Page 12 of Noble Charms

“We run hotter. All my garments have been treated with magic from seamstresses in Sallansa to keep me cool. They breathe more easily.”

“Are you resistant to cold? Or does it hurt worse to be in a colder climate?” Aria turned over Noble’s hand within his to look over the smooth knuckles and fine lines.

“I barely feel the cold when it comes. I also can’t be burned. I heal faster than the average man. And I’m strong.”

“What do you mean? Stronger than an orc?”

“Stronger than most orcs, yes. I can lift heavy things with little difficulty. I could carry nearly any woman over my head, and I have.” He smirked and pulled his hand away. “And, my final blessing—I’ve got the stamina to match.” Aria wrinkled his nose before he thought better of it. Fortunately, Noble laughed. “Well, you asked.”

Aria couldn’t be surprised. “Of course you lead the conversation to this point. Everything is sex with you.”

Noble gasped, a caricature of offense. “That’s not true.”

“It is too. It’s your most favorite thing.” Or, more accurately, Noble loved prying into the sexual habits of other people.

Noble frowned. “No. It’s not.” Aria pinched his lips together tightly, folding his hands upon his lap, because he meant it—Noble was obsessed with sex—but saying as much had been rude on his part. Noble sniffed, turning up his nose, and added, “I also really like wine.”

NOBLE

It took three days and three different inns, but Noble found a kinsme that would satisfy his foolproof plan to get Aria laid. This man, an elf, sat in the central chamber—dining room, bar, and check-in desk all in one space—sipping hot tea with one knee crossed over the other. He wore his black hair in long twisted rows. Unmarried adult elves never cut their hair. Noble wasn’t sure why, and would have asked Aria at some point during their trip, but every conversation devolved, and he’d stopped his inquiries out of self-preservation.

Even the simplest remarks made one or both of them furious. Noble had never been quite so ineffectual as he had on this journey. He was charming to a fault. Everyone loved him. Sure, he could be a cad, a troublemaker, but in a fun, refreshing way.

Not to Aria. At this point in their journey, Aria’s feelings had gone from cool indifference to outright disdain. He refused to look up when Noble spoke to him inside the carriage, shoulders tightening like he braced for a physical blow. Noble needed this stranger to be kinsme. He could bugger poor Aria, and Aria would relax, and finally they would get along as friends.

In a way, it was charity work. Noble’s mother would be proud.

Well, no, she would not be. She would be horrified that Noble traveled with a titleless elf who favored the same sex. Noble was going to do it nevertheless.

He approached the elf reading a newsprint, little round glasses perched at the end of his small, straight nose. Noble said, “May I?” And gestured to the empty chair at the other side of the table.

The man looked up from his reading, eyes crystal blue, skin dark brown. His attire was simple—black linen, well-made and well-worn. Seeing as the inn was days out from Argosin and New Hieroph City, and judging by the man’s muscular build, he was probably some kind of tradesman. Or a mercenary. Or both. Not that his occupation mattered. His preoccupations were far more relevant.

Noble donned his most glowing grin and sat at the elf’s civil nod. “My thanks, friend. I’m Yves. Passing through this inn for one night.”

“Well met,” said the elf. “I am Rebel. I live in town.”

“Oh, I see. Dining here, then?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a good sign for the meals they make. That locals partake even with other options.”

“There are no other options,” said Rebel, flatly. “The baker closes midday, and none other offer dining to the village folk.”

Noble paused, recentered in his seat, and grinned again. “What if I can offer you a different sort of option for your night?”

Rebel raised one thin, pointed eyebrow.

“I travel with a companion,” a strong word, but the easiest one to use here. “And he seeks a different sort of companionship for the night.”

Rebel continued to stare, blankly, with his one brow raised.

Noble gestured with one hand upon the tabletop between them. “He’s kinsme, of course, and I’m not. Not that, even if I were, we would engage in such a way. Not his type, I don’t think.” That was an understatement. Aria would likely sooner make love to a well-worn shoe.

“This is a lot of information,” said Rebel. “Private information.”

“I’m an open book.”