Page 13 of Noble Charms

“I see.”

Noble swept his hands open and said, “What do you think?”

“You believe me to be kinsme.”

This was the brilliant part of his plan. Noble could pretend, if Rebel was not, that he misunderstood elven culture as a whole, and not that he had judged the man specifically wrong. He tilted his head, feigning stupidity. “Are you not an elf?”

Rebel scanned him for a silent, tense moment and said, “I am an elf, and I am kinsme. But not all elves are.”

“Oh,” said Noble. Then he snapped his fingers, as if he had a revelation, and added, “Oh. I misunderstood. Wow, that could have been embarrassing.”

“Could have been,” said Rebel.

Noble nodded in encouragement. “When he comes down from his room, will you speak with him? He’s terribly lonely, in truth.”

“Another thing you have misunderstood. Not all kinsme will be attracted to one another.” Noble’s surprise, this time, was not faked. His brain went silent for too long in his embarrassment. Because of course not all elves would be attracted to all elves. Even Aria had said the only man he’d ever dated was a damn orc. Shit. Rebel took pity on him and said, “You may tell me of him, and I will consider.”

This part, he could do. He’d spent half a week in Aria’s presence, knees near to touching for most of the day, and he’d needled a good amount of information from him in that time. Noble said, “It would be impossible for you to not find him attractive. He’s an Elys elf—” unlike Rebel, a Lunar elf—“And has got the pale skin you may expect. A shade above the color of snow, and his eyes are like a midday sky. His hair is long and white-blond and satin-soft. I swear I’ve seen silkworms eye him with envy from the road.”

Rebel made an agreeable noise. “And his disposition?”

Terrible. He was ready to argue at all times. He might actually crack a rib one day from how he held himself firm. Noble said, instead, “Remarkably polite. And you may think because of his pretty face that he’s never needed much intellect, but he has that in spades. I think sometimes his wit will earn him the success he seeks, even without magic.”

“His magic is…?”

“Oh, yes. He’s a bard. A fine one, too.” Noble had no way of knowing, but⁠—

“I see.” Rebel seemed to consider all of this carefully, a hand upon his pointed, beardless chin. “You have described him well.” Noble gave a small, performative bow from the shoulders up. “Seems odd, to me. You don’t want him? Not at all? Even after all you have said?”

Noble beamed, proud of himself for selling his wares with such grace. “As I said, I’m not kinsme. My desires rest with the fairer sex.”

“He is not fair enough for you, this bard.”

He scoffed. “No. Absolutely certain of this.”

“Very well. I will meet with him. You believe he will find me a match?”

“I do. He needs this companionship desperately. He broke off with his lover of many years—a lover that often left him wanting. I’m not sure he’s ever been truly satisfied.”

“I can endeavor to fix this,” said Rebel, brows furrowed in serious consideration. “What an odd turn this day has had.”

Noble cheered for himself, silently, and stood again. Aria was going to owe him after this. “I’ll introduce you two when he comes down.” He started his leave to go change for dinner.

Rebel held up a hand to stop him and said, “Ah, wait. One more thing.”

“Yes, my dear fellow.”

“You did not give me his name.”

“Ah, Aria. Aria Charms.”

“I look forward to meeting him tonight.”

Noble said, “That makes the both of us.” And he meant it: this would solve all his problems.

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A BARDIC GIFT