"I'd rather not," Alistair mutters, because this is a world where he's never had to see Morrigan naked, and he's very fond of that reality. He isn't going to tempt fate by thinking about it too much. And if he were at any risk of thinking about it despite himself, that risk evaporates at dance with me and Zevran's offered hand.

It should be easy. A few months ago he wouldn't have paused. He'd have curtsied invisible skirts and found opportunity to duck down low enough to let Zevran twirl him.

Now he looks at his hand, his own raised but not quite reaching. "That depends on what you mean by know how," he says, "and how much you like those boots. They'd probably be safer with Cullen."