocking the unpleasant memories and emotions.

When he spoke, Sebastian's voice was gentle, as if he were speaking to a half wild animal. "You know I've forgivin' you, Elena-lass. Not that you've done anythin' that warrants forgivin'."

Though they were no doubt meant to bring comfort, his words were like a slap to the face. Elena could feel a floodgate of emotion begin to break open, though she fought to keep her voice steady.

"How can you say that? I deceived you, encouraged your revenge, pressured you to break your vows, to turn your back on the Chantry–"

He leaned forward, curling her fingers around his and pressing their entwined hands to his chest and shushed her. "Hush, hush. We both know your father made you do those things."

"I still did them."

He shook his head either to denying her guilt.

"Regardless, this is no' what I wanted to speak with you about." He paused, waiting a beat until she seemed to be more settled. Taking a deep breath, he spoke, "come work for me."

"What?" Elena jerked her hands out of his grasp. Of all the things she thought he would say, that was not one of them.

Sebastian leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "I need you at my side. Today has proven that–surely you agree. You have political acumen, a discreet and insightful knowledge of those in power. You know how to read people and situations to the best advantage. Be my political advisor. With you at my side, we'll be the most formidable team in the Free Marches, perhaps all of Thedas."

Elena took a deep breath and let his words wash over her. They held a certain appeal–the power he offered her, the ability to write not only her own fate, but the fate of millions. Yet, despite that, there were so many reasons why it was a terrible idea for her to take his offer. Even if she didn't work for Inquisition, even if her father wouldn't somehow use her connection to Sebastian to his advantage, even ifshe wasn't with Cullen…she would never trust that this offer came without strings.

Being Sebastian's political advisor, working side-by-side with him, was only one step away from being his wife. That was what he was really asking, she knew. Come back to him, choose him. But she didn't know if she trusted herself with him. Or him with herself.

Silence filled the room, punctured only by the ticking of his clock, and she realized that he was waiting for her to answer.

"I appreciate your offer, Sebastian, but I have a job," she paused, taking in the stern set of his jaw–he wouldn't take her rejection easily. "Inquisition has been very good to me. I can't just walk away from them."

His frown deepened. "Verra good to you? I saw the news coverage, lass. You were nearly blown to bits workin' for Inquisition." Reaching forward, he feathered his fingers over her bruised face. "This happened just last night."

She froze, staying perfectly still, neither leaning into his touch, nor pulling away. "Yes it did, after meeting with your associates."

Anger flashed through his eyes, "I told you, Livius and Samson are no' my associates." After a long moment he dropped his hand. "Think on it, at least."

Elena nodded, and stood, Sebastian rising with her. She needed to get out of that office. Despite the fact that she knew she should walk away, his offer was tempting. And if he had enough time, he might just convince her to stay. Still, she knew she couldn't. It was better for both of them.

"I believe this concludes our conversation," she murmured, smoothing her skirt and gathering her bag.

Sebastian helped her gather the incriminating photographs she had spread across his desk. As he handed them to her, he spoke, "Lady Montilyet informs me that Inquisition will be at Empress Celene's Winter Ball. Perhaps we can discuss my offer there."

She gave him a tight smile, taking the pictures and stuffing them in her bag. "I'll save you a waltz. Until then, Your Highness."

Sebastian kissed the back of her hand, before leading her to the door. "Whatever your answer, lass, I'm verra pleased to see you again. To know you're well."

He pressed a quick kiss to her uninjured cheek, before opening the door and signaling to the page to lead her through the villa. As Elena walked down the marble corridor, her heels echoing behind her, she had to repress the urge to look back at him, for she knew without a doubt that Sebastian was standing in the doorway of his study, watching her.

Cullen knocked quietly on Elena's bedroom door before pushing it open. She lay sprawled across the elegant hotel bed wearing what he suspected were Dorian's boxers and tshirt. At the sound, she pulled the pillow of her face and lifted herself onto her elbows.

"Is it nine already?"

Cullen smiled at the sleepy timbre to her voice. "I'm afraid it is. Are you hungry?"

After a quiet car ride back to the hotel, they had both decided to take a nap and then convene again around nine. Cullen had offered to wake her, figuring he'd naturally be up first–his sleep schedule was so out of whack he could rarely grab more than a few hours at a time anyway. They hadn't talked about what happened with Prince Sebastian either before or after Cullen left the room, though he could tell that Elena was troubled by it. He was too, to an extent–certainly Inquisition's mission of peace wasn't going to be as smooth as Josephine had hoped. Still, just for tonight he wanted to leave all the politics and posturing behind. Leave it all behind and simplybe.

"Starving," she replied, sitting up fully, and Cullen became painfully aware that she wasn't wearing a bra as the worn cotton of her shirt hugged her breasts.

"I'll, um, just order us some room service then," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck and beating a hasty retreat into the living room.

Though they had reconciled, he wasn't sure how comfortable she might be with anything physical between them, last night notwithstanding. Would she be embarrassed if she noticed he reacted to her body? Would it scare her away? No matter how much he wanted to simply reach forward and touch her, Cullen resolved to let her make the first move.

By the time he'd flipped through the room service menu and placed their order, he heard her bare feet padding across the floor, no doubt done consciously on her part so that she didn't surprise him. Just as he was about to turn around, her arms came around his waist, her face pressing against his back. With a smile, Cullen placed his hands over her own, his thumb rubbing across the back of her palm.

"I thought we could relax tonight. We can pick up on our mysterious red substance's trail tomorrow," he murmured.

"Mmm, sounds like a lovely idea," she muttered into his back. "What's for dinner?"

"I ordered one of everything on the menu because I wasn't sure what you'd like."

Elena laughed, and he felt her body shaking against his. Cullen liked it. She turned her head, resting her cheek against his shoulder blade. "I appreciate it. Besides those tea sandwiches I haven't eaten anything since before the party last night."

Cullen turned around, his hands traveling along her arms, up her shoulders, until her could cup her cheeks. She looked up at him, all luminous green eyes and full pouty lips, her breath hitched slightly as he bend his head towards her. Maker she was beautiful. Surely her hugging him, clasping him tight and pressing their bodies close together was her indication that she wanted something physical as well as emotional with him.

Elena's eyes fluttered closed, her cheeks flushed, and Cullen didn't need any more hints.

He settled his lips against hers, a soft brush first, before he deepened the kiss, teasing the seam of her lips and coaxing them to part. She sighed and relaxed into him, her arms tightening around his waist. He could feel her full, lush breasts pressed against his chest, the heat of her body sinking into him. Cullen stroked his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting every secret, every sweet word she'd ever spoken or held on the tip of her tongue. He felt her fingers trail along his back, lifting the thin cotton of his shirt so that she could caress his skin.

Cullen growled, and, without breaking their kiss, he reached down and lifted her hips so that she wrapped her legs around his waist. Kissing her deeply, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth and worrying the plump flesh, he carried her to the sofa and settled them so that she straddled his hips. He gripped her waist, moved his hands lower, squeezing her firm, pert ass, splaying his fingers across her cheeks and pulling her tight against him. She moaned into his mouth and arched into where he wanted her most, where he was hard and throbbing.

He lifted one hand to tangle it in her hair, tilting her head back so he could deepen their kiss. Her fingers tunneled in his curls, nails scraping over his scalp until he groaned. Cullen could feel the heat of her pressed tight and hot against his thighs and he was painfully aware that only a few layers of clothing separated his aching, heavy shaft from her warm, wet sheath.

His hand still at her hip glided up her waist, slipping under the soft material of her shirt, higher over her stomach, until he stopped, hovering just below her breast. His thumb brushed over the plump curve, teasing at her nipple.

With a gasp, she broke their kiss, arching her back so that her breast thrust into his hand. "Oh, Maker. Cullen. I need…"

"What do you need, sweetheart?" he panted, pressing a trail of hot, wet kisses along her throat, this thumb continuing his teasing caress on her breast.

He reached the edge of her shirt, and continued his kisses, the material only heightening his anticipation of finally closing his lips around her firm, pebbled peak, until he could feel the silk of her skin press against his face.

She rocked her hips, grinding against him, making his cock ache to be inside of her. In a flash, he twisted them, pressing her into the sofa below him, her legs locked tight around his hips before capturing her mouth with his once more. He met her thrusts, beat for beat, driving the ridge of his cock against the seam of her, cursing their clothing for keeping her sweet heat from him.

"Elena," he half growled, half moaned. His hand trailing along her hips, reaching for the hem of her shorts, he was ready to pull them down her glorious, pale legs and sink into her body until they both screamed.

And then a knock sounded on the door.

They froze, his heart hammering in his chest just as her certainly was. She looked beautiful, glorious, as if she'd just been ravished. Her lips swollen and red, her cheeks flushed, and eyes bright. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. With a soft sigh, Elena pressed her forehead against his.

"That would be our dinner, I suppose."

Cullen felt the exasperation, frustration, crawling up his spine that he heard mirrored in her voice, "I suppose you're right."

Extricating himself from her body was one of the hardest things he'd had to do, but he managed, before stalking over to the hotel room door and ushering in their food. It took entirely too long to set up in his opinion, but when the hotel staff had finally placed all the food on the dining room table and left, Cullen turned back to Elena. He found her sitting prim and proper on the sofa, as if they hadn't just been a moment away from fucking frantically like teenagers left alone for the first time.

She gave him a soft smile, her eyes luminous and warm. The look went straight through him, heating his skin and returning the ache to his body. He knew, without her saying a word, that dinner was only an interruption–an intermission–and he would have her in his arms again before the night was out.

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