The wedding celebration was held in the private hall of a tavern near the temple. Zevran and Dina sat side by side at the head table, hardly able to move for a long time, as a line of guests formed before them, all eager to offer their congratulations. Zevran regarded the snaking queue with mild alarm, and he even noticed that those who had already paid their respects to his bride, believed to be a prophetess, later joined the line to greet him as well. Some clasped his hands and shook them firmly, others knelt before him, and one elderly man even tried to embrace him. Zevran politely but firmly declined such homage with a fixed smile and anxious eyes. He glanced sideways at Dina and, with wide eyes, let out a breath: My love, if we survive this... Then, under the table, he discreetly took his wife's hand and pulled it over to rest on his thigh. Dina responded with a smile.

The whole affair progressed painfully slowly and awkwardly: Thank you, thank you, thank you... yes, thank you...

After about an hour, the line of well-wishers finally dwindled, leaving Zevran feeling as though the entire population of Vasandoral had passed before them. Then, the same crowd began to dance, the musicians struck up a lively tune, and Zevran would have gladly eaten something, but he was pulled away even from the roast.

It was Alistair who did so. Unlike Morrigan, he hadn't joined the queue. Now he extended his hand and looked Zevran straight in the eye.

"Congratulations, Zevran." The knight glanced at Dina and gave her a nod as well. His hand remained outstretched toward the elf.

Zevran hesitated briefly, then nodded and accepted it. The two men shook hands. Dina watched them, as did Leliana from the side-lines, unnoticed but keenly observant.

After dinner, little Züiya ran into the crowd of dancers with a group of children her age. She whispered something to one of the girls, sent away a boy who tried to eavesdrop, and then busied herself arranging everyone: You have to hide here; that's where the dragon will be, and we'll defeat it by...

Zevran chuckled and glanced at Dina. "Come, my love, dance with me."

The crowd of humans and elves alike made room for them, everyone watching as they swayed together, arms wrapped around each other to the gentle music.

Dessert was being served when little Züiya ran up to the table where Zevran sat. "Zevran, come dance with me!"

At first, the elf raised an eyebrow at his wife, but seeing nothing ominous in Dina's expression—only a kind, approving smile—he turned back to the little girl with a sparkle in his eye and bent down to her level. "Of course, let's go!"

Dina watched them, smiling. Zevran mostly stood laughing while holding the girl's hand, as she twirled and hopped around him constantly. That was their dance.

"See, Zevran? That's how girls are supposed to spin!"

"I see, my little darling, I see...!"

It was astonishing to witness how this teenage girl, who just yesterday had been ready to give up on life, now danced so freely and joyfully as her eight-year-old self with the same man she had wished dead just the day before. Perhaps, as a child, she could not fully grasp what had happened to her.

Before midnight, when Logan grew tired of the people's endless bowing and scraping, Caentrin approached the newlyweds from behind with a grinning smirk and cheerfully announced that the couple would now sneak away, and no one was to miss them.

The crowd clapped and cheered, and as Caentrin leaned closer to the pair with a sly half-smile, he muttered, "Time to go. The guards are waiting for you outside."

Dina clung nervously to Zevran's arm as the advisor led them out of the hall. She would not let go of her husband for anything, braced for whatever might come.

The guards, however, simply escorted them through the dark streets to the castle, silent and watchful.

Once inside, they walked along the corridor and were brought to what seemed to be the same room where they had been staying.

Zevran turned back indignantly. "Hey! This is my wedding night!"

"You're nothing but a pawn in Lord Logan's hands, a tool to be used—did you forget that? Get back to your place and sleep! Your big day comes tomorrow, you fool!"

Dina saw the look on Zevran's face—what he thought about being called a tool—but then her husband, along with the guards, disappeared around the corner, leaving her sight entirely.

She stepped into the dark room, the door closing behind her. Outside, the soldiers seemed to struggle with the lock. Dina spun around and only then noticed the key was still inside, on her side. Quickly, she turned it, pulled it out, and clutched it tightly. She could hear the guards debating about a spare key, testing the handle a few more times to ensure the room was indeed locked. Then their footsteps retreated.

Dina didn't know who might have slipped her the key—perhaps Alistair? Or Leliana during her cleaning duties?—but now she gripped it in her fingers, panting, and felt an urge to throw it out of the tower. They couldn't hurt them; they could no longer treat them as tools. She ran to the window, waiting for Zevran to appear along the ledge.

And Zevran came.

He jumped through the window, and Dina immediately embraced him, her arms trembling but tight.

"Here's the key. No one can disturb us."

"You're a true strategist," he said, smiling as he kissed her, now without restraint. But Dina pulled her lips back from his.

"Zevran, I don't want them to hurt you. I'm worried about you."

Zevran smiled and exhaled. Then he moved to the candle, lighting it and placing it on the dresser beside them. Its golden light danced across their faces. Dina thought he did it so they could look into each other's eyes, but...

"Better put it out," she whispered nervously. "They might see the light from outside. If they find out you're here, then..."

"Dina!" Zevran's voice was firm but gentle. Then he smiled. "I want to see you tonight."

She hesitated, unable to respond for a moment, gazing at him silently, captivated by the admiration in his eyes.

Zevran ran a soothing hand along her cheek.

"Don't let bitter thoughts creep into your mind tonight, my love. This is your wedding night. With me."

He was right. Dina bit her lip, realizing she was trembling.

"My darling... are you afraid?"

Breathlessly, she lowered her head. "Why deny it? I'm scared. You're so experienced, and I'm just... just a virgin. I don't think you're used to women like me."

Zevran couldn't quite disagree. So, he simply smiled.

"I've waited for you since Perubia." The candle's flame danced in his golden-brown eyes.

Dina felt her nerves ease a little at his words. She smiled back. "Yes. You waited for me."

Zevran's eyes lit up, as if he knew Dina, in her fearful state, might struggle to open up. So, he offered something.

"Tell you what, my love. Do you want to play a game?"

"A game?"

"Do you remember what we played in the barracks?"

"I thought you were teaching me there."

"That too. But it was a game as well. Didn't you feel it?"

Blushing, Dina whispered, "I did."

"Hmm? Same rules. I'm a rogue impostor. If you say my name, I'll turn back into your husband. Do you want to play?"

Hearing Zevran call himself her husband was strange. Dina, smiling softly at first, then more brightly, gazed into the flame in his eyes. Resting her wrist on his shoulder, she intertwined her fingers behind his neck. "I want to."

"Then..."

Zevran raised his hand, bringing together his thumb and little finger, leaving only his middle three fingers extended. Then, slowly, he began to count down.

"Three."

Dina grinned excitedly, biting her lip after a playful laugh.

"Two. One."

Zevran had a way of igniting her senses like nothing else. Within him lived a deep, primal wildness, expertly wielded, which he could swap for his polished, presentable self at a moment's notice. The assassin who was able to stab a dagger into her body with the intention of healing; the attacker he'd played at the barracks, and the ruthless, stern elf who later spoke to the defeated Dina—all of them were Zevran, layered within him. Tonight, Dina sensed something extraordinary happening between them: Zevran was letting her near this hidden core, his truest self beneath all the masks, and, more than that, he was handing her the reins.

I am strong enough to show you any side of me without forcing anything upon myself. Choose for yourself. Choose the one you need right now. Choose one of me.

When the third finger folded, he caught Dina around the waist. "Then run! If you can..." he whispered in her ear, planting a kiss on her neck.

Desire surged through Dina. Zevran was so much stronger than her, and this masculine power thrilled her. She loved the way he claimed her with that undeniable motion, pulling her against him without leaving room for protest. Within this raw strength, she felt both safe and desired. So, she played along, trying to push him away.

"Let me go..." she whispered, her voice barely a murmur. "Let... me..."

Zevran seemed not to hear. He balanced on the thinnest of ice, so close to crossing a line, yet fully revealing how much he needed her. Perhaps that was what made him such an exceptional lover—his willingness to tread so boldly on this razor's edge.

He seized Dina's arm and spun her around, tugging down the zipper on her lace dress with a single decisive motion. His hands pressed against her bare back, his lips fervently exploring every exposed inch of skin.

Dina's face flushed with the heat of the battle. She pushed Zevran away, half-turning within his embrace and shoving at his chest. He let her struggle free, stepping back, but only so he could advance again, a wicked grin curling his lips.

Dina planted both palms firmly on his chest. "No! I won't let you near me!"

"Oh, but you will..." His reply came with an infinitely passionate kiss at her neck.

Dina wrestled with herself. She ought to shove him away again, but instead, she wanted to pull him closer. She craved his masculine strength, wanted it nearer. She stepped back, but Zevran pursued without hesitation. Her back met the wall, his arms bracing against it on either side, closing off her escape. His fingers tangled in her hair at the nape of her neck, holding her steady as he kissed her deeply, hungrily, his hand pulling her waist closer, almost lifting her from the wall.

Dina's resistance waned. Desire steadily overpowered her. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, melting into the kiss, yielding completely...

"So, you're surrendering, are you?"

"No..." she whispered faintly, though everything about her contradicted the denial. She wanted this strength to claim her. Yet Zevran seemed to expect more resistance, loosening his belt with a languid motion and carelessly hiking up her skirt as he pressed against her.

Dina pushed his hips away, laughing, and dashed to the other side of the room. She stood there, breathless, smiling, pulling her slipping black dress back over her shoulder. A thick lock of hair fell forward from her once-tidy updo, and she brushed it aside.

Zevran advanced on her slowly, his grin more mischievous than ever. Dina had never seen that look on his face before—it excited her and frightened her in equal measure. Though every fibre of her being wanted to call him into her arms, some part of her remained in the game, watching as he took her by the waist again, sliding the dress from her shoulder, holding her so tightly she thought there could be no escape.

"I surrender. To you—" she whispered, holding him close, her words soft against his shoulder.

"Oh, not yet..." came his impish reply.

"Zevran. But... just come to me."

She looked up at him, marvelling at how the light in his eyes shifted. Zevran did not step back, nor did he loosen his hold. But now, he was simply himself—the husband who gazed at his wife with love and unbridled longing.

"Just come," Dina whispered, and this time, she kissed him. The game had done its work, stirring desires that fear and doubt had long suppressed.

Zevran now gathered the skirt again, using both hands, but his movements were entirely different this time. Dina raised her arms, allowing Zevran to lift the dress over her head. She stepped out of her shoes, and soon she was completely naked. Her chest rose and fell with her breaths as she smiled, meeting the admiring gaze of the man before her, savouring the way he looked at her.

"My beauty," she heard him murmur by her ear before his lips brushed against her skin.

This time, she was the one to pull Zevran towards the bed, stepping backwards as her hands worked to unbutton his waistcoat. She slid it from his shoulders and moved on to his shirt, undoing the buttons from the top down. She paused at his waist, her fingertips grazing the skin beneath as she lingered.

By the time they reached the bed, those few steps had seen Zevran shed all his clothes. Dina sat on the edge of the mattress before sliding further up, and Zevran followed, kneeling slowly between her thighs.

Dina's toes curled tightly, her fingers digging into the skin of Zevran's back. She simply let him indulge her, touching her wherever he wished—no, everywhere. She closed her eyes and surrendered herself to a world where only Zevran's touch existed, and her. She allowed her body to follow his rhythm, to be cradled in this heated embrace.

Her lips parted slightly at first, responding to the mounting tension she felt between her legs. Then her brow furrowed faintly, a warm breath escaping her mouth, followed by a soft sigh and a brief gasp.

She opened her eyes.

Zevran braced himself above her. He didn't move, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths, as the flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across his face. He gazed down at her, squinting slightly.

Dina bit her lip, holding his gaze for a long moment, her eyes locked with his. She gently stroked his chest as she did, her own expression dazed yet tender, blinking up at him while he squinted down at her.

"You're mine now, Dina, my love. My beauty."

Dina's lips trembled, and she nodded softly, smiling as she whispered back, "Yes. I'm yours."

Zevran leaned down to her and kissed her. Dina's calf tensed as she closed her eyes, letting Zevran move in her. With a sudden movement, Zevran rolled onto his back and pulled Dina on top of him. She felt a bit tense, unsure of what she was supposed to do. After a moment's hesitation, she straddled him, sitting in a riding position, and stared at him questioningly.

"Let this night be about you, my love," he said.

Dina, still breathless, looked at him almost in confusion. Wasn't it supposed to be about both of them?

"Do it in a way that feels good for you," he added.

"And you?"

Zevran smiled. "Trust me, it will be good for me."

"But Zevran... I don't even... I don't even know how to..."

He gently stroked her face. "Let go, my beautiful one. Find your own rhythm. Find yourself."

There truly was a significant gap between them in regard of sexuality. If Zevran had put his all into it, he likely would have enjoyed himself, while Dina might have thought she was enjoying it too—or at least felt something. But Zevran didn't want to take this journey alone. Instead, he slowed down, he waited, determined not to leave Dina behind, wanting her to be right there with him. Perhaps it was his masculine pride.

Dina recalled him saying, back in the Perubian room, that time spent with him wasn't something to survive—it was something to enjoy. Now she truly understood that he hadn't just been boasting. That was genuinely how he approached women.

Even now, he wasn't leaving Dina to navigate this alone. Whatever he could do, he did—and he did it with joy. He kissed and touched his wife everywhere, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer.

Dina leaned over him, her eyes closed, though she felt as if she was fumbling through the first few movements. She couldn't find the right angle, didn't sense the right rhythm, and truly felt like she didn't know what she was doing. But it was Zevran's touch, the kisses he left on her chest, that slowly guided her through the awkwardness.

Then she closed her eyes again and simply kept moving. Zevran wrapped his arms around her back, and she slowly melted into his strong embrace, letting herself fully experience everything she could feel.

When she glanced up for a moment, she met Zevran's gaze, filled with longing. He was admiring her—every part of her, every subtle motion of her body. In his eyes, there was a tender reverence, as if he truly saw her as a goddess. And in that instant, Dina understood why he had always called her the high priestess of love. It was for moments like this. Because Zevran must have seen these moments in her long before she did, and that realisation gave her even more freedom.

Smiling with her eyes closed, she laughed softly, then arched her back and pressed her hips firmly against his, rhythmically.

"That's it, my beautiful one..."

The praise only emboldened her further. Sounds of pleasure mingled with laughter escaped her lips. She would close her eyes, surrendering to the sensations, and at other moments, gaze deeply into Zevran's eyes, seeing there the restraint he held back—for her. And amidst it all, his adoration, his yearning for her, was unmistakable.

"Zevran..." she whispered.

"I'm here, my love," he murmured back, adding with a playful lilt, "Please tell me you can feel that I'm here..."

They laughed, even in the throes of passion, their laughter rising and falling like waves. Zevran had a way of making her laugh, even in moments like these. They laughed everywhere—while loving, while dying, whether on their wedding bed now or on the Sylvaron table where death had hovered so close.

But Dina wasn't thinking about death—not hers, not Zevran's. She wasn't thinking at all. She was only feeling. She whispered his name again, softly.

"Zevran, come..."

She gripped his shoulders, pulling him toward her. Zevran leaned in as she let herself fall back onto the bed. He pressed his weight against her, and Dina willingly surrendered control to him. She wanted him to guide her now, to take her somewhere else—somewhere far beyond this world.

Her back arched in a graceful curve, her fists clenched tightly. With one outstretched arm, she blindly shoved a pillow aside unconscious. Then her body relaxed, and she lay utterly still, her breath shallow and uneven, as she rested beneath Zevran, spent and trembling.

When she opened her eyes, Zevran was still admiring her. He didn't say anything, but his gaze suggested that this might have been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The woman he loved, in those moments when she cast everything aside, when all of it fell away, and all that remained on her face was pure, unbridled pleasure as she savoured their time together.

Zevran leaned over her, kissing her neck, but then he could no longer continue, and Dina, feeling loved, held him close. Now it was her turn to witness Zevran's complete surrender. By then, his side-parted hair had become dishevelled. Dina, breathless and smiling, ran her fingers through the stray, golden-brown locks.

A flurry of emotions crossed Zevran's face in an instant, and then, with a deep sigh, it escaped his lips. "Oh, Dina...fuck...!"

She merely chuckled softly at the very masculine remark brought on by pleasure, and responded cleverly.

"I think I did."

They both laughed quietly, but more sincerely. Zevran gently touched his forehead to Dina's, then collapsed against her neck. They lay motionless, waiting for their breaths to slowly settle. Meanwhile, Dina continued to gently stroke the strands of Zevran's hair as he nestled against her neck. When the man finally turned onto his side, she followed, not releasing him with her leg.

"Don't go yet. Stay here."

Zevran smiled wearily at her, wrapped his arms around her back, pulled her close, and closed his eyes. His thumb moved lazily, caressing her.