Chapter Text
“Nope! Nope! Absolutely not! I will not marry that beast!” Alistair paced back and forth, wearing a path in front of the fireplace. He stopped and turned, pointing aggressively at Eamon. “Not only does she think I’m unfit for the throne, her father was a traitor! He offered up Cailan and the Grey Wardens for his stupid alliance! I’m gonna see him every time I look at her. Not happening. That’s final.”
Eamon sighed. “If you won’t marry Anora, then we are going to have to make an alliance with Orlais or Antiva. We need the stability that the additional military power would bring. So it’s either Empress Celine’s cousin, or an Antivan Prince. Orlais can offer their army, and Antiva has the Crows. Either would be suitable to bolster to our own forces.”
Alistair made a gagging sound. “So an old woman or some random Prince from Antiva? Those are my alternatives!?” He pulled his fingers through his hair. “I am NOT going to marry some random person from Antiva, prince or not.”
“So then, I should let Celine know you will accept the hand of her cousin?” Eamon tried to hide his smirk.
“NO! Ugh! Why are these my only choices?” Alistair threw his hands up. “Can I at least meet him first? Before I decide? I should be allowed to see if I can stand being in the same room with him for five minutes.” Probably won’t be able too. Most likely he’s an arrogant twit who thinks he’s suave.
“I will arrange an invitation to the palace. We’ll host a ball and have him stay for a while. A week or two should be more than enough time to form an opinion.”
Oh, I’ve already formed an opinion. “Fine.” He flung himself in to a nearby chair and snatched a piece of cheese from the tray on the table, popping it into his mouth. Around the half chewed dairy product, he managed a barely intelligible, “But, if hezzz an ash, which izz likely, I’m shending him packing.”
XXX
“Stop fidgeting, Alistair.” Eamon nudged at his elbow, tugging his hand to his side. “Try to look regal.”
Alistair pulled at the collar of his jacket. “This is choking me. I’m going to die of asphyxiation, and a spouse will be a moot point.” The jacket wasn’t tight. He was, in fact, fidgeting, but he couldn’t help it. In a few moments he would be meeting his future husband. He supposedly had a choice, but there was no way he would seriously consider the Dowager from Orlais. That left the prince as his only viable option.
“Alistair,” He ignored the rest of what Eamon was about to say as the Herald began to introduce the members of the Antivan delegation.
The announcement carried through the room, and Alistair began to sweat. “Prince Zevran Arainai, of Antiva.”
Alistair’s focus was riveted on the elf standing at the top of the stairs. Prince Zevran was scanning the gathering with an amused look, taking in everything. He’s incredibly handsome. Alistair had heard rumors to that effect, listening as the servants gossiped when the Antivans had arrived. Words like ‘sexy’ and phrases like ‘bed me anytime’ were most common. It was widely accepted that if King Alistair agreed to the marriage then he’d be one very lucky man.
Alistair found that he wholeheartedly agreed, at least based on looks. Every eye in the room was focused on the prince, and he obviously knew it. He’s enjoying the attention. Alistair almost choked when, instead of sedately descending the staircase, Prince Zevran skipped down the steps, snagged a glass of champagne from a passing tray, whirled around a dancing couple, and waltzed his way across the floor, stopping right in front of him, one foot on the bottom step of the dais.
Zevran made a sweeping bow to Alistair and winked cheekily. “Your Royal Highness, I am Prince Zevran Arainai, of House Arainai of the Antivan Crows; royal bastard, cunning assassin, exceptional lover, and an exceedingly handsome catch.” There was a smattering of shocked giggles from nearby nobles, and several red-faced and visibly frazzled servants scurried to catch up to Zevran. They apologized profusely to Alistair for the breach of etiquette and tried to wrangle the prince into some semblance of order.
Alistair bit his lip to stifle a laugh. “No, no. It’s quite alright. Please, let him go.” He walked down the few steps, putting them on equal footing, hoping to create an amiable situation. “Prince Zevran, it is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Alistair. Although you probably knew that.” He blushed and mumbled, “Idiot. Of course he knows that. Who else would be standing in front of the throne?” His flush deepened. “Um, so…”
“Your Highness, you are even more handsome than I was told. Not as handsome as I, but definitely the next most handsome man in the room.” Zevran’s eyes sparkled like nothing Alistair had ever seen. And that smile, well, it’s devastating, isn’t it? Alistair was charmed by his mischievous attitude but wasn’t sure what to say. Instead he blushed and fiddled with the buttons on his cuff.
Zevran attempted to hand his glass of champagne to someone behind him, obviously expecting them to be there to take it. When no one did he let the flute go and it crashed to the ground. While his entourage realized what happened and scrambled to clean up the mess, Zevran bowed and offered his hand to Alistair. “May I have this dance?”
Alistair watched the chaos around the Prince with a smile. He wasn’t sure what to make of him, but he was definitely intrigued. “Um, yes. I mean, I’d be delighted.” He was propelled onto the dance floor by a gentle but firm hand on his lower back. The crowd whirling past as Zevran expertly guided them through the steps of the dance. Alistair struggled for something to say. Say something witty. Or humorous. “You’re a good dancer.” Alistair blushed to the roots of his hair. You’re a good dancer?! Oh, Maker, strike me dead now.
Zevran chuckled. “Your Highness, I am an exceptional dancer. But then again, I am remarkable at everything. But you are quite skilled as well. You move so fluidly in my arms. This is a result of your military training. Sí?” Alistair knew he should be put off by the incredibly bold behavior but instead he found he liked it. Zevran pulled him closer. “I think we make quite the beautiful couple. Do you not agree?” `
“No.” Alistair blushed. “I mean yes. Wait, No! I mean,” He sighed, wanting to crawl into some dark corner and hide. “You are beautiful. I’m just a big, gangly, oaf who would be tripping over himself if you weren’t leading.”
Zevran smiled that devastatingly handsome smile, and looked into his eyes. Alistair’s heart did a little flip. I’m in so much trouble. “My dear King, you are quite big.” Zevran ogled him, making a grand show of it before leaning in and murmuring, “If what is pressing against my hip is what I think is pressing against my hip, big is a most appropriate choice of words.”
Alistair did miss a step at that point, his face burning again. Breathlessly he mumbled, “Prince Zevran, I think I might need some air. I’m feeling a bit dizzy.” Sweet Andraste, Alistair, get a grip on yourself. He let Zevran steer them across the dance floor towards the open doors to the balconies. He hurried through and leaned his hands against the railing, concentrating on calming his racing pulse and letting the Spring evening breeze cool his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Zevran lounging against the balustrade as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Which he probably doesn’t. Alistair had heard the rumors about the Prince’s penchant for carousing and sleeping around. Eamon favored a match with Orlais for just that reason. Alistair stole another quick glance. He is so beautiful though.
There was movement behind them and Alistair spun around quickly. He caught a glimpse of a knife nearing his throat, and before he could bring up his hands, Zevran was wiping blood from his daggers on the jacket of a dead man. Alistair blinked, and the daggers disappeared, tucked away wherever they’d come from. You were just pressed against me and I didn’t feel them. Where are you hiding them? Zevran stepped over the body and took him by the arm. “Your Highness, perhaps we should go back inside. Might I suggest a drink? You are looking a bit dazed.”
As Zevran led him back into the ballroom, Alistair craned his neck to look at the man lying dead on the balcony. He absently mumbled, “You just saved me.” He was still trying to determine what had happened.
“It is nothing. I am glad I was there to assist you, although I am sure that if you had not been distracted by my magnificence, you would have noticed the assassin much sooner. Well, the other assassin. So this was mostly my fault.” Zevran maneuvered him along the edge of the dancing guests, keeping him away from the crowd. He looping their arms together, and proceeded at a sedate pace, creating the appearance of an intimate moment. They casually strolled to the dais and Alistair sat down. Zevran gently pulled Eamon aside. There was a quick exchange and Eamon motioned for two guards to position themselves near Alistair.
“Alistair, please stay close to Prince Zevran until we’ve ascertained if there are any other threats. We are going to do our best to keep this quiet and not alert the remaining guests.”
Zevran pressed a glass into his hand and stepped back. Alistair quickly reached for him. “Don’t go. Please.” He took a large gulp of whatever was in the glass and sputtered slightly as the liquid burned its way down his throat. He blinked back tears. “What was that?”
“Legacy White Shear. From my own personal supply.” Zevran looked smug.
“And do you always have it so handy?”
“One never knows when it might be beneficial.” Zevran winked at him.
He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, the adrenalin, or the cheekiness, but a warmth began to spread through him, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the handsome, smug elf standing in front of him. He stood and set the glass on the table, taking Zevran’s hand and rubbing it between his much larger ones. “Prince Zevran,”
“Please, we have spilled blood together. Call me Zevran.”
Alistair huffed out a laugh and gently kissed the deceptively delicate looking hand. “Zevran, thank you. I’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for your quick reflexes. I owe you a great debt.”
Alistair’s knees went weak as Zevran softly kissed his palm, all the while gazing into his eyes. “Perhaps we can come to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement?”