"... I thought the golem actually was going to throw me across the village," said the young king of Ferelden.

Hawke laughed into her hand. King Alistair wasn't at all what she had expected.

Her mother, determined to revive at least some of the former Amell respectability, had hosted a party inviting all the nobles of Kirkwall, and, after hearing about her daughter's chat with him in the Viscount's Keep, the King of Ferelden as well. Hawke had tried to discourage her mother from the idea, saying that the king was likely far too busy, but to her surprise, he had shown up and proven himself the most interesting guest at the party. Where she'd expected stiff formality, the king instead treated her like he'd known her for years. He was funny, charming, and if she'd been at all smart, she'd have foisted him off on some unsuspecting noble hours ago. It wasn't safe to have the attention of a man like him... but here she was talking and laughing with him to the exclusion of anyone else, including Seneschal Bran's son.

Alistair caught her glance over his shoulder and half turned. "What?"

"Don't turn!" Hawke hissed, grabbing his hand and pulling him back behind the pillar. "He's looking for me!"

Alistair's eyebrows rose. "Now I must know. Who is it, Hawke?"

She bit her lip. "Seneschal Bran's son."

Alistair choked on the champagne he was sipping. "The downy-faced boy? The one with the cravat that's been tied to look like something from the Fade?"

Hawke giggled. "Yes, him. Mother's been matchmaking, never mind that he's nearly eight years younger than I am."

"Oh come now, Hawke. Eight years isn't that much of an age difference," Alistair said with a grin. "I'll bet he has some stellar qualities. Let's say we invite him over. I'll even play chaperone."

"Don't you dare!" Hawke growled, unconsciously taking a step closer to stab a finger at his chest. They stared at each other for a minute, and Hawke was suddenly aware of the gold flecks in Alistair's eyes and breadth of his shoulders. Uh oh... she had time for one last coherent thought before...

"Hide me!" Alistair grabbed her shoulders and ducked down behind her.

"Maker's breath, what are you doing?" Hawke gasped and heard a distinctly nasal voice pass close by.

"Where iz he? I know 'ee iz 'ere somewhere."

"Pfft. 'Ee iz ze, king, Fifi. 'Ee will know that I clearly am ze better looking one."

"How dare you!"

Hawke raised an eyebrow at the cowering king. "You've attracted the attention of both de Launcet sisters? I almost pity you."

"They won't take no for an answer," Alistair moaned piteously. "Help me, Hawke!"

Hawke grinned. "You keep me away from Bran's whelp and I'll let you in on the secret to avoiding Fifi and Babette for good."

Hope brightened the king's face. "An alliance to avoid unwanted suitors? You have a deal."

Hawke grinned and tugged him out from the safety of the pillar. "Alright. The key to avoiding Fifi and Babette is knowing them: they are extremely possessive. Any hint of you favoring another woman and they'll lose interest."

"Oh. Really?" Alistair suddenly looked nervous.

Hawke gestured to the gathered nobles. "Take your pick, Your Majesty."

Alistair looked over the crowd of chatting nobility, face thoughtful, then turned back to her. "What do I do once I choose?"

Hawke shrugged. "Go to her. Sweep her off her feet? Whatever will grab their attention."

"How about this?" Alistair took one long step forward and pressed his mouth against hers.

This is a very bad idea, she thought even as she twined her arms around his shoulders.