1. An Untrained Heir #3
“Then why were you with him for as long as you say? Years, was it?” Aria gazed at his hands in his lap, his fingers bound together, and he didn’t reply. “You must have been compatible in some way. Good sex?” He meant to make it a light question, asked as simple scholarly interest.
Aria mumbled, focused on the village street outside, “Perhaps.”
Noble laughed, and Aria gasped in offense. “No, I laugh not at you. It’s just—funny. The answer you gave means the sex was bad.” Noble basked in the satisfaction of being right. Aria’s boyfriend underperformed.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to. You’ve done a good job with this—” unnecessary pomp, Noble didn’t say, “Propriety. But we’re meant to be fast friends, you and I. Tell me truly how you feel. And I’ll do the same.”
“Well, clearly,” said Aria.
Noble grinned. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ve nothing to hide.”
Aria sighed, “And neither do I.”
“See? Tell me your feelings honestly.”
Aria looked at his hands and his long hair fell in front of his eyes, hiding him from view. Even when speaking his truth, he had to hide somehow. It would have been cute if it wasn’t also infuriating. Aria said, “I hoped he would be the love of my life. That’s why I stayed.”
“Was he your first?”
Aria nodded. “When I was younger, my mother would read to me some elven tales. Mostly fantasy. Mostly fun stories for children. Many of them included true love—obviously. Elys was a god of love.”
“Was,” Noble noted, raising an eyebrow. That was probably more honest than Aria meant to be. “You’re an agnostic.”
Aria said, “I’ve not seen Elys in all my years of practicing magic. I think it’s reasonable to believe he’s dead, like the other gods. I know that’s an unpopular opinion.”
Noble grinned. “I’ve been a blasphemer my whole life.
The Sun God’s probably long dead. Or else he’s retired from ruling us mortal folk.
” Aria’s mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile, but refused.
Noble was terribly close. “Elys could still be around, if he invented love. Love’s everywhere. I feel it all the time. Every day.”
“You love Sylvia.”
“Yes,” Noble said without hesitation.
“But that’s not the love I seek.”
“Obviously. She’s a woman.”
Aria rolled his eyes, and Noble took that as a victory too—at least it was some expression.
“I meant that, from these childhood tales, love was written as something grand and sweeping. I’m moving to New Hieroph not only to pursue my bardic arts, but because it’s the largest city in all of Allbright.
If my true love resides within our kingdom, I hope that he may be there.
I have felt called to that place, to find true love, my whole life. ”
Noble smiled, relaxing against his hand propped upon the wall of the carriage.
Aria met his eyes, wary, and said, “What?”
“No, nothing. It’s just a little bit of a naive look at romance, I think.
” Aria’s face flushed at the same moment he donned that emotionless mask to protect himself from his big negative feelings—a contrast that Noble couldn’t help but chuckle at.
Again. “I apologize. I don’t mean to condescend.
But I fall in love all the time. I’ve loved dozens of women in my life. And I’ll probably love dozens more.”
“Then I suppose we have different definitions of love.”
“How would you define yours?”
Aria looked out the window. “In the elven Tale of Wilde, a prince at a big formal gala approaches the woman he wants to marry—the daughter of the rival king. He holds out his hand and says that if she takes it, and dances with him that night, that he will marry her, and dance with her every night for the rest of their lives, and they’ll form their own kingdom in peace.
And she’s afraid, but he’s so handsome and kind, and she knows they would be benevolent rulers together.
She puts her hand into his, and they dance and live happily ever after. ”
“And you go to New Hieroph hoping someone will ask you to dance.”
Aria tucked his hair neatly behind his ears and said, “It’s possible.”
Noble couldn’t help himself. He gestured with one hand and said, “There are no princes in New Hieroph. There are, at best, rakish men that will ask you for far more than a dance.”
“It’s not literal—I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t mean to marry a prince.”
“And at such a gala, you would be a performer, no? You wouldn’t be asked to dance. You’d be providing the music others dance to.” It wasn’t impossible that a bard would wed someone of nobility, but it was unlikely. Noble snorted. “This is real life.”
“Forget I said anything,” Aria said, sinking back into his seat. “I shouldn’t’ve spoken of such things. You’re right. It’s foolish. It hadn’t worked with Onyx—” his orcish boyfriend, Noble surmised, “And it may never happen for me.”
“Wanting love isn’t foolish.” Noble stroked the trimmed beard lining his jaw and said, “But there’s a difference between the tales elven children hear and the real world.”
Aria crossed his arms and turned his focus out the windows without reply.
Damn. No smile, and still wound up tight. Perhaps sitting even more stiffly than before they spoke. But Noble had learned something valuable. Aria wished for love.
That was why he was miserable. He’d been dumped, and he was lonely.
And, lucky for them both, Noble knew the solution.
The task formed: he could get Aria to warm up to him if he could get Aria off.
Well, not him. Noble didn’t like men that way, but Aria’s pretty affectation meant the task could be done.
Noble would matchmake and Aria, with released tension and a healed heart, would be a worthy companion.
This was how he and Aria could become friends.
“Thank Elys. We’ve arrived,” said Aria. The bell above them rang again, and the ghost man swept off the driver’s seat and next to the door. When Aria reached out to open it, the ghost vanished in a flash of magic. “We may finally stop talking about this.”
“You say that as if I won’t continue our conversation over dinner. I mean to reassure you that there’s hope yet in your journey. It’s normal to have bad sex with someone. That doesn’t mean you won’t find your perfect mate.”
“I didn’t have bad sex with my boyfriend,” Aria said, voice both firm and loud.
Loud enough that the nearby stable attendant, reading a paper, looked up for the first time, and raised a thick gray eyebrow in surprise.
Aria’s face filled with color, even as he gave the stranger a cordial nod.
The attendant, a gray-skinned horn-bearer, gave Aria and Noble a once-over with his solid red eyes.
His off-white horns curled around his pointed ears, decorated with leather straps as was in fashion.
Noble gave the man a big smile, and he went at ease, sitting back comfortably again.
Aria said to the stranger, “One moment. I’ll bring the horses over. ”
“You didn’t introduce me earlier,” said Noble, approaching one of the mares, dappled black and white, with a hand outstretched.
Aria looked between Noble’s hand and the mare’s nose and said, “The one with the speckles upon her nose—Lima. The one with the brown band—Pinto. Lima, Pinto, this is Noble.”
Noble gently stroked Lima between her eyes. “Hello, ladies.” He couldn’t help his smile as he said, “Beans. Really?”
Aria chewed his lip, nearly smiling again. “They’re temporary names. I do not mean to get attached to them.”
“Why not?”
“I’m selling them to a livery in New Hieroph. They represent the funds I will need to afford housing. My mother bought them when she procured the carriage. Her gift to me was not just this ride, but some funds to begin my life out there.”
Noble walked to Pinto’s side and patted her beneath a big, soulful, brown eye. “I see.” Pinto blinked slowly at him, and Noble grinned. Lima leaned in his direction, requesting another pat on her head, which Noble was happy to oblige. “My charms work on most women, as you see. I’m not all talk.”
Aria almost smiled again. Almost. “Sure, Noble.” He approached the girls, gathering their reins.
“So, has it worked? You harbor no affection?” Noble asked, because Aria treated the horses with a kindness he had yet to show to Noble himself.
Aria led the mares towards the parking stable. “To you? No. To the horses? Maybe. But there’s no need for a horse in New Hieroph, anyway. The trams cover the whole city.”
“Hm. You seem more certain in your affection for the horses than your affection for your ex-lover.” Noble followed along, hands tucked into his trousers.
Aria ignored his goading and handed the horn-bearer the reins and explained the reservation of their stay.
Noble didn’t pay attention to their mumbled discussion of payment—until Aria said, “Lord Noble Yves St. Clair, yes,” as some kind of confirmation.
“What?” Noble said, stepping forward.
“Nothin’, yer highness,” said the attendant. “Honored t’have you’s a guest. Dinner’s paid up already inside.”
Noble wanted to correct him—he was no highness.
At best, he should be referred to as ‘My Lord,’ but if Noble learned anything about the common man in the last four years, it was that they had no idea how the line of monarchy actually worked.
Not that he blamed anyone. The appropriate terms of address for his family could fill an entire textbook.
As he and Aria walked towards the front of the inn, he said, “You used my name?”
“Yes, of course. You’ll get better service that way. More attention. Better rooms.”
Noble said, “Exactly the reason to not.”
“What?”
Noble stretched his back, spine popping after the day of sitting.
“We shouldn’t use my name at inns like this.
I’ve no guard. It took years to convince my family I didn’t need one, and my only real line of defense is that no one knows I’m a royal unless I announce myself as one.
I could be targeted—harassed—” or worse.
He wouldn’t even speak the word assassination aloud. “We should keep my title to ourselves.”