1. An Untrained Heir #5
Noble stared him down—he was about a head taller, and Aria had to crane his neck when they stood this close. And then Noble said, “You’re right. I want to apologize properly.” He fished for it, eyes growing distant in thought. “I am sorry.”
Aria didn’t trust him, or this gesture, but he still replied, “Accepted,” and stepped up the black metal stairs into the coach interior. Noble followed behind, closed the door, and steepled his fingers.
He said, “You don’t have to accept it just because you think you should.”
“What?”
“My apology. You said accepted without thinking much about it.”
Aria smoothed his hands down the front of his gold-colored robe. “So?”
“Well, I meant it. I didn’t mean to proposition you, and I’m sorry that it happened.
” Noble gave Aria a weak smile—a brief flash of teeth that settled back into pensive consideration.
“I meant what I said yesterday. I’ve no intention of employing an adame—of any gender—ever.
I do not mean to have servants in my home. You were right to be offended.”
“Well.” Aria stared into Noble’s inky black eyes, and there was something distracting and hypnotic about them. He had to look away as he said, “That’s fine. I do forgive you. Really.”
Noble exhaled noisily and slumped against his seat. “Good.”
Aria rang the bell upon the ceiling above them, and the ghost coachman appeared like the day before. As the coach took off through the village and back onto the rural kingdom roads, the silence stretched between the two.
Noble stared out the window, hand upon his scruffy chin. The sun outside made his golden-brown skin glow, and Aria recalled how Noble appeared offended at being told he looked like he belonged to the royal family of the Sun God. Absurd.
They really didn’t speak the same language, did they?
Aria complimented Noble by saying he looked like a king.
Noble complimented Aria by saying he would make a proper whore.
Aria continued to gaze at him. Like a sheet of music he’d yet to memorize, or an instrument he’d yet to play, or a spell he’d yet to cast. He didn’t understand this man and he had six days left to learn.
The crunching of the mares’ hooves on the dirt road continued on, melodic, while Aria took in the thick black curls of Noble’s well-groomed hair.
He obviously had a hot bath early this morning—available only because Aria had made the mistake of using Noble's full, proper name, and the inn afforded them rooms with bathing chambers. From within the confines of the coach, Aria could smell the wood smoke of the water’s heater and the complementary floral soap.
Noble turned his gaze back, and Aria jumped as their eyes met. He hadn’t noticed, until then, that he was staring. He sputtered, “My apologies.”
“For what?”
Aria felt his face go warm. His pale skin couldn’t hide his embarrassment, even as he donned a calm mask. “I was just thinking. Got lost in my thoughts. I should have had another tea to wake myself up.”
“What were you thinking about?”
Aria grabbed the first best excuse, refusing to look at Noble while he spoke: “What sort of magic do you have? Humans don’t have any, of course. But you’re part god, if I understand right—” He was special. Not that Aria would say that aloud. “The St. Clairs have magic.”
Noble looked back out the window. “I can’t do spellwork, if that’s what you were wondering.”
Aria peeked from the corner of his eye, taking in Noble’s profile once more. “I suppose I was.” Noble could never be a bard, Aria knew. It required a connection to the magic veil available only to elves, but his bloodline contained some godly gifts.
Noble said, “It’s nothing special.” He held out a hand, almost absently, fingers outstretched towards Aria. When Aria didn’t respond, Noble looked back, and raised a brow. “Hold my hand.”
Aria would have denied that his heart sped up as he slid his fingers atop Noble’s. It seemed a dangerous thing to do.
Him, said Aria’s soul. Ugh, said Aria’s mind.
Noble was a monarch. He was a brat. And he’d suggested an inappropriate dalliance between the two of them.
Holding his hand was inadvisable. But as their skin touched, Aria’s concerns faded behind the surprise: “You’re warm.
” Warm enough that he could have been standing at a fire, if Aria didn’t know better.
“We run hotter. All my garments have been treated with magic from seamstresses in Sallansa to keep me cool. They breathe more easily.”
“Are you resistant to cold? Or does it hurt worse to be in a colder climate?” Aria turned over Noble’s hand within his to look over the smooth knuckles and fine lines.
“I barely feel the cold when it comes. I also can’t be burned. I heal faster than the average man. And I’m strong.”
“What do you mean? Stronger than an orc?”
“Stronger than most orcs, yes. I can lift heavy things with little difficulty. I could carry nearly any woman over my head, and I have.” He smirked and pulled his hand away.
“And, my final blessing—I’ve got the stamina to match.
” Aria wrinkled his nose before he thought better of it.
Fortunately, Noble laughed. “Well, you asked.”
Aria couldn’t be surprised. “Of course you lead the conversation to this point. Everything is sex with you.”
Noble gasped, a caricature of offense. “That’s not true.”
“It is too. It’s your most favorite thing.” Or, more accurately, Noble loved prying into the sexual habits of other people.
Noble frowned. “No. It’s not.” Aria pinched his lips together tightly, folding his hands upon his lap, because he meant it—Noble was obsessed with sex—but saying as much had been rude on his part. Noble sniffed, turning up his nose, and added, “I also really like wine.”
NOBLE
It took three days and three different inns, but Noble found a kinsme that would satisfy his foolproof plan to get Aria laid.
This man, an elf, sat in the central chamber—dining room, bar, and check-in desk all in one space—sipping hot tea with one knee crossed over the other.
He wore his black hair in long twisted rows.
Unmarried adult elves never cut their hair.
Noble wasn’t sure why, and would have asked Aria at some point during their trip, but every conversation devolved, and he’d stopped his inquiries out of self-preservation.
Even the simplest remarks made one or both of them furious. Noble had never been quite so ineffectual as he had on this journey. He was charming to a fault. Everyone loved him. Sure, he could be a cad, a troublemaker, but in a fun, refreshing way.
Not to Aria. At this point in their journey, Aria’s feelings had gone from cool indifference to outright disdain.
He refused to look up when Noble spoke to him inside the carriage, shoulders tightening like he braced for a physical blow.
Noble needed this stranger to be kinsme.
He could bugger poor Aria, and Aria would relax, and finally they would get along as friends.
In a way, it was charity work. Noble’s mother would be proud.
Well, no, she would not be. She would be horrified that Noble traveled with a titleless elf who favored the same sex. Noble was going to do it nevertheless.
He approached the elf reading a newsprint, little round glasses perched at the end of his small, straight nose. Noble said, “May I?” And gestured to the empty chair at the other side of the table.