Page 11 of Noble Charms

Aria, still relaxed beneath the effects of Soothe, didn’t make chase. He instead approached his two mares and greeted them with gentle pats upon their noses. “Ready for another day?” One of them huffed. The other blinked. Good enough. “At least you’ve manners.”

The door to the inn opened behind Aria, and out walked Noble, jaw set, hands fisted at his sides. His attire for the day included a soft, ankle-length coat he wore open to reveal a white dress shirt and trendy brown trousers cuffed at the ankle—finished off with shiny leather boots.

Aria’s jaw muscle jumped as Soothe wore off. When Noble approached the carriage, Aria reached for the door. “No,” Noble said, abruptly, jumping in front of him. “No, I’ve got it.”

Aria paused, and stepped back, narrowing his eyes.

Noble pulled the handle on the door, and when it swung out, he gestured to the interior. “After you.”

Aria looked from the plush red interior to Noble’s soft, callous-free hand holding the door. “If this is an apology, it’s not a particularly good one.”

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.