Page 81 of Noble Charms

The party was especially pointless while he had other, more important matters on his mind. Noble barely registered his annoyance at meeting Duchess Eve Whitehead, his mother’s chosen pick for his next wife. She was but a single leaf in the windstorm that was Aria within Noble’s heart. She put up a concerted effort to win his favor, laughing uproariously as he said almost nothing, and placing her hand upon his arm to keep his attention. But if asked, at swordpoint, to name the color of her dress, he would have no reply.

Instead, he wondered: what would he say to Aria? What exactly? Maybe if he found the exact correct combination of words, Aria would see him, and understand, and allow Noble to love him the way he wished.

And then Noble thought his mind had been lost, and he’d gone truly mad, because he saw Viscount Hampenstead across the room. He was seeing delusions now? He should probably retire for the night. He blinked a few times in shock, trying to clear the visage.

But then Hampenstead spoke to some people who returned his conversation, and Noble realized, no: he was here. Truly here.

Where was Aria?

Noble didn’t even bother saying goodbye to Eve as he pushed through the crowd to Hampenstead. He interrupted him mid-sentence as he said, “Hello. Is Aria with you?”

Hampenstead was startled enough to spill some champagne from the flute he carried. His green skin flushed some as he said, “No. I came alone. He needed to work on this night.”

Right—of course. Winterend would be a big night for bards. “I see.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Lord Yves,” said Hampenstead. The men he had been speaking with began to slink off, confused, but not willing to question one of the royal family hosting the event. “Are you well?”

Noble didn’t know how to answer. The correct reply—I’m quite fine, how are you?—slipped through him, lost in that Aria-focused storm. “I…"

Hampenstead hissed sympathetically and said, “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

Noble didn’t register the words and asked, out of instinct more than anything else, “Who?”

“Aria, of course. You look as if you’ve not slept a wink in your time apart. Did he say something terribly foul to you?” Hampenstead gestured towards a set of double doors that led to a balcony. A private space to talk. Noble followed him out.

“No. He did nothing wrong,” said Noble, once they were alone. “It’s not him. It’s me.”

Hampenstead drank his champagne, staring across the elaborate, snow-dusted grounds kept by King Agolde. A maze of thorns sparkled beneath the moonlight, leading the eye to a fountain long frozen over. “I know he made you feel that way, but you needn’t believe it, my lord.”

“What do you mean?”

Hampenstead turned his brown eyes back to Noble and he smiled sympathetically. “His feelings on working as an adame, for us titled men. He’s so hesitant over the craft. I’m sure he made you feel like a monster for not sharing in his sore feelings.”

Noble squinted at Hampenstead. They stood nearly eye to eye, with Noble perhaps an inch taller. He barely felt the cold wind that cut across the balcony—Hampenstead’s words were more like ice than the weather outside. “You…think he’s suited to be an adame.” He paused. “Your adame?”

“Well, if he’ll have me. I mean—I certainly don’t mean to step on your toes. If you’d prefer to employ him, you may try. He’s so reluctant over this, though.” Hampenstead said, infuriatingly sincere, “I set him straight. Or, well, I tried. I explained his role among our ilk. He’s no title, after all.”

Noble could recognize the anger deep in his gut, but it was muffled by a sense of awe. He’d the wrong impression of Hampenstead. He didn’t care for Aria the way Aria deserved. “You said this to him?”

Hampenstead chuckled, “I did. I gave him a contract. It expires tonight—I’m hoping he’ll sign before midnight. My aunt had an adame when I was growing up. It’s such an admirable role. One he’s worthy to take.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Viscount Hampenstead,” said Noble. His heart thundered between his ears, an anger building that he recognized from the time Virginia and Kip invaded his home. “Aria didn’t tell you no?”

“He’s considering the option.” Hampenstead peered at Noble, recognizing Noble’s tension for the first time. “Are you alright? My apologies. This is rather an uncomfortable conversation, isn’t it? Have I misunderstood? I’ll step back if you want to hire him yourself.”

“I don’t want him as an adame,” Noble choked out, trying to control the rage that pushed through him, building like a fire upon kindling.

“I imagine not. Not after he used you like he did for sex.”

“He did not use me,” said Noble, voice taking on the edge that he felt. He snatched Hampenstead by the lapels, suddenly and with enough force for him to lose his grasp on the champagne flute. It tumbled off the edge of the balcony and shattered on the gravel one story below. “You told him he was only good enough to be an adame?”

Hampenstead’s skin grew pale. “Unhand me.”

“Noble?” A voice came from the balcony doors. His mother. Noble turned to see her peering out, her black eyes narrowed, her blonde hair coiffed high atop her head. “For Elys’ sake, release the viscount.”

Noble did so, shoving himself away from Hampenstead by an entire meter. The windstorm within his heart picked up speed, roaring now. “I have to get back to New Hieroph.”

“I beg your pardon?” He stormed past his mother. She gasped at his lack of grace, and followed his stride across the ballroom floor. “Noble. Noble Yves, what are you doing?”