Doves and Peacocks
View From the Other Side
Aleigh Luzerno, Arcane Prince of Astra, was presently enjoying what few royals ever did: a perfectly ordinary afternoon.
He was, of course, doing so at the insistence of Ruthenia, who had sought his company at her favourite milkshake stand this afternoon, and although he found the commoners’ habit of taking short meals in between errands somewhat baffling, he could not possibly have resisted her invitation even if he’d had a reason to.
To be perfectly honest he didn’t know when Ruthenia, once no more than a despicable pest to him, had crossed the line—these several lines—to become someone whose company he hated the very thought of losing.
All he did know was how he felt, watching her fish an argent out of her pouch in the heady afternoon light. A dizzying mixture of elation and shame.
She'd never look his way; he knew she wouldn’t. He knew he didn’t deserve the attention he wanted. And that was just too bad, for he had never wanted something so much before.
Aleigh remembered the day he had first spoken to Ruthenia in person. He remembered how she had said, with the earnestness no one else in Astra ever did spare him, that she didn’t care who he was.
He had been paralysed for a while, bereft of his response. Who was she, to reject everything Astran society stood for?
A reflexive wave of disgust had overcome him. But he had later found, to his bewilderment, that he had enjoyed hearing her say it and that—more disturbingly—he had wanted to hear her say it again.
Ruthenia, as he gradually learned, held a molten desire to disrupt systems at the core of her being. Every time they had met thereafter, she had spoken with the same wild abandon—whether to confirm the details of that first perfunctory transaction, or for her to scold him. As if she saw no hierarchical difference between them—as if it were irrelevant to her.
Just like that, she had flung him right out of his comfortable ideological niche, and as many deflective things as he had said in response, insolent, deplorable Ruthenia Cendina had wedged herself in his thoughts.
Several things had transpired since. He had learned that she was the daughter of a genuine martyr—and that she hated him, and hated them, because it was the only response she knew how to have, to the trauma of watching them tear her life from under her feet.
Ruthenia had opened him to the radical notion that she—and everyone else—was as complicated and as confused as he was, and he’d ceased to detest her behaviour—even to feel ashamed for having believed her beyond reason.
Then, as the story goes, surprise became curiosity and curiosity led him to interest and greater efforts to know more about her, culminating in a well-disguised invitation to Anio and Cathia’s wedding, and then that interest had grown to...
What was this, really?
Aleigh had been attached to someone before, a young lady named Orpa, for all of one year. He had entered the attachment at the behest of his brother, acceding partly because he’d foreseen no ill coming of having a partner.
To no one’s surprise but his, it had been a cold affair—growing colder still when her desires had turned to demands and it had become apparent that the attachment was how she obliged him to spoil her.
Breaking it off had been difficult. Aligon had made very certain to remind Aleigh at every turn that his love, like everything else they owned, was but a boon to be bestowed only upon those whose elevation would benefit the family. Orpa had, of course, been the perfect subject of such an advancement: the union would have served not only to absorb the first heir of their foremost rivals into the Luzerno family, but also to bolster the family’s reputation through association with the Mirenes.
Naturally, Aligon had resisted every mention of a detachment until, in secret, he had slipped out of the palace and delivered the message to Orpa by himself. His brother had refused to acknowledge his existence for an entire week thereafter.
That, in hindsight, must have been the moment his relationship with his brother had begun to degenerate, and the sting of the memory had been enough to keep him unquestioningly obedient for the two years since.
Well, that story was long past and irrelevant, for here he was, now—standing beside the girl who had recently made herself Aligon’s worst enemy.
She laid the argent on the countertop, and laughed again, wiping a tear from her eye. “Ihir, just look at me.”
As he stared on, Aleigh thought upon those many lessons he’d learned throughout his life so far. About never giving away for free anything that could fetch a price. The lessons taught by the same people who’d courted his title, his reputation, and his monetary worth, without a care for who he might be.
No one had ever said Aleigh Luzerno was good enough without his title. No one had treated him as any better than an exquisite wall portrait.
The storekeeper placed the glass of honey milkshake on the counter with a bright clink. Thanking her, Ruthenia pushed the one-argent milkshake across the wood towards him, beaming brighter than the sunset beyond her.
All the gods above and below knew—and now he knew it, too—that love was not given and taken at will. It arrived unbidden, outside of one’s control. He supposed he would have to live with repeated reminders of this fact for as long as Ruthenia Fulminare Cendina was in his life.
Outside the courthouse
Anio and Cathia watched Ruthenia freeze between them, her eyes going wide. They were briefly puzzled until, following the line of her gaze, they discovered the subject of her staring to be their cousin Aleigh. There was, at once, no doubt between them about her opinion of him.
Ruthenia was not the first whose fancy he had caught, of course, and there ought to be no shame in it: several men and women had come to adore him throughout the time he’d spent in the public eye.
Of course, most of them had done so from a great distance, and it was beginning to appear to them that she might be the first to have even a trace of a chance at being reciprocated.
They couldn’t say they had expected this girl, ex-criminal and recently-made hero and saint of Astra, to become in any way interested in him. Ruthenia seemed pragmatic enough, and did not look the sort to entertaining simple fancies. And it would seem, also, that she did not particularly like the Arcane class--or so they understood from the combination of what they’d seen of her, and what they knew from the palace rumours. She and Aleigh had been cordial with each other, but not intimate, when they had attended their wedding in Spring.
Yet there could be no other meaning to Ruthenia’s wide-eyed look, as she gazed off through the golden sunlight at the Luzerno brothers, than either terror or hopeless adoration.
It wasn't the first they'd heard of it. Aleigh had seemed very distracted lately, ignoring his novels and writing in his journal with increased fervency. He had even consulted the couple on one occasion, asking after the process of their attachment. Although his behaviour had puzzled them previously, it appeared to them now that the cause of his changed attitude must be she.
The two exchanged smug smiles, and then Cathia gave her a nudge. "Does His Highness not look terribly discomfited?” she said. “The poor boy. Ruthenia, you must go remedy his mood at once."
Ruthenia glanced back at them, and gave no more than an eager nod before making off, all too hurriedly, in his direction.
Anio and Cathia glanced once again at each other and chuckled. They watched with increasing pleasure as Aligon excused himself, leaving the two alone. When the two talked, they could look at nothing and no one else.
“How do you rate their chances?” said Cathia.
“I think they could be very happy,” replied Anio, “so long as one of them finds it in themself to speak up before it is too late.”
The walk to the ferry station
It had barely been an hour since the proper declarations had been made, and the attachment officiated, in the garden. Ruthenia moved about as if buoyed upon a cloud, and only a steady flow of conversation from her new partner—the intermittent “that looks interesting” and “the drinks are gone?” and “this crowd unsettles me”—kept her on the ground.
He seemed more liberal with conversation—markedly with her, but also slightly noticeably with others—ever since they had returned from the garden. Once or twice they took seats in a couch, and there would be furtive looks in their direction, although beyond feeling more relaxed side by side they barely gave any sign that anything had changed.
Naturally, they opted to depart from Hollia’s cottage together, and Ruthenia quickly learned as they exited the doorway—after their friend’s well-wishes—that a carriage awaited Aleigh at the ferry station.
They took the quiet walk in the darkness with slow, measured steps, admiring the glinting stars and the singing of the cicadas. Then Ruthenia stopped.
“What is it?” asked her companion.
She let the silence rest for a while. “I’m just stalling,” she answered with a smile. “I don’t want the walk to end.”
He laughed again. She could really get used to the sound. “Ruthenia, I would gladly wait as long as you liked,” he replied.
In the dark she reached out, and found his hand, wriggling her own fingers between his. “Well, you have a carriage to board,” she said. “It has to be my fault you’re late, or they’ll get upset with you.”
Aleigh sighed. “Well, you are not wrong,” he said. “But I think some extra minutes with you are well worth enduring my brother’s annoyance for.” She felt him lift his left hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you about the one type of Weaving I’m best at.”
The questioning “oh?” was barely out of her when a brilliant golden light flashed to life in his palm, illuminating both their faces. She stared up at him, the light glittering in his eyes, and then at the coil of Thread in his left hand. “Ooh...I didn’t know you knew how to do that. It’s amazing.”
She reached out to touch it, but Aleigh’s hand darted away. “Oh, no, if you disrupt the Thread conformation it may stop glowing,” he warned.
Ruthenia laughed. “I’m so bad at Weaving the Threads probably wouldn’t even react,” she said. Then she looked at him again when he did not respond, and found him gazing distantly at her, his smile absent in the light of his Thread construct. “Aleigh! Is my existence so dumbfounding?”
Aleigh continued to watch her for a while. “Dumbfoundingly captivating.” Her face went aflame. And then, as if it weren’t enough, he added, with darting eyes, “May I…”
She recognised the look in his eyes and blushed hotter. “Please do.”
She lifted her head in anticipation. He reached out to cup her face in his hands, extinguishing the light at the same moment. There was nothing in the darkness but the feeling of their mouths searching each other’s and the heat it ignited in their bodies.
Eventually, they did proceed with the trip, five minutes later, drunk on each other’s presences. “I'm sorry,” said Aleigh as they walked down the gravel road, “but I must ask that we keep this as tight a secret as possible—at least until I am ready, and until you are.”
She understood. There’d be prying eyes everywhere. She nodded.
They noticed the carriage by the ferry platform before they began the climb to the top, and while they promised not to be seen engaging in any form of intimacy, she gave him a good, tight hug at the foot of the staircase, mumbling her thanks into his shoulder. She let him reach the platform first, and waved him an innocent goodbye while the carriage driver opened the door for him. He seemed to think little of her presence, but she did not go unnoticed either.
When Aleigh had departed, Ruthenia sat down and basked in the afterglow.
A work day
“Ruthenia?”
Ruthenia looked up with a tiny start at the sound of her name, immaculately pronounced, intoned inquisitively.
She was still not entirely accustomed to hearing Aleigh’s voice inside her shed, and found she had to remind herself repeatedly that, yes, he could be here, and was here.
“Yeah?” She smiled, turning to find him beside her desk, one hand on the windowsill, face framed in sunlight.
He turned. “Are you putting it back together now?”
“Ihir, I could barely tell you’re nearly an adult with how impatient you are!” she replied with a laugh. “You see all these cogs here? Those have to go back inside the clock before I screw the panelling back on.”
“Could I help you?”
Ruthenia turned. “Well, you could hand me tools and parts,” she answered with a grin. “Although I don’t think Your Highness would find such a task suited to your station.”
He had already settled at the far end of her work bench by then, and was waiting expectantly for instructions. With another laugh, this time from being reminded just how dear he could be, she turned and asked for the smallest screwdriver.
Aleigh visited whenever he had an entire morning to squander--which was typically thrice a month, and without pattern. A clock was on the bench today, and although she was trying to make it sound like she had much more to do, she knew she would be done in less than fifteen minutes.
“I will never tire of how fascinating your work is,” he said from the edge of the bench.
“I’ll never tire of you telling me that,” she replied.
In time, Ruthenia rotated the clock face back into position and slotted the hands back on. Then she gave the pendulum a swing, and folded her arms with a satisfied smile as the hands began to tick.
She tugged off the gloves and flung them in her toolbox, then unrolled her sleeves, turning midway to find Aleigh watching her with an eager smile that quickly vanished as soon as her gaze met his.
“No need to pretend you don’t like seeing me,” she said, dropping into the seat beside him, and only barely remembering that she was still covered in sweat and wood shavings.
“Well, I do,” he said, and in answer, Ruthenia drew up to him till there was no space between them, leaning her head against his shoulder as he nestled his own against hers.
“I want this to be how it is forever,” she said, capturing him in a tight embrace. “I can’t believe this is what I missed as a child. You know...meaning something to someone. Being important to someone.”
“I know,” Aleigh replied in a sigh, running his fingers down her nape, which made her draw a sharp breath of enjoyment. “I like how it feels. To be loved. I never thought I could enjoy anything this much.”
“Isn’t it sad? That neither of us had anything like this before we found each other.” She buried her face against his chest and felt it rise and fall. “Damn it, I blame you in full for turning me so mushy in the head, but I love you more than I ever thought possible.”
She lifted her head and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and felt his fingers tense upon her shoulders in response; his paleness made his blushing obvious. He bowed and answered by pecking her lips, and then she at his, with a laugh of enjoyment as the playful back-and-forth became a deep and furious kiss that surprised them both, Ruthenia rising on one knee on the bench so she held the superior position.
She leaned away and he clung to both her arms, smiling brightly. She grinned back and leaned towards him until their foreheads bumped and they were staring into each other’s eyes. “Let’s go before Tanio finds us,” she said.
An Appointment
Aleigh halted as he came face-to-face with Aligon at the foot of the stairs. His brother laid a hand on his shoulder the very instant he halted, preventing any attempt at a quick exit.
“It’s good to see you, Aleigh,” he began, immediately ensnaring him in a conversation, forcing his attention to return. “I would like to discuss with you the matter of official reconciliation now.”
He resisted the urge to frown. “I have a minute. What about reconciliation do you wish to discuss with me?”
“By now you must know that you have been wildly successful in garnering a reaction—to the Luzerno family’s rule, specifically. I must now attempt to reconcile my path with the one you have suddenly decided to forge, because blood will not let us separate our goals and desires. Not unless you intend to overrule my very eloquent defences of your actions and admit to committing high treason…”
“I do not appreciate the picture you paint of me,” he replied. “But I shall comply because I, too, desire the longevity of your rule. I would prefer that it be attained without moral compromise, though.”
“Moral compromise cannot be avoided,” answered his brother, and Aleigh did not further that debate: that, he would reserve for the council room. “Nevertheless, I do have a task for you, related to your recent...misconduct. It may promise a solution that involves neither of us looking like an idiot. I would like to appoint you an ambassador to the clergy and charge you with the delivery of a message.”
“What shall I communicate to the clergy?”
“A specific member of the clergy, actually. Please inform the new Blessed Lady that the Arcane Royal Family is pleased with her appointment, and would like to offer her our love and friendship. Have her announce it publicly, if you’re able.”
Aleigh let himself frown this time. Public relations were all about aligning oneself with whomever had the favour of the most people—even if it meant lying about friendships—and he supposed the dishonesty would not be nearly as flagrant in this case since she was his friend, technically speaking…
“I shall do so at the next appropriate opportunity,” he replied.
“I am sure those will come in plenty,” said Aligon, with a grin that Aleigh would almost believe was sincere. “She is very partial towards you.”
“I’m sorry, you might be mistaken. I do not know if she even is capable of partiality.”
His brother quirked an eyebrow. “On the day of her trial, she expressed unto me an unequivocal interest in your well-being,” he replied.
“She did?”
“If you find it any comfort to know, I think that she is, indeed, capable of partiality, although I wasn’t sure of it until she spoke of you.” He smiled. “Please, court her—I mean her goodwill, of course—for our sake.”
After Class
Hollia was polite enough to keep the news under wraps thereafter, but in the meantime the two could not decide when to own up to it to the public, so the day of the reveal was postponed to later and later weeks until it seemed they were intent on letting them figure it out themselves.
In time, their classmate Vesta began to notice that they were always among the last to depart from the classroom. Now to Vesta--being the terribly percipient person she was--there was, and had always been, only one possible explanation, but now that she was this close to confirming her suspicions, she decided she ought to make the efforts to do so.
Every day for almost two weeks, she hung back after the last class to increasingly later times, and found the two were always there longer than most anyone else, pretending not to notice each other. Two weeks into her routine, the moment finally came when she found herself alone with the both of them. She slipped onto her knees behind the desk and watched over its edge.
Ruthenia had been asleep at her desk, but when the guard came by to unmake the Thread lights for the evening, she woke and sprang out of her seat, glancing about till she noticed Aleigh.
With a smile she waved at their blond classmate from across the classroom. He turned to look in Vesta’s general direction, and she almost squeaked, but she simply dipped under the table.
While Ruthenia slung her bag on her shoulder and began stuffing her books inside, Aleigh crossed the classroom. He laid a hand upon Ruthenia’s desk, bowing towards her with a smile unlike any he’d ever smiled before.
Ruthenia exclaimed when she looked up to find him a few inches away, dropping the book she held. She could do nothing but beam stupidly at him for a while, until he whispered something, and they sank together for a long kiss.
“Oooooooh, I knew it,” Vesta couldn’t help cooing from the back of the classroom.
They leapt apart and turned. “Vesta!” answered Ruthenia, almost angrily, as they caught their breaths, but before she could continue, Aleigh tugged on her hands and she melted and obliged, meeting him for another kiss.
Ruthenia pulled out of it laughing in a way Vesta had never heard before. “Why are you so good at this?”
“Why do you enjoy it so much?” he answered, grinning like someone else entirely. Ruthenia thrust him against the wall and grabbed his collar to yank him towards her, so their next kiss was preluded by a gasp.
By now Vesta had propped her chin up on her desktop and was covering her eyes as often as she was parting her fingers to watch. She watched as Aleigh began kissing Ruthenia’s neck, and then lower, where her collar parted, top button loose. She giggled protests of “stop that!” and “that tickles!” but altogether seemed not to mean it. They stumbled back towards the desk and only stopped when Ruthenia almost knocked it over.
Vesta watched them stare at each other, laughing, dishevelled and winded. It wasn’t a surprising look on Ruthenia, but the Arcane Prince did not look at all like himself with half his hair hanging loose from his ribbon and both cuffs unfolded.
She watched them pull apart and finally turn to the third person in the room as if finally remembering she was there, both of them flushed and laughing as if heavily drunk.
“Sorry you had to see that,” said Ruthenia breathlessly.
“What will Astra do when they find out?”
“Nothing pleasant for either of us,” answered Aleigh with a sigh. “Vesta, please, do not speak of this to anyone.”
Vesta nodded mutely, wondering if she had half the self control that would take.
Window Visit
When Aleigh heard a knock on his window, he started right out of his chair, pen clattering across the desk. He flung the curtain aside—to find Ruthenia grinning back at him.
“Ruth—” he began to exclaim, then let his voice drop lest it bring Levatio or one of the maids running. “Ruthenia?”
He bowed close to the glass, to where the girl sat on the windowsill, grinning. Her hair was wind-ruffled, and it blazed flame-red in the sunlight shining upon the palace. Her easy demeanour—one leg crossed over the other, arms behind her head—made him smile despite himself, heart racing.
Unlatching the window, he pushed it open and leant through it. “What, may I ask, are you doing on my windowsill?” he said, a stray breeze reminding him suddenly that his hair was undone.
“Why not?” she answered, launching herself right through the gap into his room before he could realise she was about to, and stretching.
Half a year ago, he would have been furious at such a flagrant disregard for palace rules, and shooed her back out the window with great prejudice, but now her grin compelled him to decide that letting her inside would not harm anyone. Surely it wouldn’t matter if she stayed for just a minute? Just five? He did so love seeing her.
Aleigh heard a drawn-out gasp behind him, and turned around, only to find Ruthenia staring up at the mural on the ceiling beyond his lights, head thrown back so far he thought she might fall over backwards.
“This is—excessive,” she exclaimed. “It’s three stories tall! My entire shed could fit in here!” She pointed at the figures on the mural above. “What are those? Birds?”
“Birds,” he replied in affirmation.
Clearly, she did not need a tour. He watched her pace about the room without invitation, perfectly immobilised by the very sight of her.
She first studied the dozen bookshelves in the corner, picking random volumes to browse before grimacing or rolling her eyes. “There’s so many historical romances!” she said, forcing The Oath back into its place. She picked out another one, then grinned. “I’ve seen you reading this one.”
She paused at the double-doors, flanked by pillars, and stared up at the designs on the lintel, ran a finger along the golden patterns adorning the walls as she proceeded along the perimeter of the room. She ran a foot across the patterns on the carpet. She made funny faces in the bedside mirror. Then she leapt into his bed, which was large enough for an entire family, and rolled around in it, throwing his quilt and pillows into disarray.
Ruthenia rolled off the other side laughing, springing up on her feet with a facetious grin in his direction. His face flushed. Ihir help him, it felt like a crime, and such a delectable one—sharing the space of his room with someone—with Ruthenia. He had never let anyone in before, and yet here she was, leaving fingerprints on the covers of books only he had ever touched, as if she owned the space and he were the guest. And it felt wonderful.
“Have you had this all your life?” she exclaimed as she stood.
“For most of it,” he replied, quelling the sudden hammering of his heart. “May I know to what I owe this unexpected visit?”
“Can’t I visit just because I want to?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Through my window?” he asked. But he could barely resist the smile that came shortly after.
“Well, I’m not allowed through the front entrance, am I?”
“How did you manage to bypass security?”
Ruthenia grinned. “Lady Cathia let me in.”
“Ah. I would never have suspected anyone else. Not that I mind your presence terribly; I simply do not know how I would explain it to my brother, should you be found out.”
“Who cares about your brother?” Ruthenia exclaimed, springing towards him with a grin, and catching him about the waist with such momentum that he stumbled, letting his knees buckle when she dragged him down with her.
She was much stronger than he’d ever given her credit for—probably stronger than he, even—but that should have been no surprise, considering her job and her history.
She laughed when he tumbled backwards onto the ground, golden hair falling all over his face, and she dropped to her knees beside him. He lay staring at his own ceiling for a minute, dearly hoping no one else ever saw him in this position. Then his musings were interrupted by the appearance of Ruthenia’s face right above his, her grin so bright that it was all he could do not to pull her down towards himself.
She did that herself. Her lips parted before he felt them against his own, her body bearing down on his with all the heat of a volcano. It was a brief, paradisiac, kiss. She lifted herself away blinking innocently, leaving him rather stunned and also dangerously close to losing a rein on himself.
“Don’t you just adore me?” she said with a smirk.
“I do,” he replied, and was pleased to see a blush blossom across her grinning face. As if in retaliation, she went down on her forearms again and gripped his head, kissing the line of his jaw and then his ear, which tingled at the touch of her lips.
“I love it when you're forward,” she said, her breath making him shiver, because this was the Ruthenia no one else got to see. Her lips moved to his cheek, to the corner of his own mouth, and he turned his head so his lips met hers. She gasped briefly, before melting into yet another indulgent kiss.
Naturally, there was a knock on the door barely five seconds later. “Your Highness?” They sprang apart, Aleigh pulling himself up off the ground and began dusting out his shirt. The ground was the last place any self-respecting royal wanted to be found.
Except, he supposed, glancing over at the girl who now occupied his seat at his desk, by her.
He motioned for Ruthenia to hide. Instead she took a single glance at the open window, and clambered through it. “I’ll see you in school tomorrow,” she said with a wave, and leapt from the sill, just in time for a second, urgent knock to shake him out of his daze.
By then, she had vanished without a trace.
Second Window Visit
Ruthenia eventually made another visit to Aleigh’s room in the royal palace tower, entering via the window as she had on the first occasion.
What she did not know was that on her first visit, Levatio had, indeed, heard her voice, and had informed Aligon of a possible intruder in the Arcane Prince’s room.
The second visit took place on a Sunday afternoon. Ruthenia, none the wiser, pushed Aleigh’s window open and clambered in without awaiting his permission.
She froze in surprise when she found his room devoid of his presence.
The curtain fluttered in the wind as she walked quietly across the room, taking it in more slowly now that she had the chance. She breathed deeply; the room smelled familiar, a trace of her dear partner in it: lavender (not again!), paper, lots of paper, fabric.
Everything was unnecessarily ornate in the gentle light glowing off the pale carpets, knobs and frames glittering. She was only beginning to recognise the ways in which living half his life here had shaped Aleigh, the ways the crystal and gold of this room and this palace had seeped into his being. He had almost definitely grown up believing everyone’s bedrooms were just as spacious and well-decorated as his own.
Staring across the carpets, Ruthenia tried to imagine him as a child—like the Arcane children she had heard stories about—being groomed before the dressing mirror. She smiled. Had he ever been a child?
She strolled over to the bed beside the bookcases, the velvet cushions and satin quilts, the curtains rolled up to the top of the canopy. Who needed a bed that extravagant?
Curiosity and indulgence won Ruthenia over. She dropped onto the edge of the mattress and took her shoes off, flopping over the silken quilt with her arms and sighing when she discovered it was the most comfortable surface she had ever lain upon.
“Ihir, they spoilt you rotten,” she whispered.
She crawled along the sheets and slipped under the quilt, plucking pillows and cushions from the neat stack at the head of the bed. By the time she had arranged a comfortable nest of cushions for herself, not one thing lay where it previously had.
Ruthenia hugged a cushion close and breathed its scent in, coughing at the lungful of herbs she came away with.
Did he have them washed daily? Well, of course he did, the spoilt little cupcake. Did he like it? She supposed that didn’t quite matter, if he had no say in whether or not it happened.
She pulled the quilt around herself (it smelled a little like him, too), and let her eyes close in the comfort of its warmth, falling asleep.
Or at least, that was what she almost succeeded in doing—but she was prevented by the sound of the door opening, right then.
“There is nothing to worry about,” came Aleigh’s voice in tight syllables. “Have a nice day.”
Heart racing, Ruthenia opened a single eye.
“Why is your window open?” said Aligon then. She stiffened, lifting her head quietly to peer at the door.
“What? Ihir! She did not—”
The door swung wide open. There stood Aleigh, his brother Aligon peering over his shoulder. At once both gazes turned to the bed, and as soon as the younger brother saw Ruthenia, he began to gape, turning red. “Ruthenia!”
“No one, indeed,” muttered Aligon.
Aleigh immediately looked away and drew his arms around himself, seeming to brace himself for a reprimand.
But Aligon only broke into a wry smile. “Blessed Lady, how good to see you!” He dipped his head in greeting, and she quickly returned one. “Why didn’t you tell me you were interested in visiting? If a person of such importance as yourself had desired a written exception, I would have offered one gladly!”
“Oh, well, I didn’t think you would!” she answered, doing her best to sound bright. “Is it customary to let important guests enter your living quarters?”
“With guests of a particular ilk, it is,” he replied with a smile, and she didn’t think he was referring to clergy members. “I shall have the document drawn up, if you so desire.”
She grinned. “I do so desire.”
“Say no more. And with a little convincing, I may even pay off future expenses.” With this line, he cast a pointed glance at Aleigh, who had only just brought his gaze back. He looked away again, dodging his brother’s extended hand.
“So...may I stay?” Ruthenia asked meanwhile.
“Of course! Please enjoy yourself in whatever manner you find most to your liking.” Aligon dipped his head. “Forgive me for intruding; you must have important business to attend to.” With that, Aligon waved and departed, leaving Aleigh to stare across the room at various things as he regained his composure.
He finally glanced out into the corridor, entering and shutting the door behind him. “Ruthenia!”
“I’m sorry,” Ruthenia said, hiding half her face behind one of his cushions. “I didn’t think you’d be out of the room. You’re right, I should probably have stopped visiting like this.”
“No, don’t be sorry,” he answered in a sigh, walking towards the bed. “I was merely—frightened. He might have reacted to your presence in the opposite manner. I...well, I enjoy your visits, but was afraid one incursion too many might have put you on the blacklist.”
“I know, that wasn’t wise of me. At least we know that’s not happening now!”
“I’m surprised the agreement was so amicable—but then again, he has been urging me to have you publicise your support for my family.”
Ruthenia’s eyebrows rose. “I could do that, you know.”
“I wouldn’t have you do it,” Aleigh replied, “not unless you’re certain you like the idea of being publicly affiliated with us, and being held to your affiliations in your future clerical decisions.”
“I don’t think I can avoid being affiliated with you forever,” she laughed.
To that, he smiled drily. “You’re never going to stop terrifying me to death with your surprises, now, are you?”
“I’ll never terrify you more than I did the day I was sentenced to death,” she answered with a grin.
Shaking his head in resignation, Aleigh lowered one knee onto the edge of the bed and pointed at the cushion Ruthenia was hugging. She threw it at him. “Thank you, this is my favourite cushion now,” he said, pressing his face into it and taking in a breath. Tucking it under one arm, he left to examine his bookcases for a minute, before choosing a book and placing it on the sheets. “It’s about time I read this one.”
He pulled his shoes off and climbed onto the bed too, no longer seeming to mind that Ruthenia had just made her intrusion on the royal tower known to King Aligon. Ruthenia stared for a minute. “Should I leave?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “Not if you don’t want to,” he said with an earnest smile. “Aligon let you stay, so I see no reason you’d have to leave, unless you wish to.”
“Oh, yes, I’d better. I can’t stand being in the same room as you!”
He frowned playfully, crawling to where she lay while attempting to keep the book in his hand. She spent another while enjoying the cosiness of the pillows and mattress, which only increased when her companion arrived beside her. “All that aside, I’m glad to see you.”
“You really don’t mind?”
“What reasons have I to? Other than you giving me the scare of my life ten minutes ago, that is.”Both sitting there among the pillows, Aleigh turned to her and nuzzled her cheek. She laughed and leaned towards him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Please stay,” he said. “Since you’re already here. I want you here. I could always use some company.”
She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “Gladly,” Ruthenia replied. Together they curled up under the quilt, reclining on cushions, heads leaning together. Between them she felt him weave his fingers with hers.“I’m in bed with you,” she chortled, gathering more of the quilt towards herself.
“So you are,” he replied. “And you’re quite enjoying it, I see.”
“I know ways this could become more enjoyable.” Ruthenia offered her best attempt at a suggestive look.
Aleigh laughed. “Add those to our repository of ideas,” he replied. “We have yet to do half the things in it.”
“Oh, you and your idea collection,” Ruthenia muttered, lifting his hand to touch it to her lips. “What do you want to do next?”
He lifted looked up briefly, seeming to consider his answer, before shaking his head. “We shall decide the next time I am able to confirm a vacancy.”
She pressed his knuckles against her cheek. “I wish you didn't have so much to do.”
“Nothing has made me dislike my routines more than knowing they prevent me from seeing you.” To this day, Aleigh still managed to say things that made her shiver with delight.
“Someday, that will no longer be a problem.”
Laughing softly herself, she slid back down under the quilt, letting her head sink into a cushion. She saw Aleigh open the book and begin reading. Closing her eyes, she once again began to fall asleep in the soporific warmth.
Ruthenia awakened a long while later to discover that the windows were dim with clouds, rain pattering outside—and that Aleigh was still reading. The air was noticeably colder, and the quilt had been pulled up to her shoulders.
She lay there, listening to the interlock of their breathing for a while, before propping herself up on an elbow. This drew her companion’s gaze immediately.
“Hello,” she said.
“Had a good rest?” he asked. She saw the care in his eyes, and nodded.
“Never had a better one. How’s your reading going?”
“I’m about a third of the way through this novel.”
“Is it good?”
“It’s decent.” He riffled through the pages. “The language is...simplistic, but the plot is engaging enough.”
“Simplistic language? Maybe I’ll enjoy this one,” Ruthenia laughed, crawling from under the quilt to his side.
By now, Aleigh had abandoned the book on the shimmering quilt and had turned all attention to her. Amid the soft patter of the downpour, he tilted his head and studied her face, smiling when she made a noise of questioning. She, too, took him in: the glimmer of his eyes, the cascade of golden ringlets about his face.
She remembered how he had once disgusted her, the way the hatred had needled at her every time she had seen his face.
Ruthenia would have liked to claim she needed no family—as if it proved her strength, as if refusing to settle down were a personal act of rebellion. But she had to admit, she liked having someone to trust without reservation. She liked him, entirely too much.
“What are you thinking about?” Aleigh asked.
“What do you think I’m thinking about?” she answered, wriggling towards him until there was no space between them. “So, when should I leave?”
“Not soon, I hope.” She knew he would reach for her; he did, both arms about her waist, pulling her against himself with a laugh and tumbling backwards. They were face-to-face again, bodies pressed together.
If they’d been heard from outside, she barely cared; she loved seeing him so happy and she was glad she could be a source of that happiness. She twisted and kicked, laughing as his arms gathered her even closer and he began kissing her collarbones and neck.
When he pulled back to breathe and to laugh, she brushed hair from his eyes so their gazes could lock. She lunged forward; their lips met again and again, the kisses deepening each time. They rolled to the edge of the bed, mouths meeting every now and then between exclamations and laughter.
Ruthenia paused, rising to kneel over him. He stared up at her, hair and clothes dishevelled from the effort. She was momentarily led to the realisation that this was the least she’d ever seen him wearing.
“Ihir, you tempt me,” she said, staring at the exposed skin—perhaps with too much eagerness, because he seemed to know her thoughts instantly.
“Not right now,” he replied with a smile, tapping her nose with a finger. She blinked and laughed, fingers trailing to his arms, and he reached out to grip her wrists in response. “However, I can, and I shall, offer you tea and desserts, if you would like some.”
Speculation
“Why don't you ask your partner over for lunch?” said Tanio over breakfast one day.
Ruthenia froze immediately, too shocked to deny the suggestion. Partner? How had he known?
He picked up on her astonishment easily. “Did you think I would miss all those gift boxes in your waste bin?” he asked. “Or the new tools. And the books, oh, I could never miss the books—who knew you even cared for those?”
She managed a smile, although it was hard not to look embarrassed. “He has a bad habit of buying anything I stare at for more than five seconds,” she said in a mock-groan.
Tanio sighed. “Remember poor Tanio when you marry out,” he said.
“Let’s not talk about marriage just yet,” she gasped. “What about the machine business? All the research and testing? You think I’m going to walk out on that?”
“We won’t be doing this forever. We’ll be hiring, and someone will inherit the mantle someday. We let go whenever we like; that’s a luxury we have now that we’re funded by the public.” He grinned, tossing a bun into her plate; she intercepted it before it could roll onto the tabletop. “And then you’ll get to marry whichever poor thing would deign to accept you.”
“I’ll have you know he is very happy to be with me!” she blurted. Then she blushed when she realised how much fervour she’d spoken with, tearing a huge bite out of the bun so she did not have to continue speaking.
“Is it who I think it is?” he asked in a drawl.
She stared at the kitchen door. “Probably. Maybe.”
“Ah, we’re making this a game, are we?” Tanio sang. “Well...so, this, your partner—did you once claim to hate him with a passion?”
She nodded.
“Is he blond and highborn?”
“I—wh—well, yes—”
“Have you...kissed?”
She felt her face heat up as she nodded.
“Ooh, how positively scandalous!” He grinned. “May I invite him over for lunch?”
“No! Not if you’re making your bleeding mutton patties again! He has been eating palace food for six years, do you think your mutton patties could hold a candle to that?”
“Palace food, eh? Is your partner royalty?” He pretended to look flabbergasted when she nodded again (this time with a roll of her eyes). “How incredibly lucky, Ruth. But I must share my homemade cuisine with him, now!”
“Oh, Ihir,” she sighed, sagging forward. “Ihir didn’t save me so I could come back to this.”
“Does he treat you well?”
Ruthenia looked up, surprised to find Tanio looking earnestly at her.
“He always has,” she answered.
“Good. But do you treat him well?”
She chortled. “I think so.”
Tanio nodded pensively. “Careful. I think Aleigh is the sort to take things to heart.”
Ruthenia laughed again. “He does, the silly boy,” she said.
“Ah, I knew it was him.”
She cast her eyes down at her plate so she didn’t have to see his triumphant smirk. “You knew even before I did.”
With those words, Ruthenia braced herself for a bout of teasing, but he only gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Yes, and I’d still love to invite him over. He’ll learn to enjoy the mutton patties.”
Teatime
Aleigh wasn’t entirely sure how to respond when Ruthenia suddenly chose to lean her head against his shoulder.
He had been writing, and she, contending with her boss’ horrendous lunch. Then she had crossed her legs on the seat, as she liked to, and sagged against him, head on his shoulder, their arms pressed together, and then she’d continued eating as if she’d done nothing out of the ordinary.
At once he had gone motionless--was this how the common people expressed friendly sentiments? Was this how Ruthenia expressed friendly sentiments? Whatever the case, Aleigh was not at all prepared to respond--because this much touch, this much intimacy was reserved for attached couples. And an attached couple they were not.
And it was doing terrible things to him. Such as inspiring in him a burning desire to reciprocate the gesture. Or to imagine they were an attached couple.
He hasn't expected to like the idea this much.
Ihir, he wanted to reach out and hold her close and kiss the top of her head and--
Shaking his head to clear this horrifying--and horrifyingly delightful--string of thoughts, Aleigh lifted his pen again to continue writing--but never got further than the first word.
He cleared his throat. “Ruthenia,” he said.
“Yes?” She straightened, lifting her head from his shoulder, and his heart sank with disappointment as her warmth disappeared.
He tried not to lean towards her. “I appreciate your company,” he said.
She laughed. A different sort of laugh. “Hey, I like yours too,” she replied, clapping him on the shoulder, more gently than usual. “That's why I'm here.”
He blinked and revelled in the warmth of her touch, although it wasn’t long before her hand lifted and he found himself wanting to feel it again.
25 August 491
My dearest friend Ruthenia,
I have long contemplated divulging my deeply-felt
I would like to propose a furtherance of the terms of our friendship, perhaps transcending contractual obligation
I have longed after your intimate affections ever since we spoke on the palace steps
The day we conversed on the palace steps about our lives, I felt a sudden desire for you to be a part of mine. This I feel with utter sincerity. If it should at all bother you that I am of noble birth, I would be pleased to inform you that I fully intend to put my assets to better use by donating them to
the sound of your voice
The very sound of your voice
I should be honoured if you should deem me worthy of your affections, and shall pursue the matter no further should you decide otherwise
Although few may agree with me, I do find you a very lovely person
I thoroughly enjoy you
Your company never fails to elevate my mood, for I never spend a minute in your presence without finding my life, all of a sudden, a more enjoyable affair than ever before
You confuse and amaze me
I love you dearly.
Your incendiary ardent fiery
Words cannot express
I am aware that I have been unkind towards you in the past, and for those several unwarranted offences I would like to sincerely apologise. My feelings towards you have changed drastically ever since, and I am afraid to say that they are quite the opposite from what they were before: I adore you, almost hopelessly, moreso because I cannot imagine you would ever reciprocate.
Please know that I think about you daily, and that my restlessness shall not be assuaged until you know of my feelings
You are the best thing to have happened in my life thus far.
The Aviary
“We’ll be back soon” is a phrase Hollia hears more often than “hello”.
The aviary does not fund itself. No, mother and father, who gave the aviary to their daughter as soon as she turned sixteen so that they could free their hands up for real work, paying work, left for Sonora to keep the family alive.
It has been a long time since captive birds were seen as holy symbols, and there is a growing notion among Astrans that the capture and caging of birds is, in fact, not condoned by Ihir. While the Candelabra aviary no longer turns more than a sliver of profit, the fortune of Hollia’s forebears, made off of the delirious fanaticism of the people and their decidedly secular hunger for novelty combined, will be enough to keep it running for decades yet.
There is no perceptible reason it should be left standing, though. It is not necessity, but obligation, that keeps Hollia bound to her glorified birdcage: it is knowing she holds their very lives in the palm of her hands.
Hollia still stares out over the fields from the vantage of her porch sometimes. They are vast and windy, and she can hear the cicadas, especially when it’s hot and the grass isn’t rustling. Candelabra Town drifts tiny in the distance, untouched by the wind. There’s the silhouette of the great beech tree down the road, a hundred tiers of branches weighed down by the nests of wild birds.
She sees them land sometimes, and cannot help but to feel a little rueful. Is her own gnarly little tree comparable to that one? Do captive birds see their free brethren and long for that which they can never have?
Mother and father return once a week to check on daughter and grandmother and the aviary whose abandonment they attempted to wash their hands of by giving it to their daughter so she could perform the honours.
“We’ll be back soon,” is how they greet her before they leave, as if disappointed that the aviary’s still there, that she continues to cling to the prison they are trying to demolish.
But she does not see a prison. She sees a beating heart, a home, a haven, and she has too much love to give, love that no one else will take.
Hollia Canavere watches them leave, and one would be wrong to think she doesn’t occasionally contemplate leaving her birds to the mercy of the wild so that she can finally live. But those dreams are easily diluted, by guilt and love and love and guilt, and she continues to fill their dishes, and to arrange the leaves on the gnarly old tree, and there’s nothing there for her.
Being a royal
It was at the fairly young age of thirteen that Aleigh Luzerno became the Arcane Prince of Astra. It was learn to discover that, all at once, his face was known throughout the nation, as was his brother’s–but more disorienting to find himself burdened with more liabilities than a thirteen-year-old should ever have to shoulder.
The nature of Aleigh’s relationship with renown was entirely different from Aligon’s. Where the older brother was celebrated as the answer to Arcem’s cruelty, the younger was but image and symbol–the innocence to his brother’s magnanimity, an accessory to his royalhood.
They painted him as the ideal Astran son: well-behaved, well-bred, serene ahead of his years. He was the child every parent wished to have, rendered to shame the lowborn who refused to exert such control over their own.
For the most part, this was the sort of person Aleigh was in reality–except for the one detail no one ever mentioned: he loved to tell stories. He invented and elaborated and embellished, tales of fancy and fear, longer and more beautiful than anyone in his most esteemed household could bear to contemplate. Everyone took great care to hide and discourage this habit, and in time he, too, learned to suppress it.
Of course, Aleigh was not to be a child for very much longer, or to continue playing this part without question. He turned fourteen, then fifteen, and obedience became reticence. Suddenly aware of his brother’s subtle machinations, he began declining to make public appearances with increasing frequency.
His absence was noticed, and there were many shared fears among the more fanatical of the Luzerno family’s supporters that their sweet little Arcane Prince would lose his loveliness, both of character and of face, with maturity.
On the latter point, this was not to be the case. The next time Aleigh made a major public appearance–at his brother’s thirtieth birthday party, when he was himself sixteen–he was dressed for his stature, and caused a stir in doing so. Publications spilled over with adulation for his poise and grace: “swanlike” was a choice word, decidedly inaccurate considering the real nature of swans, but favourable because of the way it linked him to the patron god of Astra.
Youth all over Astra began to take interest in the Luzerno family for him alone. Instantly recognising the opportunity, Aligon immediately took measures to ensure that particular attention was paid to his brother’s attiring for any and all appearances.
In time, Aleigh found that imagery and pretence came to him as naturally as breathing. He understood symbols intimately, and recognised the subtlest connotations of his every action. He never did stop loving stories, although he took to enjoying them quietly, in the safety of his room or the palace library.
Anxiety and distrust came with his brother’s puppetry, and with learning that his public falseness attracted falseness in return, not one person ever speaking honestly to him unless they were an enraged New Town resident, spitting on his bodyguards.
Where Aligon conducted national politics alongside Hazen, Aleigh was merely an ambassador–or a casualty, one might say, of the Astran political game.
Touch
Long before Ruthenia realised the true reason for her mind’s constant wandering, she found herself curiously enjoying touch for the first time.
Typically, skin-to-skin contact was nigh intolerable to Ruthenia. Really, gestures of care only served to unsettle her, and they came in their most discomfiting forms where prolonged contact was concerned. It wasn’t the sensation of touch that bothered her; it was what it meant. It was a show of open vulnerability. It meant that someone trusted her.
She did not want to be trusted, nor to trust in return. She wanted to be an individual, complete and whole in herself. Having someone hang onto her could only create unnecessary dependencies, reduce her freedom, or double her vulnerabilities.
She had been cast aside enough times to know it wasn’t worth the risk.
She wanted to owe nothing, to no one, and to be the sole decider of her own fate.
Or so that was what she had believed, before this.
A few afternoons ago, Ruthenia had met Aleigh at the classroom doorway before the tea break. This was not unusual: they had walked to the cafeteria in each other’s company for months now. It had been raining lightly, and much had been simmering in her thoughts, and who else would she have chosen to disclose her misgivings to but he?
Perhaps she should have been warned by the fact that this had ever become a habit at all. That Aleigh had become her first consultant on any and all matters of import, or that she’d even elected one. That they had somehow drawn up an unwritten contractual agreement, to make meeting at the doorway a part of their tea break routines.
But as it turned out, while they had been coming to all these agreements, the feelings of trust and openness had been planted in her and then taken sturdy root. And when they had boarded the lift yesterday had she become aware that those feelings had begun to flower.
Specifically, their arms had touched. And not in an incidental, careless brushing-past like most of the touches Ruthenia had exchanged with others (all uncomfortable) had been.
They had been in the corner of the lift and Aleigh had (perhaps accidentally) stood too close, such that leaning against him had been almost inevitable. And lean against him she had, drinking in the warmth, surprised at her own enjoyment.
The unprecedented nature of her reaction hadn’t quite struck her until that evening. She didn’t let people touch her, much less extend it herself. Why was she making an exception for him?
Two days later, they had entered an explosive argument about her task and his brother and how little she truly knew. Momentarily she had begun to feel the bonds slip as she had been overcome by the beastly fear that he, like all others, meant to leave her behind.
Then he had apologised, as if he had been the one saying terrible things, and once again reached out to touch her hand--in a gesture of remorse and concern.
And again Ruthenia had felt no misgivings about the gesture, which she had understood, clear as day from Aleigh’s expression, to be intimate. Surely this curious joy had been a product of the moment. The relief of being bereft of terror.
Enter their second visit to the milkshake stand.
Now Ruthenia could not even begin to deny what she had thought and felt, watching Aleigh smile at the sky beyond her. He must have been entertaining distant thoughts of his own, while she had noticed, for some stupid reason, that he had been close enough to her that she could have engulfed him in an embrace if she’d dared.
She had almost dared, too, the urge tugging at her nerves and nudging at her impulses. But she had stopped herself, a cascade of questions attacking her, such as, why are you thinking these things?
Why did it not frighten her? The thought of being bonded, of being bound, by sentiment or otherwise, had always been her deepest fear. Why was she not afraid of him?
Her beliefs had not changed, she decided after some self-interrogation in the safety of her own work shed. It was simply, she began to see, that Aleigh was opening her to a new notion about how it worked. She was beginning to believe that one could trust another without giving one’s agency away.
In short: she trusted him, like she’d trusted no one else, like she’d never known herself capable of.
And she knew he trusted her, too, with his feelings and vulnerabilities, things that she knew he otherwise guarded like priceless treasures.
The thought barely frightened her. It felt right, and it felt inevitable. And Ihir, she wanted to feel his touch, again and again, with increasing conviction and intimacy, in gestures imbued with trust complete, if only--
Drowning
It doesn't take long for Aleigh to recognise that Ruthenia is in a constant process of climbing out of a deep, vast pit. It isn’t always obvious, given how excitable and even bellicose she can be, but the signs are always there, in the dart of her eyes, the hunch of her shoulders.
There are days when she finds herself losing purchase and sliding back in, and today is one of them.
When he enters Ruthenia's shed that afternoon, she is not waiting for him. The air is still and silent.
He finds her curled up, motionless, in her hammock, face hidden behind an arm. "Ruthenia?" he says tentatively, and she doesn't answer. Frowning, he takes her chair and brings it to rest beside her hammock, seating himself there.
Eventually Ruthenia’s head rolls to a side to face him, and he sees that her eyes are glazed. She gasps at the sight of him, scrambling too quickly out of the hemp net so she loses her balance, tumbling out onto the floor and making no move to break her fall.
She kneels there for almost a minute, before she begins to sob. The noise is frightful, a laboured whimper, and he almost believes she is laughing before the tears splash dark on the floorboards.
Quickly, he descends on a knee beside her. “Ruthenia!” he repeats, softly, urgently. Ruthenia gulps in a series of deep breaths, and lifts her face so her glistening eyes meet his. He doesn't tell her he is terrified.
It takes her almost a minute to finally shape the words: "I thought I was drowning." The quaver of her voice is slightly unfamiliar and it makes him ache.
"You were not," he replies quickly, and when her hand swings out for support, he offers his own, rising carefully as she does.
Aleigh is so accustomed to being the one lacking strength that it's almost disorienting when he finds her depending on him. He knows the fiery, headstrong Ruthenia who changed the nation far better than this Ruthenia, listless and recoiling. But they are both she.
As she seats herself, still clinging to his hands, something like guilt crosses her face.
"I can't believe I'm wasting your time like this," she growls at her lap.
"No time spent with you is ever a waste,” he replies, fingers tightening around hers, “even like this. In fact, I am glad that I am here, as long as I am of help.”
She nods.
“We could have lunch here."
"I can go over just fine." Ruthenia grimaces up at him. Then her arms slacken, and she sighs. "Never mind. Get me my lunch if you will."
"Gladly," he replies. He bends down to kiss her cheek, and he sees her smile from the corner of his eye.
Aleigh knocks thrice on Tanio’s door and is promptly answered.
"Oh, there you are!" exclaims the man, one hand on the handle. "Wait, where is she?"
"Ruthenia is not feeling well," he replies as he enters the shade. “Is our lunch ready?”
“Why, of course,” says Tanio, although his voice has grown quiet with concern. He gestures at the dining table where the two sandwiches lie, nestled in a basket. The ingredients and sauces are spilling out onto the napkins, but they do not look particularly terrible otherwise.
After a perfunctory inspection, Aleigh lifts the basket in both hands. “Thank you.”
“Does she need anything else?”
“She did not mention anything.”
“Alright, then, but I’m here if she ever does.”
Ruthenia is no longer in the chair when Aleigh returns: she is arranging books into stacks on her desk.
She lifts her head at the arrival of his footsteps, but does not speak, nor move thereafter, as if frozen by his gaze.
Arriving by her side, he is surprised when she immediately seizes his arm and wraps her own around it. He lowers the basket onto her desk and lays a hand on her back, pulling her closer so there is no space between them. Her arms move to encircle his waist, tightly.
The feeling of her grip tells him this isn't a gesture of desire but of need.
"Thank you for being here," she mumbles hoarsely. Her breaths are deep and steady. “You got me on a bad day, that’s all.”
Several things do not get said, but he reads them from the irregularity of her breath, and the aching tightness of her grip: how it feels like suffocating, standing alone in that yawning well of terror, how there are days when she can no longer trust herself the way she used to.
There is no purpose in telling her how many people stand with her. She is alone, always alone, inside the room of her mind.
“You do not have to justify yourself,” he replies.
A Neighbourly Visit
Readying her window grille for flight at her landing deck, Evona was momentarily distracted by the sound of beating wings, ascending from just beyond the neighbouring house.
Evona, thirty and a homekeeper, was the sort person who kept up to date with her neighbours’ affairs with more fervency than she did her own. The Calied household, of course, gave her much to work with. The two-person engineering partnership was perhaps the oddest family she had ever seen, without even taking into consideration their habit of getting entangled in very high-profile business.
Knowing their identities, she also knew what the cause of the racket might be. The last couple of times she had been content with watching the white equine descend from the air until it was obscured by Titanio Calied’s house. Today, however, she had an errand to run with the farmer below, and she decided she might make a little detour.
Making off with a push, she manoeuvred out of her own home around the back of Titanio’s house so that, peering between the house and the neighbouring shed, she had a good view of the young mechanic’s patio.
The source of the noise was, as guessed, a very large and majestic equine--the same sort that heralded the arrival of nobles at any public function. It stood tall on the wood, fur shimmering in the sun. From atop the grand creature dismounted a young man who wore his blond hair in a very recognizable ponytail. If that did not give his identity away then his attiring--too many layers for this part of autumn, and pressed to perfection--did.
Not that she needed any further indications, beyond the identity of her neighbor. She had had a hunch she would begin seeing Prince Aleigh Luzerno in the neighbourhood.
Evona had only just become aware of the thumping of footsteps when, in that moment, Ruthenia flung herself through the door, pouncing on the Arcane Prince with a hug that first drew an exclamation of surprise, and then a smile. A surprising smile, more eager and genuine than any he’d ever displayed in photographs of him. Murmuring something to her, he cupped her face in his palms and kissed her forehead.
“Adorable,” whispered Evona. Oh, she knew Ruthenia: Ruthenia had always vehemently denounced the very idea of romantic affection, and it had always been Evona’s theory that her young neighbour simply had extremely high standards.
Evona allowed the two a couple of minutes of uninterrupted conversation (and herself a couple of minutes of innocuous voyeurism). As their gestures became increasingly intimate, however, she finally decided it was time for her to make her presence known.
She announced her presence with a powerful shout of “Ruthenia!” grinning as she hovered into sight. Ruthenia leaped out of their embrace in startlement, whirling around to face the newcomer.
Now, Evona respected the diarchy as much as the next Astran, but she didn’t think they were beyond reproach, nor that they deserved the treatment of deities. So she did as she did with all her young neighbours’ partners whenever they showed their faces in the neighbourhood: she looked the boy appraisingly up and down, squinting and stroking her chin in feigned thought.
This allowed her to ascertain two things: that he was the very same person she occasionally saw in the news, and that he was several times prettier in person. “Who might this fetching young man be?” she said at last, smiling up at Ruthenia.
The girl laughed with a little more sheepishness than usual. “Well...this is Aleigh,” she said. “We’re in the same class in school. You...might know him.”
“Yes, I do know him,” Evona barked a laugh, turning to him. “Your Highness, welcome to the neighbourhood.” She dipped her head. “I did not expect to see you here.”
“Thank you; I like your neighbourhood very much.”
“And the women living in it?” Evona ventured.
A somewhat abashed look came over him. “Ruthenia is the very best thing about the place.”
“Of course,” Ruthenia replied, turning to let her chin rest on his shoulder, all embarrassment evaporating. “There aren't a lot of people like me, even here.”
“I know that better than any other,” he answered, tilting his head so it rested against hers.
They exchanged murmurs that Evona could not make out, and only seemed to remember that she was there half a minute later. Every word they exchanged made her smile wider.
“Well, we’ll be going now!” Ruthenia cut in, relinquishing her partner. She tapped his shoulder. “Why don’t you head inside first? Don’t knock the pipes over.” Aleigh offered them both a nod, which she returned with a grin. Then he vanished into Ruthenia’s shed, leaving the girl to turn to her. “What are you doing here?”
She shrugged. “I saw him arrive, so I thought I’d come over to congratulate you.”
“Oh.” Ruthenia laughed heartily. “Congratulate me? There’s nothing to it.”
“Nothing to gaining the affections of a royal like him?”
She rolled her eyes, flushed with what might have been pleasure or pride nevertheless. “He’s still a person, you know. If I’d met him in the New Town we might still have gone the same route.”
Evona chortled. “Well, he seems like a good enough person, title or no.”
“Of course. If he weren't, we’d still be enemies.”
“My, my, that’s a story you’ll have to save for another day,” she said. “I must be on my way to the farmer’s now.”
“Good day to you!”
When Evona returned with a sack of wheat later in the morning, she found Tanio sitting in a chair on his porch, seeming not to be occupied with much other than enjoyment of the sun’s warmth. She called out a greeting, and he waved her over.
“I heard you talking to Ruth earlier,” he said, crossing one leg over the other. “Is he in there?”
She sat up. “He? Oh! Well, I would assume so, he was there half an hour ago.”
With a shake of his head, Tanio smiled. “The things she does when she thinks I’m not looking...if I have to watch them kiss on her patio one more time, Ihir, I might just have to invent a device that will ensure I never have to see them again.”
“I think that already exists, Tanio; it’s called a curtain.”
“Ah, true. I suppose I have only myself to blame. I should look the other way.”
“Aren’t you happy for her?”
“Yes, I’m glad she’s met someone whose love she accepts.” Evona noticed the sorrowful dip of his tone. “I'm pleasantly surprised that he is so modest. Royals aren’t all like that.”
“Modest, is he? He seems reserved for certain, but I cannot tell that he is modest.”
Tanio gazed past her at the shed. “How proud can he be if he visits my assistant in her own shed every week?” he sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid I am a little annoyed. I have tried for years to make Ruth feel comfortable, to no avail, and here he comes, with his title and his pompous equine, and suddenly she says he makes her life more bearable.”
“More bearable! That’s not much of a compliment.”
Tanio laughed, almost bitterly. “Ha! Coming from Ruthenia, it is the highest praise.” He sniffed. “Not that I mean any of that with any seriousness, of course. I know why she’s like this. It’s just been a thorn in my side for a while.”
Evona shook her head. “Let the kids be,” she said. “I’m sure she appreciates it all, she just needs...to learn how to show it.”
He heaved a sigh. “I suppose you’d know better, Evie,” he muttered, closing his eyes once more. “She’s not even a child. Never was, from the day she entered my care.”
Letting a breath out through puckered lips, she nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you to deal with your family matters in peace,” she said with as bright a beam as always. “But I’m glad your...daughter...assistant...is happy.”
“So am I.”
On Vanity
As soon as he is awake, Aleigh finds himself standing at the dressing table. He stares himself in the face, briefly lost in a daze, before the details clear and he realises that his hair is a messy mop from the night’s sleep and that the dressing table is only involved at a later point in his morning routine.
Still he makes a vigorous attempt to comb down his hair, dismayed at his unkemptness.
Meeting the servitors in the parlour, Aleigh follows them into the dressing room where he is seated before the mirror. He watches them style the curls over his brow, brushing out his locks and combing them into a loop of ribbon. It is an underappreciated, and ephemeral, art form: their efforts will come undone by mid-afternoon.
While they bring him his waistcoat and briefcase, he occupies himself with his own nitpicking, combing strands of hair into place. He isn’t excessively vain but he does often take the pains, partly out of habit, to make himself look better.
Better, however, never seems to be enough these days.
At the Central Circle School there are several dressing rooms interspersed throughout the towers.
Aleigh immediately makes for one when he arrives, dodging through the morning crowd with quick strides. He finds the room already populated by three schoolmates, none of whom he recognises. They, however, recognise him--as they always do--and they offer him bows of the head, although the two at the mirrors are too occupied to allow him priority.
He finds, when he comes before the mirror, that flying has stirred much of his hair out of place and wrinkled what is visible of his shirt: he carefully adjusts both, the back of his neck tingling at the stares he sees in the mirror. Before he has to endure any more of their unwanted looking he walks--as quickly as he can without appearing anxious--out of the dressing room.
As usual, Aleigh continues to receive glances and looks as he returns to the classroom. He can never quite tell why they are staring, but a few of those are undoubtedly the looks of appreciative appraisal, which he does his best not to feel flattered by.
“You look nicer than usual today,” says Aperio as Aleigh arrives at his usual seat. “And that’s saying something.” Aleigh nods. “Are you attending something today?” He shakes his head, attempting a look of nonchalance. “You’re trying to impress someone.”
He blushes at this suggestion and tilts his head noncommittally. “I may be.” Aperio chuckles.
This habit was drilled into Aleigh from the day he made his first public appearance as a royal together with the rest of the Luzerno family. The memory carries the sharp tang of chilled breezes and he can barely forget standing on a balcony before the Candle Plaza as a child, the powder making his face feel too tight.
He dresses well because it is his duty to, but also because he has the right look to exploit: golden hair, pale skin, litheness now maintained by riding and swordsmanship practice. Thus it was that he came to fear exposing his own candid ugliness, thus that beautification became a reflex.
Ruthenia marches in ten minutes after the chime of the clocktower, her shirt, her hair and her manner as unruly as it must have been when she woke up this morning. When she first bursts into the classroom, Aleigh immediately finds he cannot avert his attention. That seems to be Ruthenia’s effect on everyone around her, but he tries his very best to look elsewhere, and soon finds his gaze anchored resolutely on the cover of the textbook on his desk.
Two classes later, he is more than pleased that she approaches his desk as soon as the clock chimes tea break. She grins down at him, and feeling her gaze upon him causes him to reflexively brush his hair down with his fingertips.
“Come on, get out of your seat,” she announces, gripping his shoulder. Aperio is watching, and giggling behind his palm. He helplessly nods and stands as instructed, tossing his head slightly so that his hair lies draped over his shoulder--well, he is of the opinion that it looks better that way, but the tiny effort seems all but futile when he turns to find her already leaving for the door.
Every now and then, someone takes the care to remind Aleigh that few people’s looks suit their stations better than his. And while the various hungry looks he gets have become largely an annoyance, it still flatters him a little to be paid compliments.
However, it would appear that none of this meeting-Astran-beauty-standards will help him with the matter of Ruthenia Cendina. No matter what new grooming choices he makes, he can never extort a compliment from her, not even a brief look of surprise. It becomes a chore to entertain the fawning of schoolmates and palace residents, when those same traits they adulate are obviously not sufficient to interest the one person he cares to.
A withering garden
Almost as soon as his sixteenth birthday had passed, Aleigh was shown Orpa Mirene at the midsummer palace function, the woman whom Aligon had already decided--in the way kings decided, without saying anything at all--he would become attached to. Their guardians placed them in the lee of a windowed alcove, away from the eyes of the guests, and they had their first conversation in the shadows of vines with drinks in both their hands.
Orpa was quite the eligible woman, a year older than he and the daughter of the noble Mirene family: a queen-in-grooming. There would be nothing surprising about such an attachment: it was the old way, the way of the first monarchs, although no one dared call King Aligon old-fashioned for his decision.
None of these political motives were directly disclosed to Aleigh; he elucidated them gradually himself. His brother said he would find his own way to love her, as all Arcanes did. He left the bracelet on his younger brother’s table, and it was then that Aleigh, only just emerging into adulthood, began to comprehend the ways he was being used by his family.
In November in the year of 489, when summer had passed its peak, he called Orpa to the pagoda in the waning rose light. It was at this, their fifth meeting in person, that he presented Aligon’s golden bracelet to her, waiting for her to grow bright-eyed with amazement before putting forth his offer of an attachment.
“I could think of no other to ask,” he said, as he’d practiced, as years of royal grooming had taught him to.
Orpa leapt at his offer, as she, too, must have been taught to. She appeared all but delighted to be with him, and he hoped that her enthusiasm would affect him to the same feelings.
They spent three days a week together on the grounds and as one who felt responsible for the joy of others, Aleigh saw to it that Orpa enjoyed every minute of the time they shared. She liked to appraise old buildings and to examine their histories, a subject that he found interested him with escalating intensity as his familiarity with them grew. He memorised her every comment about the cornices and the avia, letting her reveal the complexities of the palace’s balustrades.
Between brief outings to the city where they discussed the grandeur of administrative towers, the two met in private parlours where they read and talked at length together. Her wit and memory matched his own, and together they tended their flowerbed of ideas, every thought unclasping like a bud in bloom.
Aleigh knew they matched, as locks matched keys, as skies matched seas, and indeed, three months into their attachment, he felt he had made an excellent and intimate friend.
It was not an uncomfortable arrangement by any means. But not uncomfortable was not enough to convince him of anything.
Orpa was an avid musician, and music was sufficiently intimate of an interest of Aleigh’s that he took it upon himself to watch her chordophony performances, and to shower her with adulation afterwards. He learned she was a performer with the flair of the greats, her bow rousing her audience to cheers before the music had ended. Accompanied by Belan orchestra, she wove tales on the strings, giving sound to stories.
In private, Orpa began to demand more and more of Aleigh. Monetary providence, continuous attention. He bended to her will as if his obligation to do so were written in law.
He would not speak of his discomfort; it was not worth being spoken of. He watched her learn the work of the masters, and uncage them as new creatures onstage. Her talent, and his awe, were his excuses unto himself. He taught himself to believe that this was love.
The second last time Aleigh watched Orpa, he sat in the second row. Orpa Mirene, now known among musical circles as the chordophonist who handled emotion with the dexterity of a puppeteer, took on Heleus’ energetic half-hour epic with a passion none had never seen of her before.
That evening he decided to pay her a personal visit in the backstage room, to congratulate her. Among the low glittering lights, borne upon the thrill of her beautiful playing, he found the forwardness to kiss her.
She returned it, eagerly at first, then wanly, upon which he knew that not all was well. She stepped away. He lifted his gaze to hers, and was alarmed to find tears welling in her eyes.
“I cannot bear this charade any long,” she gasped.
“Charade?” Aleigh had already guessed.
“It was never for you. I never wanted you; I wanted what came with you.” She gripped her chordophone tighter, and glared at the ground. “And now I no longer want it! I have found something I care for more than for you, and the things you own.”
He stared at her for a while, every inch of his body numb. “I, too, would prefer it over myself,” he finally said.
He only moved again when she had left the room.
Finally certain that this would convince Aligon to free him to choose the fate of his attachment, Aleigh disclosed the details of the conversation to his brother.
Even that was a misjudgment. “You would defy the family’s will?” he said. “You shall not visit her until you pledge to abandon this foolish idea.” The next time he attempted to board the carriage, he found himself denied.
Eventually, Aleigh decided to forgo the carriage entirely. He braved heavy rain to cross the complex on foot, appearing at the Mirene family side-house himself.
The butler who answered his call brought the young woman minutes later. She went still at the door, eyes meeting his.
Reaching out, he clasped her hand in his and waited for a reaction. When she gave none, he lifted it between them, as he had several times, and turned it over so her palm faced upward. He revealed the object concealed in his left hand, and lowered the medallion into her hand, now cupped with anticipation, and trembling.
“Thank you for the past year,” he said simply, and then he reentered the downpour, shivering.
Much of that night was spent in a perpetual cycle of attempting to read, abandoning the effort, and feeling a fresh surge of tears well up at the provocation of another wrenching pang.
That was not to be the last of his misery, for as soon as Aligon learned of his betrayal--two days later, from Kala Mirene--he made clear that he was no better than scum on his shoe by pretending not to see nor hear him.
Aleigh could only think, as he lay in bed, heartache prying his eyelids apart, that he deserved it.
Flavours
The next time Ruthenia and Aleigh visited the milkshake stand together, they rode the same mount, namely Benedice. They leapt off the horse with an exchange of quips, and ordered from a rather stunned Imessa, who set about mixing their orders--a honey milkshake and a tropical fruit milkshake--for her customers.
“I thought you said you weren't one for experimentation?” exclaimed Ruthenia, nudging him in the ribs, to which he smiled.
“Not since I lost my title,” he answered. “You have singlehandedly convinced me to find the prospect of danger appealing.”
She laughed. “I'm going to ruin you,” she replied as her laughter subsided, rubbing his shoulder.
“Please feel free to,” answered Aleigh.
“Your drinks,” said Imessa, who placed the glasses on the counter with bright clinks. They descended upon the drinks eagerly, glancing at each other every now and then.
”Is the flavour unusual enough?” Ruthenia smirked from over the rim of her glass.
“You ought to taste it and decide for yourself.”
Aleigh seemed to startled--as was Imessa--when Ruthenia pulled him towards herself, the two kissing deeply until she broke into a grin and had to pull away, laughing.
“Decent,” she said. “I liked mine more, though.”
“I...I need a second taste,” answered her partner, and they both moved to kiss again, even more readily.
Imessa laughed quietly. A most inefficient method of trading drink samples, if she had ever seen one. “I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourselves,” she said. To say she was entertained would be a dire understatement.
Touches, perhaps accidental
It began with little touches at first—accidental brushes of hands and bumping of shoulders, moments of leaning in too far.
And then those brushes became intentional, slipped in amid too-eager conversations in the setting sun. Sometimes Aleigh took Ruthenia's hand to squeeze it when he seemed to think he could get away with it, and she let him, though she always convinced herself it didn't mean what one conventionally thought such a gesture to mean: that it must be some obscure Arcane expression of trust. The other meaning simply wasn't possible.
And then it went beyond brief touches, too, and they began to hold hands in earnest, when no one was looking, and Ruthenia had to wonder if the gestures might actually mean something other than trust and care. And that, maybe, she had overlooked the slim chance that there was some other kind of intimacy wrapped up in it. But he was the Arcane Prince, a whole royal, and there could not possibly be anything about her that distinguished her from the thousands who must have fancied him before.
It took her weeks after the inconvenient feelings rose to awareness before she finally came to terms with it.
That is where she was until the ordeal, the everything, picked up her life and upended it. And then she held him all the way home, arms looped around his waist, face to his back, now so easy it astounded her they had come to this point.
She only had so many minutes to accept that her infatuation was still alive and kicking. And then, after one longing sunlit gaze too many, it happened: her first kiss. And Aleigh was too eager for anyone sane to believe it had meant nothing. But Ruthenia was not sane, and even after that, she convinced herself to think nothing of it.
It was a pattern with them. Escalating intimacies that both had somehow managed to dismiss. It took spoken words for them both to be sure beyond a doubt: she was in love with him, and he with her. And they had both been, for a while, from the day they had first held hands.
Love Letter #2
Dear Ruthenia,
I imagine you may be surprised to be receiving a letter from me at this time. The truth is, the subject of this letter comes as a surprise to me as well. But writing you about it has become necessary.
You may recall how, not so long ago, I held nothing but disdain for you. For better or worse, my feelings have changed completely since then. On the day of my cousin's wedding, when we conversed on the steps to the boulevard and danced under the chandelier lights, you planted in my heart a seed that has since germinated into a steady and ardent longing.
Yes, Ruthenia, I'm afraid I have fallen madly in love with you. I hope this does not startle you, but my feverish restlessness has grown to consume all my days, and I can no longer keep my silence.
If you should wonder why I feel so, then I will gladly tell you: it is because you awe me like no other with your fearless spirit. Few I know would dare do all that you do. You are tenacious and talented, and I sometimes feel the world would always bow to your will, for there is no other with a drive as potent as yours.
And, perhaps more shallowly, I find your appearance quite pleasant to the eye. It is hard not to notice how you dress and style yourself with such candidness that it appears you are always ready to spring into action
I have begun to ramble, forgive me. I do not expect any action from you other than, perhaps, to tell me if you would ever—if it suits you—consider becoming my partner.
I understand that that may come with pressures relating to my accursed visibility and the number of people always prying into my affairs. If you must refuse me for the sake of those matters, then I understand, and accept that, too.
I only ask that you tell me sooner rather than later, for I fear will soon perish of the agony of not knowing your answer.
Yours sincerely,
A
---
That was how Aleigh's second attempt at a letter went. But rereading it made him cringe more than once, so it was relegated to his drawer. He did not discard it, just in case he would need to refer to it again.
Open secret
Not long after they had mutually agreed to secrecy, Aleigh and Ruthenia came to realise it was less than easy to maintain.
Should they stop spending their tea breaks together? Surely that was a source of many of the rumours, but they had decided not to give up their most consistent source of time together. Should they stop leaving school together? It was hard enough to come by time together. So they had allowed themselves that as well.
“As long as we are never caught on camera or in a recording,” said Aleigh at the cafeteria table, “engaging in such intimacies, or speaking words that amount to the same, then no one can publicise anything as fact.”
“I'll sign off on that,” Ruthenia replied, and then took a bite out of her stuffed bread while she stole glances at his novel over his arm.
Unsurprisingly, this maintenance of their habituated status quo did nothing for the whispers, which had already been brewing before Ruthenia's return from the Argenta Sea, and had only been stoked by their constant proximity ever since. But as long as they gave them nothing to work with, then rumours were all they would be.
The atmosphere in the New Town was fervent with the sort of buzz that preceded festivity or war. The week after Hollia's party, there was another chain of protests on the Helika streets, the marchers demanding the right to flight. Many of the capital's wealthy, it seemed, yearned for a time when the nation's disenfranchised had not been quite so bold, and others feared for those who stood up in so visible a fashion amid this ongoing upswell of police raids.
During this time, Aligon again took to challenging Aleigh's place in the council room, claiming his presence emboldened them. And the Arcane Prince's answer was always the same: I did not cause this. You have only your policies to blame. Still he played carefully, toeing the increasingly narrow line between Arcane respectability and outspoken rebellion.
Meanwhile the new Swift was built, a spitting image of the last. By then Sharmon had managed, with a catalyst discovered in Cin, to distill a fuel of ninety percent purity. Eldon was still serving out his time for charges that had not be lifted, though his incarceration had been reduced to a house arrest, and his lavish home made no meaningful prison. Meanwhile his mother had had the ruin eastern garden bed converted to a proper runway, in anticipation of their second flight.
Ruthenia had told Aleigh of the pattern of her weekly obligations. Conversely, her flight machine crew did not yet know—or at least Eldon and Sharmon did not—that the two were any closer than political affiliates.
So when they found Eldon's butler awaiting them outside the study, to inform them that the royal had visited the property in search of Ruthenia, there were a few pointed squints in her direction.
She felt her face burn up. Oh, I am having a word with you later. Reserving her exasperation to a sigh, she folded her arms. “What's wrong, can't a friend visit?” she muttered.
“He couldn't even wait for work to be over?” Tanio jabbed.
Nevertheless, she couldn't help wishing she hadn't missed him the first time, as they were led to their seats in the dining hall and served a roast pheasant on a silver platter.
Halfway through the first delighted exclamations at the quality of the roast, a bell rang up the hallway. Straightening, the butler excused himself. Ruthenia caught more squinting in her direction, although everyone now had their mouths full of pheasant.
Not long after, a maid hurried by the table and laid cutlery at the empty place between Tanio and Eldon.
It was not empty for long. The butler returned, and he was followed by Aleigh. Everyone stared as he greeted them with a dip of his head, but perhaps Ruthenia hardest of all. He rarely did his hair the way he had today, half of it in a braided loop around the back of his head, the rest hanging loose over his shoulders.
With as neutral an expression as he could muster, he said, “Good afternoon,” taking the seat, which was as far away from Ruthenia as it could be.
“A good afternoon to you too, Your Highness,” declared Eldon. “To what do we owe this visit?”
He blinked and glanced about the table, meeting her eye briefly. “Well, I heard you were meeting today, and I,” he said, “I wished to hear about your ongoing progress, that is all.”
“Ah, how kind of you to take an interest,” he replied. “You're our favourite supporter, if I do say so myself. Now, tell me if any of this is too dull for you, but today, our focus was on running some tests with the new fuel with the Swift's rebuilt engine…”
Ruthenia waited patiently as Eldon related the details in words far more succinct than she could ever have managed. Once or twice she met Aleigh's eye, and he offered the briefest smile, all while answering the secretary's remarks and questions his own.
At last, when Eldon had completed his rundown, he said, “That is all we achieved today, before we broke for lunch. How about you? Have you been well?”
“Quite well, yes,” Aleigh replied. “I am kept busy. It is bearable, only just, with all that is happening these days. But such is life, with the brother I have.”
“Oh, do I know it,” Eldon barked a laugh.
Ruthenia thought, briefly, that Aleigh seemed happier now than in the fledgling days of their friendship. It was in subtle ways—fewer glares and biting insults, a less thorny reticence—but perhaps she, too, had been paying more attention to his moods.
The conversation wandered on, and lately she could tell that with the others, he was playing a part, like an actor in a play, choosing his words meticulously.
As they were polishing off their plates, Aleigh rose from his seat. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said. As he did so—seemingly unwilling to blow their cover even now—he exchanged a quick look with Ruthenia that she returned helplessly.
“I hope the rest of your day treats you well,” Eldon replied, and then turned to Ruthenia. “And if you would like to leave as well, Miss Cendina, then by all means—do not let us keep you.”
“I mean, sure, I'll go soon,” she gasped.
By now Aleigh was halfway to the door. And this time, it was Tanio who called, “Scram, Ruth! You're all done with lunch, we'll take care of the plates!”
“Fine, fine!” she cried as her face lit up with heat. She leapt to her feet, dashing to the closing door.
They strode up the corridors with hasty step, past the study door and then up the stairs.
“Mm. This is not ideal,” said Aleigh without turning. “They seem to be catching on.”
Ruthenia folded her arms. “And whose idea was it to show up at my workplace unannounced?”
He sighed. “Can you blame me for wanting to see you when you were so close to home?”
She chuckled. “I suppose we do have to take whatever time we can get. But send me a message, at least?”
He laughed. “Fair enough. Maybe there are limits to how much spontaneity is tolerable.”
She elbowed him. “You're learning so well.”
At the top of the stairs, they slowed to a leisurely walk. They passed cases of silverware and rugs on walls, open windows through which the summer glowed, the grounds in bloom beneath them. At the sunlit parlour just before the landing deck, where the floor was shaded by lacy blinds, Aleigh finally came to a halt.
“You're here every Saturday?” he asked. “May I visit again next week?”
She grinned. “If we make a habit of it, we won't be able to hide from Tanio and the rest for long.”
“I doubt someone as close to you as Mister Calied could be kept in the dark for that long,” he replied.
“He does have a knack for putting two and two together.”
Watching how the lace shadows sprinkled light across the scene, and how Aleigh stood motionless among the darts of light as if wanting to vanish among them, she was taken by that strange fondness that still startled her when it pounced, and she smiled.
When his eyes met hers, that was all it took for them to fly together into the lee of the parlour entrance and begin making out.
It was only for a few seconds, before the thought that they were trying not to be found out caught up and they stepped apart again. Aleigh turned away as he adjusted his clothes, somehow still abashed whenever they kissed. Ruthenia grinned and tucked her hands into her pockets, rolling back on her feet.
They held hands to the door, and then let go as Ruthenia elbowed it open.
“So, next Saturday?” she asked. From here she glimpsed Benedice's shadow on the landing deck.
He beamed back—one of those rare unrestrained smiles that still set her heart thrumming. “I will write you this time,” he said.
All considered, they probably weren't fooling anyone. But at this point, plausible deniability was probably enough.
Nothing that concerns you
On the evening of the trials, Titanio arrived home—without the guards—well before Ruthenia had finished up with the reporters. An hour later, when he had settled into his favourite armchair with his first stack of paperwork, he heard an equine land on the work shed's patio.
He knew the voice of Ruthenia, of course, but the other he now recognised as that of the Arcane Prince, Aleigh Luzerno, after many evenings by the radio and a conversation at the courthouse where he had assured Tanio he would get her home.
But it was not ten minutes later that the beast once again fluttered away in a haste, and left Ruthenia screaming out a plea to Ihir, so keenly anguished that at once, Tanio feared for what had transpired inside, and at the same time suspected he should not press her about it (he was getting better at telling when to mind his own business).
But then, Ruth looked absent and confused all evening, and summarily ignored his subtler questions about her state of mind. It took a world of patience not to push for an explanation for her disorientation. She will tell me once she's ready, he thought, and simply resolved to make himself available to her.
But sure as the sun rose, Ruthenia never mentioned that evening again, nor her troubles, or really anything that did not directly concern work or home.
Now and then, sitting in his armchair, Titanio wondered if he was too pushy, too grating, too much the kind of person she didn't need. But then he reminded himself she was hell-bent on self-sufficiency, and didn't like to be helped.
Or perhaps it was all of the above.
Whatever the case, he only saw her life in snapshots. They discussed the news over dinner, and the funding opportunities that had come their way. He knew she went to machine building because he was there. And he knew she attended Hollia's party because he dropped her off at it.
That last happening proved to be what pushed Titanio to finally declare he would buy Ruthenia a new flight mount, whether she liked it or not.
“Are you serious about getting another umbrella?” he asked.
Seemingly without having to think, Ruthenia nodded. “I don’t fancy relearning how to fly. If I just get another of the same kind, it'll get me back to where I was sooner. Or whatever.”
The “or whatever” was all the affirmation he needed. Within three days, he had sourced out a new umbrella from a maker in Helika, at Eldon's recommendation. Rather than orange—he supposed she might want a change from the old one, and more importantly, the shop did not stock orange—he opted for a deep brown, almost black, trimmed in gold, because she seemed to have a predilection for those colours.
On the day Titanio handed it to Ruthenia, there was no special fanfare to it. She saw the package, half-unwrapped, on his coffee table, and smiled in an odd way, a way that told him she was trying very hard not to smile.
“Is that the umbrella?” she asked, with an attempt at nonchalance.
“The one and only,” Titanio declared, and from the way her eyes would not leave it after it had entered her hands, he could only assume she was pleased.
Once Ruthenia had the umbrella, Titanio noticed her staying out later and later after school.
None of my business, he thought resolutely, but he did stop her at the bottom of his stairs the night she returned past her usual bedtime. “More parties?” he said, then to soften the question, “Your social life must be thriving right now.”
And perhaps the wording had been clumsy, because she growled, “I'm not partying every night.”
“Fair, fair. Then whatever are you up to?”
At this query, her eyes darted away in panicked thought for a second, and then she shot back, “Nothing that concerns you.”
“Well, I wouldn't say I'm concerned, but—” He was concerned—but stay calm, Titanio, she will tell you when she's ready. “But don't mind me if I am curious... The pattern of your comings and goings has changed a bit.”
“Ugh, why do you keep track of that?”
“Well.” Titanio had long scraped the bottom of the barrel of ways to verbalise care, and none of them had ever quite worked. Instead, he finally told the truth. “Ever since two weeks ago, when I heard you screaming when your, er, friend left, I have been wondering if all was well.”
Ruthenia stared for a while, seeming to debate herself on whether to dignify him with a response. Then, finally, she said, “And I'm saying, knowing you care about me, that nothing's going on that should worry you. I promise.”
She was an easy person to read, and if he couldn't read her now, it was because she, too, didn't know what she felt. Titanio smiled through a sigh. “I take your word for it. But remember...if anyone has hurt you, I'm going to have some very strong words for them.”
To his surprise, Ruthenia laughed. “Nothing like that,” she said. “But that means a lot to hear. Thanks.”
That was about all he got, before she vanished back across the bridge, to her distant corner of the property.
That had happened last week. The next time Titanio had poked his head into Ruthenia's shed, he had noticed an odd lack of a mess. And without that mess, he had noticed that her windows had brand new curtains.
These weren't like the moth bitten set he had brought her from his parents' attic: they were proper, dark velvet, enough to blot out the sunlight well into morning, and decidedly much fancier than anything else in that shed.
It was only seconds later that he was reminded of Ruthenia being right in front of him when she burst out, “Hey, quit staring!”
Before he had realised he was being shoved away, the door had been slammed in his face.
Ah, of course. I see.
He mused on this revelation all the way to his house. He had assumed a particular narrative of that scene on her patio, but perhaps it had been misconfigured. Who knew what had really happened in her shed that day?
Well, she did. But she wasn't talking, and water was wet. And he wasn't about to pry. (See? He was getting better at this.)
Then, Aleigh showed up at work. Unannounced, without warning, at Eldon's mansion, on a day he hadn't even realised the Arcane Prince knew they were there.
It was the last stitch that pulled the weaving together. All those signs from before, Ruthenia's dazedness, the gifts, and the excessive number of favours they had done each other, had in fact built up to something.
However, it did still surprise him that Ruth had cast such a spell over the poor Arcane Prince that her mere proximity was reason enough for him to detour to visit.
He hadn't had any strong opinion of Aleigh before Ruthenia's association with him, other than knowing he was the Arcane King's reclusive brother. Then Ruth had gotten in situations with the royal—a never-ending roster of them, really. And confronted with the possibility she might actually be interested in him, Tanio had wondered less about whether they were a good fit, and more about whether he understood his own ward at all.
Now, watching Prince Aleigh make excuses for his presence at the dining table, eyes darting every few seconds to his ward, Titanio saw with his own eyes that the young man was well and truly in love with her, and doing his best to preserve the secret of their intimacy—perhaps for her sake.
There was a certain conscientiousness about this gesture that at once brought him face to face with the fact of the matter: he didn't know anything about anyone, ever.
Ruthenia and Aleigh left lunch together—with a little urging from him, of course—and by the time the rest of the team went to the deck to part ways, the pair were long gone.
Right then, from seemingly nowhere, the immensity of his rue descended on him—at how little he understood about having a teen in his care. How close they felt at times, and how completely invisible at others.
There was a world of things in Ruthenia's life that he might never be privy to. Oh, Ruth, will you actually ever tell me anything?
But that was—and this was the hardest part to learn—not his choice to make. If she felt safer with her secrets, then she deserved that safety.
But wouldn't it be nice, he thought, to be able to care in the way he wanted to?
The Oasis
The Oasis isn't the kind of restaurant that has a free table every day, so Ruthenia has done it this time—flown in a day ahead and made the reservation.
Today's little event was Hollia's idea: a double date. It seemed that she and her partner, Orrem, had gone steady over the past few months. That wasn't especially easy for her, considering the number of people—or so it had emerged over a few uncomfortable exchanges—who had been hoping for a chance with him.
Once she heard the proposition, Ruthenia could not help indulging it. In fact, when it came to choosing the venue, she was first and only one to offer a venue: her parents' favourite diner, where she always returns, and everything seems to cost less than it should.
Ruthenia is not one minute late for once. But as she dashes up the street through the scattering crowd, she sees that she is the third one to arrive. Aleigh is talking to Orrem in the shelter of the tree at the corner, more animatedly than usual, and she almost feels bad for barging in—it is rare to see him in such amiable conversation, even after all this time.
The two are laughing at some shared joke when she calls out their names. Aleigh straightens in surprise; Orrem leaps to his feet with a huge grin, waving a hand.
“There she is!” he calls as she barrels into their midst.
“How are you both?” she sings. She drapes herself over the back of the bench, turning to plant a kiss on Aleigh's cheek.
“Ah, we were just talking about the restaurant,” he answers, leaning closer.
Orrem nods. “I've passed it now and then but never gone inside.”
Ruthenia folds her arms on the backrest. She toys with the strap of the bag on Aleigh's shoulder, a leather messenger bag not unlike her own, with the cover of a book peeking out of it. “Oh, the Oasis? It was a favourite of my parents'. Food was the most amazing thing little me had ever tasted.” Then she laughs. “We'll see how much of that was just nostalgia.”
By now, the foot traffic seems to be thickening, and there are more than a couple of looks coming their way. “It is quite rare for me to be dining in this part of the town,” says Aleigh as he rises from the bench. Both companions join Ruthenia behind it. “Anything I should know ahead of time?”
She beams and throws an arm around her partner's back. “It's just normal Astran food, but better than anywhere else. Fish, wraps, curries, Solan turkey salad, and so much ground beef.”
“Solan…turkey salad? First I've heard of it.”
Orrem gapes. “You've never had it? You have got to try some of that,” he exclaims. “Ruth, can we get him to try the turkey salad?”
She grins. “It's my favourite, you're missing out.”
“Sorry I'm late!” a voice cuts in, and all three turn to find Hollia waiting a few arms' lengths away in dark yellow dress, lifting a sunhat up to peer at them.
Orrem's face breaks into a grin. He flies into a hug, lifting Hollia off her feet as they spin. “You're here! Not one minute too late, my dearest. But we should head inside before, er,” he nods at the passers-by already staring from across the street, “the unwanted attention.”
Aleigh is already brisk walking inside, one hand grasping Ruthenia's. She feels his nervous grip and squeezes his hand back.
The carved wooden door of the Oasis stands propped open with a decorative stone eagles. At the reception counter, Ruthenia declares to both wait staff, “I have a reservation for four, under the name Ruthenia?”
She waits for the inevitable. The waiter does not disappoint. “Oh, it really is you! The Ruthenia Cendina! Fancy seeing you here, and, wait, oh—” She watches him grow more flustered by the word as he recognises Aleigh—as they always do—and manages to bob his head and gasp, “Our humblest greetings, Your Highness, and thank you for gracing our establishment with a visit!”
Aleigh makes no answer. Instead, he pulls the book out of the bag on his shoulder and obscures his face with it.
It is right then that Orrem and Hollia poke their heads in between them. Then the other waiter, clumsily snatching menus from the pile, finally squeaks out, “Fondest greetings! Please, er, follow me!”
The restaurant is lit from hidden lamps, as these kinds of restaurants like to be, bringing out the fine sheen of the walls and the traditional carvings in the balcony balustrades.
They are ascend a flight of verdant wooden steps to one of the aforementioned balconies, during which the waiter begins with, “I sure wish my daughter had been here today, you're her favourite athlete.”
And Orrem laughs in a way that sounds more than a little practised, and answers, “Is that so! Well, tell her I said hello.”
The table they are shown is decorated with a pair of floating candles, their light gleaming across the veins of the lacquered wooden tabletop.
Once the waiter has presented them with the menus and poured out four ceramic mugs of water, he leaves, perhaps a little unsteadily. Only then does Orrem blow out a held breath, while Hollia rubs his back.
Ruthenia glances over to see what Aleigh's book of choice is today—some ancient doorstopper with the title Xehet.
Noticing her attention, he puts it down on the tabletop. “These come in handy at the best of times,” he says. “All that aside, how are you?”
“Good, decent, hungry.” She plays with the corner of the menu and then flips it open. “So, you're having the turkey salad, right? Wanna share?”
“Well, now I am curious. And if it isn't to my liking, you can have it, I suppose.”
Ruthenia grins. “Maybe we can get it for the whole table? Solan turkey salad, who wants some?”
“I do!” Orrem exclaims, raising his hand.
“I think I'll pass,” Hollia replies. “Maybe fish noodles for myself.”
In that way, the unlikely quartet gather their orders for an initial course, and tell the waiter they will be back for more later.
The Solan turkey salad is not just a salad, although vegetables make up much of its volume. Beneath the meat there is a layer of rice, and on the meat there is a generous layer of condiments that make it look nothing like the ground turkey it is meant to be.
When it arrives, steaming and fragrant, Ruthenia's mouth begins watering. While Hollia busies herself with blowing on her noodle soup, she begins to scoop portions into the three bowls.
“Well, let me know what you think,” she says, nudging Aleigh, before digging into her bowl and shovelling it into her mouth. It has all of the things she loves in food: rich but ungreasy meat, spices, crunchy vegetables. She savours every mouthful lovingly, and all at once, she could picture her Dad beside her, offering her a spoonful—
“Ruthenia!” The choking voice of her partner startles her out of the reverie.
“Yeah?” She turns—then almost leaps out of her seat when she finds him crying.
Even as she watches, he reaches about blindly for a napkin, tears running down his face. “You didn't say it was spicy.”
“It isn't, though. They don't even use raw peppers.”
Ruthenia has never seen her partner shed tears quite as profusely as he does now, the droplets beading on his eyelashes, and she cannot decide if she is worried or entertained. He grabs his mug of water with one hand, and a table napkin with the other, swiping tears from under his eyes.
For moments, she wonders if he really were that anguished about the bowl of food. Then he gulps down the entire glass in two seconds and slaps it onto the table, continuing to bury his face in the napkin.
Orrem has to pause his dining to laugh, clutching his belly. “Oh, you really can't handle even the tiniest bit of spice! I had a feeling, but I had to see it for myself. You'll be fine, Your Highness. The heat doesn't last more than a minute or two.”
Aleigh grimaces through his tears, and she gets the sense he is exaggerating for effect. “You dastardly schemer,” he sniffles. “Well, I doubt I can make it through the whole bowl.”
“More for us?” Ruthenia says, face brightening.
“More for us,” Orrem replies, and they start re-portioning Aleigh's turkey salad between themselves.
It takes the Arcane Prince about five minutes to recompose himself, and not long after, his new order of a chicken flatbread wrap arrives. By then, Hollia finally has her fish noodles cool enough to consume, and sits meditatively slurping the strands.
“Much better,” sighs Aleigh after his first mouthful of the wrap, and Ruthenia grins as she watches him eat it the way no one else she knows does—with fork and knife, neatly and politely, always pausing between the mouthfuls.
Absently, the thought crosses her that she has never had this before. She and three friends, dining together in her hometown. It is odd how easy it feels, after years of believing she would always abhor it. Perhaps all she has needed were the right people...
Then, of course, a camera flash bursts across their table from beyond the potted plants. All four look up at once, Ruthenia gritting her teeth.
“We are literally just eating,” Orrem groans, clutching his head.
“At least I hope they'll go now?” Hollia murmurs. Then there is another camera flash.
That's it. Muttering a curse, Ruthenia springs out of her chair, to a chorus of wait's and no's, but it is too late: she has found the perpetrator on the other side of the pots and grabbed them by the collar.
“Go point your camera somewhere else! Before I deck you!”
“Y…yes!” This is all it takes for the photographer to scramble away, desperate to preserve his face, and only then does Ruthenia return to the table with her arms folded.
All three companions look up at her, caught between awe and terror. “A little harsh, even for a nosy photographer,” Aleigh sighs, but Orrem only laughs, and Hollia offers a smiling nod.
She takes her seat. “Force is the only thing they listen to, you know.” Then she sighs. “Though, ideally, these measures wouldn't be necessary in the first place.”
“Such is the life of one who's been in the papers once too many,” Aleigh replies with a sigh.
This is about as eventful as a dinner can be. Hollia spills her glass over the napkins. They order ice-cream and Orrem reveals he likes the taste of turkey salad sauces mixed into vanilla, and Ruthenia, too curious to resist, gives it a try. It tastes a little better than she expected.
“I feel just a little sick,” Aleigh admits as he watches her eat the salad sauce ice-cream.
“Coward,” Ruthenia laughs, and he has no retort. She bumps his shoulder with hers. “I love you.”
There is a little bit of kissing here and there, but mostly, they are just four friends being goofs in a mildly fancy restaurant. And because they are who they are, the waiters do not ever move to kick them out.
Well—thinks Ruthenia as Aleigh pays the entire table's bill of a five aurs—she supposes there are some upsides to being a little more famous than your average teenager.
A different light
This was not at all going the way he had planned.
Two weeks ago, Aleigh had begrudgingly offered Ruthenia the seat beside him at the wedding, for no reason other than that he had owed it to her for saving his mother's life.
Of course, he had rued his choice the minute he'd had more time to think about it, but there was no going back on his offer. Not when so much rode on it.
Sitting and pacing restlessly in the entrance hall before the function, he had been preparing himself to battle her stubbornness to right some grievous omission in her grooming or her manners—to pull her aside to teach her the proper greetings for each of his relatives, or to have her switch her shoes into a more respectable pair. That was not because he thought her incapable of managing on her own, but because of an almost ironclad certainty that she couldn't care enough to endure the tedium of such social niceties.
After all, this was Ruthenia "Bullies Teachers for Sport" Cendina, Ruthenia "Wronged by the Diarchs" Cendina, with whom his conversations had largely consisted of her sneering at him—the Arcane Prince of Astra, no less. And she was here on a mission for her boss—nothing that would require her to so much as pretty herself up and learn the appropriate honorifics for every official.
For these reasons and many more not listed, he would have called it an admirable effort on her part if she had showed up dressed in anything other than her usual ratty shirt and rolled-up pants.
So, when at first Aleigh had noticed an apparition in red gliding towards him from the gates, and when that apparition—all aglow in chiffon and silk—had become just recognisable as the classmate he'd been awaiting, it had taken all of his years of training in etiquette not to show on his face how he had felt: like the entire world had turned on its head.
It wasn't until Ruthenia had opened her mouth that he was certain he had not mistaken the person in front of him for someone she wasn't. And in that familiar rough-edged voice, she had said, “Well, you're dressed up.”
You're saying that? he thought, though it left his mouth more politely. He'd never thought to imagine Ruthenia in a dress, let alone one quite so...startlingly red.
As it went, she would go onto surprise him with just about every one of her actions that evening. Ruthenia, it turned out, needed no teaching at all. She knew every honorific, every gesture of deference for every member of the royal families. She made conversation with the Archbishop and the Ordinary King, neither of whom left with any less than a smile. She had learned to dance the Helika Waltz, and the ones she hadn't, she picked up by watching.
All at once, Aleigh was being forced to acknowledge something he had never deigned to before: that he had direly underestimated her.
He had thought she would bring her street manners to the palace—and to be fair, she had, at least when Aligon had tried to corner her—but she put on a performance worthy of any Arcane, perhaps even better than someone who had grown up immersed in it. She adapted soundly to the unfamiliar niche, but it couldn't possibly be because she enjoyed it. No, she had put in all that work because she cared about the people whose fates depended on her showing.
These thoughts fleeted across Aleigh's mind as they twirled on the floor hand in hand, her dress billowing around her. But with each step and sway, those musings were swept away by the more pressing anxiety of another dawning awareness—that her dress so flattered her hair and complexion, that she could leap to the tune of the Helika Waltz with such unbridled delight—that she, rude, rough Ruthenia Cendina, could ever be so pleasing to gaze upon, and that he should be the one to dance with her with all the world to see…
No, no, none of that. He could allow no such nonsensical thoughts to develop, not about Ruthenia. Anyone else would be a more acceptable subject of these ridiculous fancies. She was a free spirit, a decider of her own destiny; she would never lower herself to accept all the laws and bindings of some coy courtship ritual—particularly not from someone like him, the Arcane Prince of Astra, no less…
Aleigh blinked himself awake from that ruinous trail of thoughts to find that his pulse had started racing of its own accord. But of course, they were dancing. It was no more than that. The exhilaration of the swelling music.
When Ruthenia next spun around to beam at him, his resolve to believe that lie crumbled somewhere in the glistening of those bright brown eyes. And his heart kept racing traitorously each time their eyes met, and each time the thrill rose to cloud out more of his senses, and he began to hold her just a little tighter—belligerent, rebellious Ruthenia—because he knew this would be his last chance to do so.