Page 67 of Noble Charms

Her name was Eve?

Yves was said the exact same way. Yves and Eve? Did his mother have no sense of aesthetics at all? The mere fact she suggested such a thing made Noble's hackles rise like that of a big, angry cat. He wouldn't dare wed an Eve.

Even if marrying her would result in him gaining the title of Duke. Duke Yves St. Clair. He had to admit it sounded lovely—but there was no escaping that his wife would be Duchess Eve.

Elysium above, Noble had never been as alone as in this moment. His mother didn't know him. His wife had left him. His best friend had found a wife. And his best friend—the man he loved—was at dinner with another lord, and he may even make love to him later tonight.

Noble was utterly alone. He let the letter fall to the floor as he rotted away in his bed, staring at the skylight in the ceiling above. There were no stars, only clouds, and they refused to release any more snow before Winterend.

From across the house, he heard the front door open and close. And then the pat-pat-pat of Aria's steps upon the stairs. Noble listened for the typical journey he took: into his rooms, into the bathroom to change after his night with—ugh, Hampenstead. But such a journey did not happen. No, on the second floor, the steps stopped. For a minute, there was silence, and then that pat-pat-pat continued up. To Noble's floor.

Noble sat up against his pillows, watching the door. Aria's knock was melodic, because of course it was. Noble tried not to make old man sounds as he climbed out of bed and across the room. He stood by the door and said, speaking through the brown paneled wood, “Yes?”

A silence stretched long enough that Noble nearly returned to bed, but then Aria's voice replied, broken and small, “Noble?”

He swung open the door as the fear-fury-concern tightened inside his gut.

Aria stood there, and he wasn't currently crying, but his face was damp with tears, and his eyes were pink, and those perfect small hands trembled at his sides like he couldn't control them, or himself, very well.

Noble cupped Aria’s face. “What's happened?”

His big blue eyes shone, glittering with new unshed tears. “Did you know?”

“Know?”

“Is that why you said what you said about me avoiding my feelings?”

Noble leaned in, breathless. “What did I say? When?”

“The other night, at my bistro set. Did you know then about him, and that's why you asked if I was lying to myself?”

Noble hadn't a clue what Aria meant by any of this, but he did know he couldn't stand to see him in tears. He slowly lowered himself to kneeling, and placed both hands upon Aria's face. “I swear, sweetheart, I've no clue what you mean. I said those things because I had a terrible night, and I took it out on you, and I'm sorry.”

Aria took a minute to breathe, to settle himself. “Okay. But the thing is, you were right. I was pretending to be okay. I went with Hampenstead because I was—because I was—” He sniffed. “I was so lonely.”

Noble furrowed his brow, thinking. What had he said that night? He'd been hurt—he'd held a mirror to deflect everything he thought of himself onto Aria.

“I pretend that I'm fine when I'm not. And everyone who surrounds me has to manage my feelings, since I won't do it on my own. I'm a burden. And that's why Ellor didn't love me.”

Noble could have killed himself and Ellor both. “I didn't mean that. Truly, I didn't. You keep a strong face during times of adversity. It's admirable, not burdensome.”

“Ellor didn't feel that way.”

“Ellor is a whore without class or taste.”

Aria hiccuped a surprised laugh. And then sniffled. And a tear broke free of his lashes, streaking down his face. “You really didn't know he was getting married?”

Noble blinked. “He's getting married?” And then he remembered his conversation with Virginia in perfect, contextual clarity: Virginia heard all that she had about Ellor's last relationship from her dear friend Lady Quint. “He's getting married to Quint.” Then Noble said, “Tell me what happened.”

Aria looked off. His voice, hoarse from tears, moved quickly and quietly, like he couldn't stand to live within the memory for long. “He was at the restaurant tonight. Hampenstead said to me, there's a fellow behind you, that keeps looking over here. Do you know him? And when I looked—it was El. And he was with this blonde woman. Lady Quint. When he saw me see him, he came over. It seemed fine, at first. Casual. But then, in full view of the room. Loud enough for all to hear. He asked if Lord Yves had been treating me well as an adame. I said yes.” Another tear slid down Aria's face. “He said that was good—and told me half the nobles don't even know my name. I'm simply Noble’s adame. I tried to laugh it off, but then he—” Aria reached up to wipe at his face. “I'm embarrassed.”

Noble held onto Aria's shoulders, tapping into fortitude he didn't know he had, because all he wanted to do was kiss him again. Kiss him better.

Aria continued, “He waved over Lady Quint, and said, this is my future wife, and we're marrying next week, and we would be honored if you'd allow us to hire you as our new family’s adame. He said he would double whatever salary you pay.”

Noble was struck silent, eyes wide.

And Aria, finally, met Noble's gaze again. “I told him I hoped to be a bard again soon. Not only an adame.” He hesitated before he said, “But then someone laughed. Someone—someone started laughing, and a few others did, too, and even Hampenstead…” He cried, in earnest this time, and Noble grabbed him into a hug. Aria collapsed into Noble's lap, and sobbed beneath the threshold of the bedroom.