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Ignoring the woman in the armchair, Denek Helmi gallantly made his way through the sitting room and down the hall.
Once he had safely procured his book from the small cranny he’d found and, so far, the servants had not, he frowned. Book in hand (some Orlesian treatise on Orzammar by someone who’d never been there), he crept back down the hall and peeked into the sitting room.
The scars and breaks in her nose gave the woman a perpetual wry look, even as she stared absently off into nothingness. The braids pulling back from her temples were immaculate, as was her crisp damask gown. She sat like a queen, occupying the full breadth of the chair, which was appropriate as Denek was pretty sure that was a princess.
“Shall I fetch Lady Helmi?” he called out.
She raised an eyebrow, turning her gaze on him. “No, fetch me the deshyr.”
“Consider me fetched, then.” He tossed himself into an opposing armchair, a decadent surface luxury that was probably stuffed with clouds or some such. “To what does House Helmi owe this honor, Sir Aeducan?”
“Common courtesy. I felt it only right to personally inform you that my father will be speaking to Lady Helmi as to whether she would allow you to marry me.”
She looked serious. Denek squinted and made a few faces, but the princess remained quite impassive and proper.
“There are other men in my House, you know.”
“There is but one deshyr.” Her lip twitched into a smile. “Both of us possess quite warranted reputations that cause troublesome rumors. Together, our reputations become far less annoying.”
He blinked, then leaned back, pulling one leg into his lap. “Go on. This I want to hear.”
“You are impossible to convince, manipulate, or order.” She leaned back slightly, relaxing the steely posture. “This city would prefer it if I did less of those things.”
“If we’re not making women cut out their tongues, they could at least do us the decency to hold them, huh?” He tapped his fingers against the edge of his low boot. “Not afraid my heretical ways will reflect poorly on you?”
“Next to you, I shall seem utterly orthodox.”
“Seem? You’re the most devout person this side of the Shaperate.”
Her smile twitched again. “Devout is not orthodox, Deshyr. From where I stand, the two cannot coexist.”
Denek had always considered Arinda one of the more tolerable of the nobility, but he had only seldom even considered her. In a moment, she transcended tolerable—she became interesting.
“Surely,” he said, “there must be better choices?”
“What do your sister’s marriage prospects look like, Deshyr?” She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, perhaps intentionally bringing the eye to her short, broken nails. “House Aeducan could convince any House to give us their son, certainly. But I will have no husband that resents me, nor thinks at his whim I will bend.”
“So don’t have a husband, then.” He placed his chin upon his hand, elbow balanced on his knee. “If you’re so powerful, why do you need one?”
She leaned forward, fixing him with her gaze. With a shrug, Denek leaned back.
“In the interest of an equitable partnership,” she said, “it’s to destabilize my brother’s idea that he’s somehow the rightful heir to the House and the throne.”
“Well, your brother certainly isn’t capable of marrying me.”
“He’s been courting your cousin,” she said.
“Has he?”
“For a year now.”
“That must be nice.”
“It isn’t.” Her eyelid almost twitched. “Despite every opportunity, Trian appears to struggle with women possessing personalities.”
“Everyone struggles with someone having personalities,” Denek said. Best to test the rubble ahead, if the woman truly was set on this madness. “Most of the Assembly struggles with the lesser castes having them. Men struggle that women have them, and their wives struggle with their husband’s.”
“What of you?”
He chuckled, finally bothering to meet her eyes. “My own, of course. When you frustrate everyone, you’re included in that. People don’t realize that. They think you enjoy it, or else you wouldn’t be so.”
She nodded along. “The Assembly.”
“The what?”
“I spend my time managing selfish old men,” said the princess. “More unpleasant personalities I cannot imagine.”
“Not even I, Sir Aeducan?”
“You possess principles and reason.” She inclined her head. “One of your principles is simply to be annoying.”
“No,” he sighed, “it’s not that simple. My principles are annoying, yes, but not to be annoying.”
As she leaned back, the princess said “Hmm.” Like a deepstalker sizing up prey, her head tilted this way and that. “So being annoying is just an enjoyable side benefit?”
“Precisely.” He grinned. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
Somehow, the smile only served to make her look world-weary. It was the first hint of any emotion but steely perfection he’d seen out of her. “That certainly makes an effective partnership easier, Deshyr Helmi.”
“So when do you intend to start using my first name?” His eyebrows shot up. “I assume it’s as good as a done deal once my mother hears. She’ll leap at the chance to be rid of me.”
“When I am welcomed to.”
“Then call me Denek.”
She nodded. “I welcome you to call me Arinda.”
“So.” He uncrossed his legs, planting both feet firmly on the ground and leaning forward. “Arinda. I’d like to clarify your plans for our marriage, before I decide if I’m interested.”
“As is your right. Go ahead.”
“Will we be screwing other people, or just each other?”
She stared blankly. Denek nodded encouragingly, but she only blinked a few times, and did not even begin to speak.
“I try to be a fair man,” he said. “There may be some logistical concerns, but still. I would never ask stricter fidelity of you than you ask of me.”
“Why do you ask, Desh—Denek.” She averted her gaze, then steadied it back on him.
“Well, I’d like to know where exactly I’m allowed to put my penis.”
She blinked at that, but didn’t flinch or blush. So it wasn’t innocence that had her suddenly speechless.
“Don’t even care if it’s you,” he continued. “Sure, it would be unconventional, but I’m not too particular.”
“You’re offering to let me have affairs?”
“Arinda.” He shut his eyes for a moment, and smiled at her. “I don’t think you need me to let you do anything. I also don’t need you to let me do anything, but I do want to know where I’ll stand. You seemed, until this, to have the whole thing planned.”
A glint rose in her eye. Yes, Denek finally concluded, Arinda Aeducan was beautiful, when the stick was out of her ass. “All I ask, then, is fair warning if you’re fathering any bastards.”
He nodded. “The same from you, then. I’d appreciate advance warning if I’ll have to lie through my teeth about how much my son looks like a Helmi.”
“We can only hope the ancestors bless us with daughters,” she murmured. A smile curled at her lips. “Perhaps even a few in common.”
“I’ll be a dreadful influence.” He leaned back, placing his leg back upon his knee and spreading his arms wide. “Are you sure you want them to be mine?”
“Well, the sons will be yours.” She smoothed her skirts, her eyes evenly on Denek. “As for your other questions? You remain deshyr to House Helmi, I expect no influence over you anyone with so many opportunities for conversation would not have. I do expect at least the appearance of a prayer when I leave on a military excursion—of course, I cannot make you mean it. I assume performing a courtship is against your principles, so I ask only one display of your favor—that you publicly congratulate me on a Provings victory at least once. You may take up a duty to House Aeducan, but the appearance of one can be arranged.
“The connections I cultivate on the surface are at your disposal, as are the artisans I patronize. We need not avoid each other nor seek each other’s company in daily life. Separate sets of rooms too quickly would be unseemly, and I say this mostly to avoid the ridicule of my brothers.”
“Do you snore?” he asked.
“I am told so.” She inclined her head. “But not very loudly. Is that acceptable?”
“Might try to smother you in the night if we share a bed.”
“You may try.” She stood up. “Do you wish to hear anything more?”
“Oh, I’m sure my mother can handle all the little details. If it matters, so far I believe I may just accept.” He lolled his head back on the armchair.
Skirts rustled as the princess began to leave, but then she stopped. “One last thing.”
“Oh, I doubt it.”
“You’re allowed to put your penis up your ass.”
She left with that, just a flat little statement like all the rest. A moment after she was gone, Denek finally let out the laugh he was holding in.
He could live with this, he thought. He would live with this.