Author's Note: This holiday gift fic is for redrosemary! She became the first of my superfans, providing great support and commentary on my stories. So I've adopted her Warden Lucilla Cousland for this story. Hope I do the Grey Queen justice!

The Queen

The Queen was as just comfortable in the crowded hall of guests as she would have been slashing her way through the Deep Roads.

Her king, on the other hand, had to stay closely cuffed to her hand or she feared he might try to slip out a side door and bolt.

The wedding feast was a blur of faces, dignitaries, gifts, speeches, dances, food, music, ceremony, negotiation, veiled words, alliances, feuds and merriment. Lucilla Cousland's entire life had been building to this moment. Every lesson she took as a child in Highever, every dinner with her father and mother, every trip to the royal palace in Denerim in her youth had been preparation. Lucilla was groomed to rule Ferelden. And now, she did.

It had taken months longer than anticipated to put the pieces of Denerim back together, to make the proper preparations and for the day to arrive. The attack on Denerim had left the city in shambles. Cleanup, repairs, funerals and rebuilding were all necessary before a royal wedding could be hosted. Lavishly celebrating a union at the palace while the rest of the city smoldered would have sent the wrong message to the nobles and the people. King Alistair and his queen could not be seen as aloof, not after they had toppled one ruler who held Ferelden in his iron grasp and punched downward, hard.

Lucilla could make herself into a beloved queen. For Alistair, the commonfolk fell in love with his subdued demeanor and humor instantly. She had been bred at the highest end of society and could be brutal and abrasive. To be loved, she would need to be softer.

"Your grace," Arl Eamon's worn and wrinkled hands slipped around her left hand before she had a chance to protest. Such forwardness might have been daring for anyone else, but he was, for more or less, father of the King and the man who had brokered their match. To him, Alistair and Lucilla were just fatherless children and he was the elder hand that guided them.

She didn't trust the Arl unconditionally as her husband did. Any man who sought to steer the course of another needed to be handled cautiously. The Arl's eyes glanced down upon the diamond at her finger and he smiled.

"All of Ferelden is blessed to have your love and guidance as its queen," Eamon said. He fell to a knee, his hands still holding onto either side of hers. "I have always been Ferelden's and I will always be yours, whenever and wherever I am needed."

Eamon had already planted himself firmly at court in Denerim. Alistair's ascension had already done him all the favors he could dare to ask of Ferelden, Lucilla knew. She hoped he did not presume to be playing for a Teyrnir. There was only one man to worthy to wield the title. Her brother.

"Eamon," Lucilla said, emulating the admiring voice she would use with her own father, although Eamon would never match the man. "You are like a father to my husband. And you are like a father to me, too. What more could Ferelden ask of its loyal father?"

Eamon dipped his head, to plant a kiss upon her wedding ring, the one that he had obtained and picked for Alistair for her. "You honor me, your grace."

The Arl took to his feet and turned to Alistair, their arms wrapping each other in embrace as the two men exchanged joyful pleasantries. Lucilla ignored them, her eyes scanning the room, looking past hundreds of guests as she searched the crowd. Her fingers dangled around the large golden necklace at her neck, twisting around either side of the large star sapphire. The lavish necklace Alistair had given her jingled quietly as she moved it. Her eyes moved quickly until she found the head of ruby hair.

Leliana's fingers deftly wrapped around the long stem of the wine glass, a smile and a laugh upon her face as she conversed with a small pack of noblewomen. The bright, true red dress she wore was painted perfectly around the curves of her body. She stood so lightly on her feet as if always ready to strike. She had once played the bard's Game in Orlais. No doubt she was reveling in the banquet.

And then her eyes turned toward the dais, he eyes meeting Lucilla's from across the crowded hall. Her gaze narrowed just slightly as her tongue slipped discreetly between her lips, the subtle way her mouth moved in the quick, secret signal. Lucilla inhaled sharply, obviously noticeable even from across the room as Leliana dipped her head, turned her gaze away, smirked and lifted her wine glass to her lips as she returned to her conversation.

Lucilla's heart fluttered at the secret exchange.

Her hand reached out, grasping for Alistair. She found his fingers, giving his hand a squeeze. As her King turned his head, she pulled him toward her, planting her lips upon his and stealing a kiss that was less chaste than it should have been. As she closed her eyes, she imagined his lips were Leliana's. A stolen kiss, to the hall appearing as a display of their true love. To her, a necessary output for the fire her lover ignited within her.

Alistair was clearly dumbfounded as she pulled away, his fingers floating to his lips to touch them to make sure what had just happened was real. Lucilla regretted her weakness. It would send the wrong message to him.

He would have her heart as well as her hand, if he could. But the negotiation of their marriage had been concise and clear. She would take his hand and his name and rule at his side for the good of Ferelden. But her heart belonged to Leliana. The terms, she knew, were a dagger to Alistair, but ones he accepted into his heart willingly for his nation.

"I am gladdened that Ferelden is in the hands of such lovers, your grace."

Lucilla turned her head back to see the bald and greyed head of Bann Ceorlic, the next man in the receiving line. He wore the vibrant gold and red of the Southern Bannorn and held in his hands a small wooden case, open, with a decorative knife placed inside of it.

"Thank you, Bann Ceorlic," Lucilla said cautiously.

"The Southern Bannorn stands with Ferelden and its King and Queen. May your reign be long and just," he said, with emphasis. "I ask that you accept this humble gift, a knife that I claimed as a trophy during the Battle of River Dane as we smashed the Imperial chevaliers into the bloody water and freed this land."

Lucilla's gaze bored down on the old Bann. Once a fool. Always a fool. She raised her voice so that everyone around her could hear. If he thought he could insult her with such gifts, trophies won in Teyrn Loghain's greatest moment, he was mistaken.

"How fitting, Bann Ceorlic, that you offer me the gift of a bejeweled knife," Lucilla said. "Perhaps I should turn around so you can better plant it in my back?"

A sudden hush fell in a ring around her, heads turning to the queen and the bann. Ceorlic snapped the lid of the wooden box closed and withdrew his offering.

The minstrels playing violins and harps in the back corner of the hall continued, suddenly very audible in the comparative silence of the hall.

"Very well, my queen. I am not surprised that you spurn my gift. I suppose that after a year of cavorting through the bowels of the earth with darkspawn, it is hard to acclimate to more civilized life," Ceorlic said.

Even Alistair had caught the gravity of the Bann's words and turned. Lucilla's left hand reached down to quickly grasp his, squeezing his palm to let him know to keep quiet. The king swallowed as he looked upon his queen, whose face was as blank and grim and cold as ice.

"It is my wedding day, Bann Ceorlic, and I am in a good mood," Lucilla said. "So as my gift to you, I will overlook your insolent blather this time. I suppose I do not need to remind you that when the Landsmeet convened here in this very chamber, all of Ferelden stood behind my husband. All of Ferelden… except for you."

Ceorlic should have been wiser, but he was not. He did not back down.

"And a great man was executed on this floor despite the sobbing pleas of his daughter. Pray tell, your grace, I have searched the hall high and low and cannot find Anora anywhere," he said. "Where is the queen?"

Lucilla steeled her face as the blow struck low. Once, she and Anora had run amok throughout this palace. While their fathers held audience with the King, two little girls had the opportunity to become the best of friends. She had stood on the dais at Anora's side on the day of her wedding. Had the Blight not swept Ferelden, had Loghain not betrayed the nation and if Anora had not sat in Denerim doing nothing to stop it, the former queen might have been at her side today.

Lucilla had diverted between the wedding ceremony and the banquet to visit Anora. She had thought to try to mend things. But Anora had her claws out the second she stepped into the woman's gilded prison. There was no friendship to repair. It had died with Loghain.

All the eyes of the wedding feast were on her now as she tried to keep her lip from quivering. A few hours the queen, this moment would set the tone of her rule. She slipped her fingers from Alistair's hand and lifted the skirts of her wedding gown, carefully stepping down the three steps of the dais to stand on equal footing as the Bann.

Lucilla took the wooden box from Ceorlic's grip with her right hand as she locked her eyes to his. She lifted the box to her side, never removing her stare from him, and opened her fingers. The box fell, clattering and breaking on the ground, the decorative knife spilling out onto the floor. His eyes followed the disrespectful display.

As Ceorlic's eyes rose back up to hers, he was met by the sting of the back of her hand, her diamond wedding ring cutting his cheek as she drove the blow across his face. The guests gasped at the loud crack of her hand across his face.

Ceorlic's hand went to his cheek, touching the laceration, his fingertips dabbing at the blood that was beginning to push its way to the surface. He rose like a wounded dog.

"I am the Queen," Lucilla said sternly, her voice as steely as any sword. "Do not forget it."

Lucilla then folded her hands in front of her like any noble lady should. "Guards! Please remove Bann Ceorlic from the banquet. I believe he is well past due for his return trip west."

Two guards pushed through the crowd, stepping to either side of Ceorlic. He stood up, as straight as he could with his wounded pride, and turned without another word, letting the soldiers lead him out. The nobles turned to each other, resuming their smalltalk, avoiding the gaze of the the queen, lest she turn on them next.

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't be a wedding until someone is dragged out by the guards, right Luce?" Alistair asked in a playful tone to try to cut the tension, using the informal, endearing version of her name. "Right? I'm asking. I honestly don't know. I've never been to one of these before."

And he succeeded. Lucilla couldn't help but smile, although no one except one red-haired bard far across the room was paying her any attention now.

"No, Alistair," she said. "This doesn't usually happen."

No one had been insulted or thrown out of Cailan and Anora's wedding. Not that she could remember at least. Then again, Cailan was a direct heir and no one had objected to his coronation, at least publicly. Most of the guests paid Anora little mind. They fawned over the young, golden king. Little did they know that for years and years, Ferelden was Anora's.

Much the same way that her marriage to Alistair would operate. Those were the terms. He would be king to carry on the Theirin bloodline. She would rule. She would not love him, although he still ached for her love. She hoped her reign went more smoothly than Anora's.

"Alistair, go speak to Bann Sighard," she said, pointing out the older bann with grey hair and long, grey beard. "He is friends with Ceorlic, but he supported you in the Landsmeet and is your sworn ally. It won't hurt to remind him of that."

"And where are you going?" Alistair asked, sensing that Lucilla was about to make a temporary escape from his side. She turned her head slightly and Alistair followed her eyes, catching sight of Leliana on the side of the hall. He understood.

"Right, of course," he swallowed and forced himself to keep the smile on his face although she knew he was being shredded inside. "I'll just be going to speak with Bann Sighard. Be the King and all that kingy stuff."

As soon as he went, Lucilla turned in the opposite direction and slid through the crowd, which parted graciously to her. Smiles and nods, but she did not engage any of them now. There would be time later to gauge the crowd's reaction. As she broke the last of the throng, Leliana was already holding a second glass of wine in her hand and curtsied politely as the Queen approached.

"Your grace," Leliana said, still smirking that same smirk from earlier.

Lucilla snatched the glass from her hand and took a hurried sip, exhaling as she swallowed. Leliana clasped her hands at her waist, lifting her shoulders as if she were stretching. As her arms squeezed in toward her chest, her breasts pushed up toward the top of her dress as she turned her head away playfully pretending not to notice what she was doing.

"Stop," Lucilla whispered, turning her head and trying not to look lustily. Someone might be watching and she could swear her cheeks were getting pink.

"Or what, your grace?" Leliana teased. "If I misbehave will you have to spank me in the middle of the hall?"

Lucilla quickly brought the lip of her glass back to her mouth and took another drink. She was trying to steel her eyes again to tell Leliana this wasn't the time and especially not the place, but she couldn't feel anything except desire washing through her. She sputtered on the wine, catching herself staring, and pulled the glass away from her mouth.

"I don't hit," Lucilla said, which was more or less true. She enjoyed hitting things. Darkspawn. Bandits. Knights. But not in the bedroom.

"Tell Bann Ceorlic that," Leliana said, her tongue discretely ringing the edge of her wine glass before she took another small sip. "Very well done, by the way. If you need him to… disappear… I could help with that. My wedding gift to you and Alistair."

Lucilla smiled and shook her head. Killing Ceorlic would only give him legitimacy he didn't deserve. He was less than nothing. Old and useless and without cunning.

"Not necessary," she said with a shake of her head, then decided to take the offensive. "Besides, I can think of a much better present for you to give me."

Leliana didn't flinch at the notion and only smiled. Her eyes lifted over Lucilla's shoulder, looking at something behind her. "I believe you're needed," Leliana said, pointing with a finger toward the center of the hall. Then another one of those devilish smirks. "Watch out for Zevran."

Before Lucilla had time to follow up with a question, the crowd behind her was parting and Lady Isolde was at her side with a smile. "My queen," Isolde said in her thick, harsh Orlesian accent. "The King needs you."

Lucilla turned her head, spying Alistair alone in the center of the floor. As her eyes crossed him, he bowed slightly and extended his hand. All eyes in the hall were on her.

Whatever this was, it wasn't something Alistair had discussed with her and she bristled at being caught off guard.

Still, she offered her hand to Isolde, who escorted her to the King. Eamon's wife curtsied to the King and then slipped away back into the crowd. The guests had pushed to the edges of the hall, forming a circle around the King and Queen left alone in the center of the floor.

"My beautiful queen," Alistair said, lowering his head and lifting his hand to her. "Luce. May I have this dance?"

She softly placed her hand into his, but subtly squeezed to show her displeasure. To do anything but silently accept his offer would have been disrespectful and showed weakness to all of the nation. But she didn't have to like it.

Alistair squeezed back as he straightened, deftly interlocking his fingers with hers and swooping his second hand around the small of her back. He smiled as he pressed his body in closer to hers, minding the billowing skirts of her wedding dress.

"You don't dance," she whispered, barely moving her mouth so no one else could read her lips.

"Well then this is a terrible idea," Alistair said, the right corner of his mouth turning up as his eyebrow raised. He was up to no good.

And then the strings began to play and Alistair lurched into action, his body twirling around as his feet began to glide across the floor. The guests gave a loud cheer as Lucilla caught up to him herself. Her feet followed his, his hands and body a strong lead as he moved her across the dancefloor. His left hand squeezed hers again as he cocked his head to the side slightly, smirking once more.

He was dancing. Ably. His lead was firm and strong and deft and his right hand kept her body held close to him as they twirled. And she couldn't help but fall into step with him. Lucilla must have been smiling.

"Not too bad, right?" Alistair asked.

"When did you learn to dance?" Lucilla asked.

"I had plenty of time while you were doing all that… ruling… or whatever it is you do during the day now," Alistair joked. "The Arlessa is a very strict teacher. All that Orlesian blood, I think."

The music quickened, as did Alistair's feet, quicker, chopping steps with more bounce as he led her along. Before she could react he had her spinning out around their joined hand, only to sweep back in and catch her with his arm as she threatened to twirl away. Around them there were nothing but smiles and laughter and hoots and hollers. The guests clapped to the quick beat as Alistair pranced like a foolish mummer in a traveling troupe.

But the King's face was alive, his intense smile swept from cheek to cheek. He masterfully ignored all the infatuated smiles, waves and squees of the young noble girls who gaped at him with wide, wanting eyes. He stood tall and proud and… regal.

And the music slowed, slow, romantic notes bending through the room as he pulled her body in on top of his. His hand on her back shifted up higher, fingers gently stretching across the middle of her back at the same time he slipped the fingers from his other hand out of hers and more gently laid his hand in hers.

The King lowered his head, letting his forehead rest lightly on top of hers as they slowly swayed now in the center of the floor, his feet guiding them in a slow turn. The hall had fallen more quiet now, the minstrels playing a slow and romantic song.

"You are so beautiful tonight, Luce," Alistair said. "That I cannot take my eyes off of you."

"Thank you," she whispered back, her fingers squirming uncomfortably under his touch.

"I love you," he said immediately after.

"Alistair…"

"I know," he quickly followed as he slipped his head to the side of hers and whispered into her ear.

"I know I'm not supposed to say things like that. I know where I stand," Alistair said. "And yet, no matter how hard I try, I cannot kill these feelings for you."

His arms squeezed her close.

Lucilla couldn't help but squeeze him back and hold him.

And then she realized that they had stopped moving. And the music had stopped. And the King and Queen stood alone in the center of the floor, embraced in each other's arms.

"I'm sorry," Alistair whispered. Then he chuckled softly. "And I'm sorry for this, too."

The King planted a soft kiss upon her cheek and slowly released his hold on her, sliding away from her. He got a pace away, a sad smile on his face, but before Lucilla could do anything more, she was already being swept away again.

Her hand was filled again and a strong arm upon her back as the music struck up again in a jaunty jig. She was already moving and spinning before she noticed the slicked back blonde hair, the dark tattoo, the pointed ears and the smell of brandy and spice.

"My darling queen, you look ravishing tonight," Zevran said in his rolling Antivan tongue. "I apologize for so abruptly intercepting you, but your King dances like an old man. No spice. No vigor."

"Zevran!" Before she could object, he had already pushed away, his feet chopping quickly against the ground, his hands planted firmly on his hips as if his legs seemed to move with a mind of their own. His head lifted to the crowd, his eyes eliciting shouts from the guests as he pranced around her, his hands quickly lifting off his hips to give a quick clap-clap above his head as he came around her left side.

The elf spun, his feet resuming their lightning chop as he went behind her. Lucilla didn't know exactly what to do, spinning to follow him as his hands came up with another popping clap-clap above his head. He twirled in, sweeping her, stunned, into his arms again.

"Do try to keep up Lucilla," Zevran said, quickly twirling her around. She couldn't, as it was only his lead that kept her from falling over herself. She spun and spun and spun and then she began to tumble. As she fell backward, she was met with the cushion of a chair being shoved under her rear.

In one swift move, Zevran twisted her arms behind her back and she could hear the clink of chain and cuffs being locked around her wrists, threaded through the back posts of the chair. The music cut out and Zevran gave a quick bow to both sides of the hall to raucous applause.

Alistair marched back onto the floor, straightening his jacket and looking more nervous than he had all night. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled, his finger pointing down toward her skirts.

Lucilla's lips pursed and her eyes got steely as soon as she realized what was happening.

It was Ferelden ritual for the groom to swim beneath his wife's skirts and claim her undergarments in front of all the guests. It was a ritual she had expressly forbidden him from engaging in at their wedding, despite its cultural significance. It was a ritual that Alistair was apparently willing to wager all of his teeth for.

She twisted her wrists behind her, testing the sturdy cuffs and jangling the chains. If she tipped backward, she might be able to break the back off the chair and escape. But she might also break her arm in the process. The chair was sturdy.

She cursed herself for not taking Leliana's warning more seriously.

"I told you I'm sorry," Alistair apologized as he slowly descended to one knee before her among hoots from the guests.

Lucilla exhaled, annoyed, knowing there was no good way out of this without hurting herself and embarrassing herself and her husband. Every other noble wife had suffered similar embarrassment in front of their wedding. She had hoped to spare herself the mockery and turn over a new page in Ferelden's history. That had unfortunately failed.

"Don't you dare," she threatened.

But Alistair was already lifting the edge of her skirts off the ground. "I'll be quick," he said with a wink and dove under.

Lucilla closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the looks on the faces of all the nobles as Alistair went probing beneath her dress. She inhaled slowly as she could feel Alistair's fingers upon her knees, slowly parting her legs. She forced herself to remain calm as he ran his hands slowly along the inside of her thighs, stealing a moment with her.

His touch reminded her of the night in Pearl, cast abed with her and Leliana and Isabela, but the other two women might not have even been there. He had eyes only for her, his hands nervously exploring every inch of her body, the pleasured moans he elicited as his hands locked around her hips as she rode atop him, thrusting his manhood deeply inside her.

That night had been a mistake - foolish, drunken, revelry - and yet she couldn't help but feel the same shiver running through her groin as he stole touches.

She jumped as she felt his lips touch her pubic bone, soft flesh touching just above the band of her undergarments. Her body lurched off the chair as she yelped in surprise, the chains of her bonds jingling loudly. The jump was met with laughter and cries from the nobles, who were enjoying the risque display. Her face must have been flush and red as she felt Alistair's hands on her hips, pushing her back down into her seat.

She closed her legs, squeezing the King, letting him know that that was more than enough. He responded with a gentle touch of his thumbs upon her hips bones, that shot a shivering tickle through her entire body.

"I think I found it!" Alistair shouted from underneath her skirts, the vibration of his voice his hot breath tickling her thighs.

The guests roared.

"Wait, wait, no," Alistair shouted again to more laughs. "What is this?"

The right side of her skirts lifted and a silver spoon clattered out across the floor to a roar of laughter. A fork followed and a butter knife and a small bread plate that rolled across the floor.

Lucilla lifted her head toward the ceiling, crinkling her lips in embarrassment as she tried to remember to breathe and not die of embarrassment.

The other side of her skirt lifted and a stuffed mabari plush skittered across the floor, followed by a second. A string of colorful kerchiefs tied to each end came next, fluttering into a pile along the side of the chair. How did he sneak all of that in there?

"I think that's it," Alistair cried once more. "Oh… wait!"

A large wheel of cheese flopped out onto the floor with a loud 'thud' as it fell flat on the floor, garnering another round of hearty laughs.

Lucilla trembled again as Alistair planted one more kiss upon the inside of her right thigh, much, much too close for her liking as he quickly retreated out from under her skirts.

Between his teeth, he was holding onto a pair of scandalously cut, fuzzy, bear fur undergarments.

Lucilla was still, thankfully, wearing her own underwear.

Alistair winked.

As mad as she wanted to be at him, as he crouched on his knees, his hands thrown triumphantly in the air, Lucilla couldn't help but smile. It began to crack across her face and before she could stop it, it was followed by laughter. She turned her head to the side and laughed. The guests ringing the King and Queen applauded and whooped as Alistair spun the fuzzy bear garments around his finger and gave them a toss into the crowd.

Alistair stood, bending down so his face was inches away from hers. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" he teased.

"You better undo these cuffs," she said as she narrowed her eyes. It was meant to be a threat, but she couldn't erase the smile off of her face.

She could see the desire in his eyes. It always burned there, just behind the sad gaze he had whenever he looked upon her face, knowing that she was so close but never his. But Alistair was smiling too, having shattered her noble armor just this one time.

He leaned forward and planted a soft, gentlemanly kiss upon her forehead before he began to dismantle the cuffs.

She allowed him to hold her hand all the way back to their bedchamber, long after they had escaped the gaze of the Fereldan nobles and household servants.

His fingers curled around hers, a gentle squeeze as the traversed the halls and recounted the events of the night with fondness. They had technically been married for months now, but the ceremony and the banquet was the first time they had to truly be together.

The nobles were pleased. The crown was secure. Alistair did not commit any gaffes that couldn't be easily mended. Everyone appeared to accept the legitimacy of their marriage.

And Lucilla had enjoyed herself.

They stopped in the middle of the corridor, standing between two doors on either side of the hall. To the left, Alistair's chambers. To the right, the smaller bedroom that Lucilla had been sleeping in since taking up residence in Denerim. She had justified the separate quarters as a way to preserve the sanctity of their marriage until it could be more officially confirmed before the Maker.

She could not keep up this particular charade forever. Eventually, people would notice and whisper and question. In time, it would be necessary to join him. But not yet.

"You were wonderful tonight," Alistair said as he finally let go of her hand, his eyes staring at the door to her chamber. That sad gaze had returned to his face, knowing their time was ending.

"Alistair," Lucilla said. Now it was her hand reaching for his again. She placed her hand back within his, letting his fingers wrap around hers once more.

"I know," he interjected before she could say more. "You don't need to say anything more."

He forced himself to smile, but it was saggy and flat because he didn't mean it. He could lift his own spirit and force himself to joke through about any situation. But the day had been long and it appeared that fatigue had caught up to him.

"I just… I had a wonderful time with you, Luce. I'm glad we got to share this evening together," he said. His hand gave hers a light squeeze.

She squeezed back. "I had a wonderful time, too." Lucilla bent forward, planting a light kiss upon Alistair's cheek as she slid her fingers out of his. "All of Ferelden loves you. You'll make an excellent king."

"As long as you're at my side," he said. Alistair had been more forward with her all night than he had at any other time. Perhaps the wedding and the many eyes upon him had emboldened him.

"Good night, Alistair," Lucilla said in parting and slipped inside her bedchamber.

Lucilla closed the door behind her and turned the lock, which sealed with a loud click. She exhaled, one long, slow breath she felt like she had been holding the entire night. Alistair wasn't supposed to be like this. She pressed her forehead against the door.

She could feel two arms gently sliding around her waist and breath upon her neck. She shivered at the gentle nibble of teeth upon her ear and the words whispering into her ear.

"I was worried you weren't going to show up," Leliana said as her hands slid along the bodice of Lucilla's dress, tracing the Queen's curves and sliding around to grab her breasts.

"I've been missing you all night," Lucilla confessed as she reached behind her to feel for Leliana's body. Her fingers grazed across bare flesh, her lover already stripped and waiting for her. She could feel the fire rising inside of her as her hands wrapped around Leliana's hips, pulling her closer.

Leliana spun Lucilla around, pushing her into the door as she forced herself upon the Queen's lips. Her tongue tasted of wine as she slipped it inside Lucilla's mouth. Leliana fumbled with the laces and ties of the wedding dress. Lucilla's hands wrapped around the sides of Leliana's face, holding her, not letting her escape as she drank her lover's kisses.

Lucilla grunted as Leliana forcefully pulled the wedding dress off of her body, shoving it down toward the floor. She rose to her toes, her legs spreading slightly as Leliana's fingers ran across her stomach, descending below her waist and dancing across her sex.

"I'm going to have to teach Alistair a lesson tomorrow," Leliana said as she lifted her lips off Lucilla, before her tongue flitted across Lucilla's neck down toward her shoulder. "He needs to learn to keep his hands to himself."

"He was just-" Lucilla was cut off by her own surprised yelp as Leliana suddenly slid her finger inside. Lucilla clenched her legs around Leliana's hand as she threw her head back, banging it against the door as she gave up more of her neck.

"You're mine," Leliana declared, pushing her hand deeper.

Lucilla smiled an ecstatic smile as she tried to catch her breath that had been stolen out of her lungs. This was what she had been waiting for all night. This was what she wanted. This was what she had negotiated with Alistair as a condition her taking the crown.

"I'm yours," Lucilla said as she surrendered herself.

Leliana's lips and tongue and hands felt somewhat detached and distant though as her lover continued to work her against the door. The queen was distracted.

Lucilla couldn't but help remember the way Alistair had confidently taken her in his arms and twirled her around the dance floor. How he had deftly plotted and tricked her into captivity in the center of the floor. How his foolish display had made her laugh. And how right it had felt as they walked the corridors of the palace, just the two of them, hand in hand.

He could become a King that everyone in Ferelden could learn to love in time.

Even her.