Page 46 of Noble Charms

Aria approached Noble standing in front of Willa’s largest piece—a floor-to-ceiling wood panel with carvings that depicted the March of Elfkind into Elysium. Like most of her works, it leaned religious, and blasphemous, in nature. Several of the elves were completely undressed. Daring, but improper.

“Is this the one?” Aria asked, looking up at Noble to try to read his face. His shining black eyes were narrowed, and the big, overly expressive line of his brows seemed more perplexed than anything else. “The one you’re going to bid on, I mean.”

Noble had dressed sharp in a black suit and crisp white shirt that did nothing for his golden complexion. He swirled the red wine in his glass absently. “I’m trying to figure it out.”

“The piece? It’s the March of⁠—"

“No, no.” Noble laughed, and finally tore his eyes away to look down at Aria instead. His smile seemed especially sharp on this night, with his beard freshly trimmed, and his eyes glassy from the many free drinks. “I know what the piece is. I’m trying to figure out if I hate it because I hate it or because you got in my head this morning.”

“Me?” Aria pressed a hand to his own chest, over his beige, floor-length tunic frock, in shock. “What did I do?”

“What you said about us titled folk buying art just to buy it. I fear my mind has been polluted, and I came in judgmental and ready to hate everything just to please you.” Noble gestured with the wine glass at the panel and said, “Does it please you to know I think it’s overwrought?”

Aria’s responding, unexpected laugh was too loud. He only had a single glass of wine—no excuse to act without propriety. He put a hand over his mouth, surprised at himself, and then shook his head. “You’re being unfair. It’s not that bad.”

“Do you like it?”

Aria turned back to the piece and considered it, but briefly, because he already knew his answer. “No. Not particularly.” He wasn’t even religious—he’d no real affection for any of the gods, specifically the elven god Elys, or the proud, war-torn history of elves—but he thought Willa’s obvious jab was just that. Obvious. Even more than that, though… He leaned in and whispered, “It’s ugly.” Noble laughed loudly this time, and Aria found himself unable to stop grinning, even as he said, “Shh. Noble! Shh! It’s too quiet in here. People are going to start looking.”

And they had attracted attention, because Willa herself appeared on the other side of Noble and said, “Hi. Can I answer any questions?”

Aria straightened his spine and said, “Hello. It’s nice to meet you—Willa Brown, right?”

“Indeed,” she said, presenting her fist. Aria tapped it with the back of his own fist, and she unfurled her fingers to offer her hand for Noble to shake. Which he did, clearing the laughter from his chest. “You’re laughing at this piece, I see.”

Aria could have thrown himself out the tall window at the other end of the room. “Oh, no, it’s not that.”

Noble released a smooth chuckle, donned that Sun God grin, and slid a hand onto Willa’s thin upper arm with gentle affection. “We were, but only because this elf here—” He motioned with his elbow to one of the wood-carved elves marching up into the sky, her breasts bare, arms outstretched. “She’s so beautiful that I wondered if she’d dare meet with me at dinner tomorrow night.”

Willa visibly relaxed. She smiled at Noble in return. “She’s a pious woman. She’d never be caught at the side of a human man like you.”

“But I’m no mere human man,” said Noble. “I’ve not introduced myself, I realize. I’m Lord Yves St. Clair. How do you do?”

Willa tucked some of her black hair behind her elven ear, giggled girlishly, and said, “I know who you are, of course. It’s nice to meet you, My Lord.”

“Please. Call me Noble.”

Aria took one step away, to see if his retreat would be noticed. It was not. He backed away again, a few more steps, and left the two to chat alone. He wasn’t needed there. He made it to the back corner of the gallery, where hors d'oeuvres were served next to the wine. He held a little potato cake in one hand, a little glass of red in the other, and found a stool recently abandoned by a party-goer.

Aria tucked himself there, into the corner, and watched Noble charm Willa for the rest of the night. For a reason he could not quite discern—perhaps for his own entertainment, now alone among the thinning crowd of art connoisseurs—he took a healthy drink of his wine every time he heard Willa laugh at something Noble said.

Aria and Noble stumbled home late—at nearly two in the morning—and both were drunk enough that they had to help one another pull off their boots, incapable of coordinating themselves through their giggles and whispers to keep quiet. No waking the neighbors!

The pair fell into the front sitting room of the townhome, tripping on the threshold and one another. First, Aria flopped on the couch, feet raised halfway into the air for Noble to wrestle with. Once his boots were shucked, Aria traded places with Noble, and knelt to unlace his boots and pull them free. They fell, thunk-thunk, to the hardwood floor.

Aria laughed again, kneeling with knees pressed against the floor. He looked up from where he was between Noble’s spread legs, vision swimming, and said, “Hey.”

Noble stopped short of standing up, and looked down at Aria from beneath his glossy, flyaway curls. He swallowed and Aria couldn’t stop himself from watching the line of his throat. Noble croaked out, “Yes?”

Aria sniffed, the cold autumn air having left him shivering after their walk. He pushed himself to his feet, stumbled, and landed halfway upon the sofa at Noble’s side. Noble purred out a rumbling, drunken sound—Aria, you're a mess—and pulled him up until they were side by side. Aria, readjusted, placed a hand on Noble’s knee, wanting to touch him again. “You should start dating again.”

“What?”

“You should get out there. The plan’s working.” Aria tucked himself close to Noble on the couch, drunk and smiling. He placed his head on Noble’s shoulder, absorbing the warmth of him. He wrapped his hands around Noble’s bicep, squeezed, and hugged it close. His voice was half-muffled by Noble's shirt as he said, “We’re gonna get you a wife. We’re such a good team. We can do anything together.” He sighed, eyes falling shut as Noble’s body chased away the autumn chill outside. “You and me.”

Noble reached over with his unencumbered hand and stroked Aria’s cheek. And then his hair. “Yeah, Aria. You and me.” Noble’s hand combed through the tangled strands, loosening knots. Aria sank into Noble’s touch, growing more and more relaxed against his heat⁠—

And Aria had truly been drunk, because he woke hours later, in the morning, on the couch, beneath a heavy blanket, with a note from Noble that simply said out for the day. - N