9. A Trampled Heart
A TRAMPLED HEART
ARIA
After his third date with Hampenstead, Aria returned home and followed the trail of lights to the kitchen, and found Noble seated there with a cup of tea that was no longer hot. He stared out the bay window onto the moonlit water of the river, unmoving, without expression.
“You're up late,” Aria said, speaking at a volume to not disturb the peace of the moment. He sat in the other bistro chair.
Noble looked him over. “You were out late.”
Aria blushed and the moonlight made it impossible to hide. At least he and Noble told each other everything and he didn't need to be ashamed. Did he? “Hampenstead and I got carried away in his carriage.”
Noble's face remained unchanged, but the candlelight around them grew tall, suddenly. The magic veil inside Noble’s home seemed to twist for a moment, growing brighter, more active. Aria’s heart skipped a beat as the silence stretched. Noble asked, “Did you have sex?”
Aria faced the water outside the breakfast nook window, hiding half his face with a hand. “No.”
The magic veil dimmed back to normal and the candles flickered to their typical dim glow. Noble hummed. “What did you do?”
Aria laughed nervously. He was too drunk to understand any of this; like he was in some kind of hazy dream. Or nightmare? “I cannot say.”
Noble's voice remained toneless. “Did he bring you off?”
“I don't believe either of us finished, no.”
“You don't believe…?” Noble's inflection grated upon Aria's mind, ruining the buzz he had from the champagne and the kissing.
Near-whispering, Aria said, “We just touched over clothes for a bit, that's all.”
“Do you think he's the one?”
“I don't know,” Aria lowered his hands, and tucked his hair behind his ears, fingers buzzing to do something while he spoke. “Probably not? He doesn't plan to stay in New Hieroph for more than a year.”
“You let him touch you anyway.” Again, Noble's voice was utterly flat.
Aria’s tender heart tightened as if in a vice. “He's been nice to me.”
“That all it takes?”
Aria met Noble's glare. “What's wrong with you?”
“You're ignoring how you feel about Ellor by fucking random men.”
“I'm not.” Aria found it hard to breathe. “That's what you do, Noble. Not me.” Noble scoffed, and that sound, and the rolling of his eyes, made Aria snap. “You're the one who’s fucked half of New Hieroph. You'll be the one fucking random men soon when there are no women left for you.”
“What I do in my bed is different from what you do, because we’re different people.
You know that. You? And Hampenstead?” Noble’s disgust was visible on his face, and in his voice, and Aria had preferred the cold mask.
“Tell me, in full honesty, that you see yourself with that man, and that you aren’t kissing him just because you can. ”
Aria sank into his chair. He couldn’t deny it. Hampenstead was an odd match, but he seemed to care for Aria, and his disposition was opposite of Ellor. A comfort.
Hampenstead was, without a doubt, kind. So, yes—Aria had wanted a kiss. It’d been months. It took him a minute to find his voice again. “Hampenstead is the first man I’ve kissed since Ellor.”
Noble's eyes snapped to his, like a cat locking onto prey. “No. He’s not.”
He was not. Aria stumbled over his thoughts as the memory of his birthday flashed like lightning behind his eyes. “That’s not—you’re not being fair to me. It was my birthday, and it was you,” Aria said with tearful, heart-tender emphasis. His sudden influx of tears blinded him from Noble's face.
Noble stood up without a word and marched away. Distantly, Aria heard his bedroom door slam shut. What had gotten into him?
NOBLE
One month from Winterend, Noble went on his first second date. The auburn-haired lady from Romy's housewarming—Terra Leigh. Daughter of a duke. She was incredibly enthused when Noble asked her out for one of the pre-Winterend charity fundraising events. He was surprised, after he rejected her.
He'd really been terribly mean. To her, to Aria. To Morgan.
Morgan straightened him out, though, with a swift punch to the gut and demanded apology. Which Noble gave.
And Noble was sorry. It's just that he'd zero control of his life, and he couldn't stand his own insignificance. He couldn't have Virginia. He couldn't have Aria. He couldn't have a title, an estate, his parents' affection, or even a single glass of red wine at this fucking party.
“It really is absurd,” Terra huffed. “Who only serves white wine?”
“Monsters,” Noble said with full sincerity.
But Terra laughed. She leaned against his arm. “You're too funny, Noble. You don't mind if I have a glass, do you?”
He didn't reply, which Terra took as confirmation. When one of the waiters passed through the crowd of partygoers, she snagged a glass from the tray, and took a healthy swig. “At least it's good white wine.”
He didn't say that there was no such thing, because he knew she'd laugh again, and he didn't like the sound.
He was being mean. To apologize—not that she even understood—Noble leaned in to place a kiss upon her cheek.
Terra smiled happily. “You know, I expected you to be warm. That’s what they always say about the St. Clairs.”
Noble pretended to not know. “What do they say?”
Her hand slid up his arm. “That your lot is especially warm. And, well, you’re warm, but I suppose I thought you’d be…hot to the touch.”
Noble looked at where her hand lingered upon him and wondered.
He was always warm. It was a remark everyone made when they embraced—even if he simply shook someone’s hand.
But he supposed he hadn’t been quite as hot as usual in recent days.
Never before had his Sun God gifts waned in the winter, but he was getting older. He asked, “Have I disappointed you?”
“No, but if you want to make it up to me anyway…” She gave him a charming wink. “Flattery works every time.”
He glanced down at her floor-length black velvet gown and said, “You look nice tonight.”
Terra blinked at him. Her eyes were green. He tried to make himself appreciate the color. Rich and cool-toned and rare. Any man would be lucky to have such beautiful eyes gaze upon him like this. “If you like this,” she said, and leaned in to whisper, “You should see what's going on underneath.”
Noble did like panties. He loved them, in fact.
Objectively, using every facet of his rational mind, he reasoned: if he'd ended up with Aria, he wouldn't get to press his fingers against the moist lace or satin between a woman's legs after she'd been thoroughly teased all night.
That was one of his favorite things. Noble let a smile pull at his face. “Would you like to show me?”
Terra placed her half-drunk glass of wine on another waiter's passing tray, and tugged Noble's hand in the direction of the bathrooms across the floor.
A series of gasps and scattered applause made them pause halfway. Noble, taller than most of the crowd, peered over to the commotion and was surprised to see Romy. Wait—not just Romy.
Kneeling before her, holding a small wooden box, was Morgan. Proposing.
“Oh, wow,” said Terra, releasing Noble's hand to clap with the rest of the crowd as Romy held out her hand. Morgan slid the ring onto her finger, and she jumped into his arms, kissing him as they crashed to the floor. The clapping continued, and laughter filled the air. “By the moon, how sweet.”
Morgan smiled, and Romy did too, and Noble had no doubt that it was true love between them both. You just know, Morgan said of her.
Terra reached for Noble's hand again, and wound their fingers together. She gave him another suggestive smile and tilted her head towards the toilets again. “If you do half of what Calinda shared, I'll be the one to propose to you.”
Noble smiled because he knew that he should. “You really believed her, huh.” But he wasn’t sure he would be able to deliver anyway: if his innate heat was missing, would his stamina have gone with it?
“You're modest for a royal,” Terra leaned close when Noble had not budged.
“Really. You seem like a dream.” She tilted her head in thought.
“Can I ask how long you plan to wait before you propose to the person you're courting? Not—” she giggled, “Not that I expect you to propose any time soon or—goodness.
It's only our second outing. I've just wondered what men think about these things.”
Noble said, “Morgan's only known Romy for three weeks.”
“Who…?”
Noble looked over to the happy couple, now standing, adjusting their clothes, and laughing in joy. “Morgan and Romy.”
“Whirlwind romance, it would seem. A bit fast, though, don't you think?”
“Better that than ten years,” said Noble, mostly to himself. But Terra hugged his arm more tightly and laughed yet again. But it was no joke. “Terra, I have to apologize. I do not mean to see you again after this night.”
When her pretty green eyes flashed in confusion, he ducked his head in apology.
“Let me get you a carriage home. Again.”
Noble's mother finally wrote him another letter—the second one she'd sent since he'd been removed as earl. He’d crawled into his bed at the pitifully early hour of eight, reading the missive for a second time, and feeling the gravity of their world tugging him down, heavier with each passing word.
Should you choose to stay with His Majesty King Agolde during Winterend, I've a lovely young woman that you may reconnect with at his Winterend Gala.
Surely you recall the Whiteheads? Duke Whitehead's daughter, Eve, will make some old woman a happy mother-in-law indeed.
The Agolde Estate is beautiful at Winterend. Will you consider staying?
Please write soon with your intentions.
All my love, and your father's,
Marie
Her name was Eve?
Yves was said the exact same way. Yves and Eve? Did his mother have no sense of aesthetics at all? The mere fact she suggested such a thing made Noble's hackles rise like that of a big, angry cat. He wouldn't dare wed an Eve.