Page 3 of Noble Charms

“Not little,” Noble mumbled, sniffing as his tears dried.

“I’m a princess technically. But Our King, in all his infinite wisdom, stripped me of my title long ago.”

“Why?”

Prittey met eyes with the priest, who stood stiff as a board nearby, squeezing books to his chest. Prittey exhaled a sad sigh and said, “I’m different from my siblings. Your dad did everything right—found your mom, and fell in love, and got married. I didn’t do that.”

Noble asked, “Why?”

Prittey laughed. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ll leave you—” the priest began to say, but Prittey waved at him.

“No, no, it’s quite fine. Please, carry on.” She swept a hand out, inviting him farther inside the library. He bowed again before continuing forward.

Noble watched the priest carefully, thoughtfully. He hadn’t seen an elf this closely outside of the adame that lived in his mother’s court. His skin was as pale as moonlight, and his face was delicate like a doll’s. And he was a priest of Rosint. The question came to him unbidden. “Does Rosint talk to you?” asked Noble.

“Yves St. Clair, you shouldn’t ask such bold questions of strangers,” said Prittey before she whispered, “So sorry,” in the priest’s direction.

The priest smiled kindly and pivoted from his course to approach Noble instead. “I don’t mind, Pri…ttey.” He placed the stack of books beside Noble on the ottoman and said, “I’ve not heard from Rosint in quite some time.”

“Seven years?”

Rosint’s priest nodded. “You must be good at history, huh?”

It was his favorite subject. But he had more pressing matters to speak of. Noble’s eyes watered again. “I want to talk to my grandfather. Isn’t Rosint the only one that can help me?”

“Fret not, little one. Just because you do not receive a reply does not mean your messages are not sent. You may speak to King Agolde whenever you wish. Rosint is a dutiful caretaker to the dead. He will pass on your thoughts.”

A knot loosened from behind Noble’s ribs. “What about Sumas?” He turned his gaze to Prittey. “What about our god?” Sumas, the Sun God. He was Noble’s nine-times great-grandfather—and blessed Noble’s family. Even at his young age, Noble carried some of Sumas’s gifts. He was always warm. Like Prittey, he was god-strong.

The elf priest answered instead. “Sumas is as dutiful as Rosint. You know, I’ve great respect for the Sun God. He and the Elven God of Love were some of the most powerful collaborators in all the pantheon.”

“Elys,” said Noble. “He’s the God of Love.”

“That’s right. I’ve no doubt he can hear us now, whenever we call out to him. Same with Sumas. Rosint. Even the orc gods.”

Noble’s heart pulsed with hope. “They aren’t dead, then.”

“No. The gods cannot die. It’s what makes them gods,” said the priest, his tone matter-of-fact.

Noble again had a great many thoughts, but the first to escape came with a sniffle of relief. “Maybe Sumas and Elys are together wherever they are.”

“They may be. They were deep friends. It’s through their kinship that my people and your people have ended our wars, and collaborate in peaceful times like these.”

“Do you think they were in love?”

Prittey giggled, the warm brown color of her cheeks turning deep red. The priest fell silent and blinked like an owl. He answered, tone mild, “I am certain they carried some love for one another. What manner of love, I could not say.”

Prittey placed a hand on the top of Noble’s head, ruffling his curls, and said, “Sorry. His father mentioned earlier today—he’s learning about courtship and marriage in his etiquette class right now. He’s simply full of questions.”

“As the youth tend to be,” said the priest, lowering his head. “I’m going to go shelve these books now. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Thank you,” said Prittey. And then she nudged Noble’s knee with her own.

Noble chirped out, “Thank you!"

The priest bowed before walking away, deeper into the many towers that filled the room. It seemed as deep as a forest, and was twice as brown. Wood floors, wood shelves. Even most of the books were wrapped in tan leather coverings.