Darren’s eyebrows slanted down, his expression clouding despite his efforts to maintain his mask. “The whole truth. I owe you at least that much,” he said firmly, the words no doubt practiced along with their almost perfect delivery. But his breathing betrayed him and Aiden didn’t miss it. “And besides, I’m sure Sara would ask after her only knight if he didn’t show up,” he added, the punchline strategically picked for its effectiveness.
Aiden couldn’t help a smile as he remembered the impromptu knighting ceremony he’d taken part in, realizing that perhaps that too was indeed part of it. Three reasons then, for him to go, and really, no way to say no anymore.
Watching Aiden with something that almost looked like reverence, Darren smiled too, a shy upturn of his mouth that didn’t seem to have been planned. It was subtle and yet too much, too raw, obliterating that fickle inner equilibrium between hate, anger and yearning that Aiden struggled to maintain.
“I thought she had Sir Barnaby Albus…the First?” Aiden countered in a shaky voice as the side of him which mourned the raven-haired Valrais princess overpowered the part which wanted to hurt and inflict pain. “Assuming Sir Barnaby Albus II was your codename because one more Barnabydoesexist.”
He did want to see Sara, and Sara was not Darren. She became Aiden’s reason, a justification for him to play along and play nice. This was for her and for Aiden himself, not for Darren… or so he chose to believe so he wouldn’t spiral downinto those deep and dark places where guilt and self-hatred lived.
Aiden pushed off the wall and broke off their staring, settling a pace behind Darren as they headed toward the living quarters.
“Sir Barnaby Albus… I guess you never got to figure out who that is,” Darren ventured, amusement lacing his words.
It was real amusement with a tinge of longing, and it forced its way past Aiden’s walls and touched him too. He watched Darren open his bedroom door and only entered when he was waved in.
“I do know who heisn’t,” Aiden challenged despite the tug of disapproval in his gut as he followed Darren over to the desk. But, well, he’d decided to do this already, so he might as well solve that mystery.
Darren picked up a framed photo from the shelf. “Sir Barnaby,” he said as he took the photo out and flipped it to its back, handing it to Aiden.
In scrawny letters ‘Sir Barnaby Albus’was written there along with a date from twenty-two years ago. When Aiden flipped the picture back to its front, he recognized it, smiling as the goofy mug of the golden retriever that must have been Sara and Darren’s childhood pet grinned up at him.
