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It couldn’t be. Cassandra had to read the letter again. Perhaps the sixth time would offer some new insight into Wil’s intentions.
Lady Cassandra,
I apologize for my lack of creativity in returning your book. Proprietary precluded any of the scenarios I had in mind, though I will say that my favorite idea drew inspiration from the marked page. Should you ever desire such impropriety on my part you need only ask, but until such a time, I will limit my flirtations to only those which bring that delightful shade of peach to your lovely countenance.
Few things in my life have brought me greater pleasure than sharing this terrible, wonderful series with you. If you wish to discuss these works in greater detail, I encourage you to bring your inquiry to my quarters at Skyhold. I am eternally at your disposal, and I know you know the way in.
Yours,
Wil
She poured over every word, breath catching at impropriety and pleasure and my quarters. I know you know the way in left her heart fluttering.
What would happen if she were to steal in under the cover of night, climb onto his luxurious bed, and tangle herself in his strong arms and silky sheets? Would it play out like the scene he marked in Varric’s book? There was no nobler pursuit than writing a salacious letter with injured hands, but now that his skin had healed, she could think of several other good uses for those hands. Heart racing, she read it again.
But this wasn’t Swords and Shields. Perhaps the Knight-Commander and her lover could indulge in flights of passion, but Cassandra didn't have that luxury. Besides, there were traditions, and those parts were just as good as the flights of passion. The Inquisitor would never have time for all of that, nor should he.
This little game with Wil was just that; a distraction from the grim task they faced. Something to lift the spirits. But only that; anything more would go beyond impropriety. Maybe after Corypheus was defeated, if Wil was willing to truly pursue her...
No. There would always be work to do. The Seekers desperately needed her attention, and the Inquisition wasn't going away. Wil would be pulled in every direction except Cassandra's.
Even more reason to treasure these moments and mementos. The flowers and herbs Wil loved so much wilted and died—the bruised, cracked dawn lotus petals she kept in her trunk were proof of that. But letters she could keep.
Hopefully Wil would be willing to do all the writing, because her hands shook at the very thought of crafting a reply. Perhaps I could commission a racy painting...
Cassandra shook the thought away in disgust. No one would want that. Maybe Iron Bull—in his dreams.
It just served to show how ridiculous the situation was. The Iron Bull was much more forward than Wil and she didn't sit up at night thinking about him.
But Bull didn't make a point of seeing her every time they were both at Skyhold. Despite Wil's duties piling higher every day, he always made time for her. Inquisition business, she told herself. Wil wanted her thoughts on their progress, even sought out her advice, though she couldn’t imagine why.
But it wasn’t always business. Sometimes, it was a quick chat by the kitchens, or a tart from the chef that he insisted she taste. Once, it was a rock that reminded him of her, with swirls of red and black that gleamed in the sunlight. Kept in his armor, the rock taunted her fingers with warmth she so wanted to feel for herself. He hadn’t even given it to her, instead slipping it back in his jacket to keep it with him. It was touching, but... Ugh. Jealous of a rock.
She couldn't go on like this, leading him on and distracting him from his work. It didn’t matter if she wanted more than he could give. The Inquisition came first.
Now she sounded like Cullen. And what would he tell her if he were here?
Cassandra shook her head. No. She couldn’t imagine talking about this with Cullen. He was a brilliant tactician, but romance was lost on the man.
Leliana was much more experienced in matters of the heart, but seeking her counsel would make Cassandra’s crush the talk of the entire Inquisition. For someone so adept at keeping secrets, Leliana couldn’t keep a bit of juicy gossip to herself. If Varric found out, Cassandra would never live it down.
Her fingers traced Wil's words once more. Their relationship was a lot juicier on paper than in person. There would be no rumors because there was nothing to tell. At least she could be sure he wasn't writing letters like this to anyone else.
Couldn't she?
Any talk of Dorian and the Inquisitor had been silenced by talk of Dorian and Iron Bull. By all accounts, there was more than just talk between the two of them, and Wil was all smiles after he discussed it with Dorian. Unlike Leliana, he wasn't one to fake a smile. It was just another thing she admired about him.
She squeezed her eyes shut. It was already too late. It wouldn't have mattered if he was sending scandalous letters to everyone in the castle—nothing was going to come of it, at least not with Cassandra. He had to know that.
And now, she had spent hours thinking about it. Their relationship was getting in the Inquisition’s way and it didn’t even exist, at least not beyond friendship and fondness.
Right?
Maybe she was going about this the wrong way. After all, Cassandra faced obstacles head on. Why shouldn't the same principles apply to confronting Wil?
There was no reason the thought should turn her stomach; she and Wil talked all the time. Her hands hadn’t trembled when she stashed that book in his undergarments.
But that was a game, no different from a story. Asking him about it made it real. Maybe.
He had come so far from the scruffy chantry boy at Haven. In a different world, Wil could be the one to sweep her off her feet, with moonlit walks, wine, and white horses...
Or he could find it frivolous. Cassandra groaned.
He was far too kind to laugh at her, but she would see the pity in his eyes. Then, she’d have to see that pity everywhere until the feelings passed, and she might even lose him as a friend.
Perhaps a different approach was in order. Confront him all the same, without revealing how deep her feelings ran. It wouldn’t be a lie; she was concerned about his flirting because of what it meant for the Inquisition. If it was even flirting.
And she would figure it out from there. If he was serious—her heart surged—she would explain why it wasn't going to work. And if he wasn’t, she’d lick her wounds in private.
Neither option was what she wanted, but it had to be done.
All that was left was to do it. With a deep breath, she tucked the letter into her trunk and set off to find him before she lost her nerve.