Chapter 4, Destiny
Everyone always assume that being royalty is great, living a luxurious life with plenty of food and riches all around with no worries in the world. Which for the most part is true, unless you happens to be the king’s nephew. Then, no matter how you try to prove otherwise, you will always be perceived as a potential threat. And even if you make great efforts to prove you loyalty you still have parents who would do anything to put you on the thrown instead of the rightful heir. That, at least, was how Rhean always felt about it. He never understood why his uncle had such a hard time trusting him, from the time he was a small child all the way through adulthood the king treated his nephew with a cold attitude. To make matters worse, Rhean’s father and his brother was on bad terms. In order to control his brother the king forced Rhean to become part of the court as an adolescence. Then when his cousin Darla left to be married to the Ilsan crown prince, he was forced to go with her.
No ever really knew what to make with him. Darla refused to have him as a retainer, thinking it improper. The Ilsan king certainly have no need of him, with an abundance of courtiers already. He might have had a chance with the Council of Lords if they hadn’t known perfectly well his uncle didn’t trust him. So he started to travel. Not very far and never in any rush. With just a couple of servants he would make a slow travel around the countryside if Ilsa, enjoying the richness of the land, the easy going citizens and the simple life they led. A few times each year he returned to the castle to show he was still alive, create some raucous and then leave again. This year he had sent a letter saying he would return and stay over the winter. One of his servants had caught a nasty cough and needed some proper rest. And the people in the castle began looking anxiously out of the windows, waiting for the wayward lord to make his return, wondering what chaos he would bring.
***
It was raining. Hard. He felt like he would have been dryer in a bath. Every piece of clothing was soaked and soggy, if he wring them the water could fill a bucket. His servants had been sent to find an herbalist before joining him in the castle. The horse moved slowly, it was starting to get old and probably longed for some rest. Rhean could understand, he sneezed and shivered. Blasted rain! The guards at the gate eyed him suspiciously as he drew closer. He didn’t feel like getting a spear in his side today so he lowered his hood and stopped near a torch. Of course they didn’t eye him any less suspiciously. Never trust a king’s nephew. But they did recognize him. Neither of them bothered with a greeting, which he thought was rather rude. What was the harm in saying ‘hi’ or ‘horrible night’ or just ‘welcome home’? Well. The last one was probably a stretch he admitted. The castle of Cathandra had never been a home for him. So he wasn’t certain he wanted to be welcomed home to it. Someone most have seen him because a miserable groom rushed out to take his horse with a quick bob. Rhean had already sat down from the old animal but he handed the reins to the groom and gave him a coin.
“Get back inside, man”, he said. “No need for both of us to get soaked.” The groom bobbed again and led the horse away. It was evening, candle and torch light blazed from almost every window. Hadn’t he been cold and wet he might have admired the view, as it was he hurried inside. Here, no one was waiting for him but he was pleased to find his chambers prepared. He caught a maid asking her to bring some food and ask if someone could prepare him a bath. The maid smiled at him shyly as if imagine something frisky. Rhean shock his head. He had never in his life played with maids but they all seemed to assume that he wanted to. Even stranger was the fact that every single one of them was seemingly on board with the idea. They never looked at him suspiciously.
He had managed to remove his wet clothes and wrap himself in a dressing robe by the time the maid returned with a tray. A thick stew, steaming, with to loaf of breads and a big slap of beef. It seemed the cook was in a bad mood. Bethy, the cook, had to be one of the oddest women Rhean had ever met. If you wanted good food, always ask when she was angry and she would give you her best. Ask her when she was in a good mood and the food tasted horribly. Since she usually only cooked for the servants she was often in a bad mood. The only exception to this was Rhean. His travels had made him prefer the simpler food of the servants over extravagance. The maid, who in passing told him her name was Ashan, informed him that a bath would be readied in his bath chambers while he ate. She waited expectantly. Rhean smiled gently.
“Thank you, Ashan. That sounds lovely”, he said. “Why don’t you take an early night? My servants can empty it in the morning.” Ashan looked so disappointed that he almost felt sorry for her. What in the known world had she heard about him? Taking a bath was wonderful. Not only did it warm him up nicely, it also washed away weeks of travel grim. Laying down in his bed he fell asleep promptly.
***
He was eating breakfast when a knock came on his door, without waiting for his answer Darla stepped through the door. A small boy followed her. Rhean blinked. Last time he had seen the child, Chermi had hardly been able to crawl. His cousin looked at him with disdain.
“Hi, there cousin”, he called. “Want some cheese?”
“No thanks”, her voice was crispy and the words clipped. Rhean shrugged and took another bite of his sausage. Bethy was in a bad mood this morning as well. Darla scuffed at the sight of his breakfast. “You should really act you station!”
“Concern, cousin? Didn’t expect that from you”, Rhean said while chewing. Chermin had closed in on the small table and looked curious at the food. His eyes was focused on a couple of sugar frosted buns. Smiling, Rhean broke of a piece and gave it to the child. His mother glared at him.
“You shouldn’t give him that”, she said, her voice slipping from the crispy tone. “That’s servant food.”
“Exactly!” Rhean said and grinned with insolent. “The future king should know what food his subjects eat. Probably tastier than anything you usually give him.” Darla snarled and stamped her foot. All dignity had fled her.
“You!” she shouted, “are hopeless!” Her hair was in disarray and her hand small balls. She stalked up the table and smacked him over the head. Why she thought that would change anything he didn’t know. He calmly took the rest of the bun and handed it to the boy who started munching away. His cousin shrieked indignantly.
“Why do always have to act like this”, she said. “Why can’t you just grow up!” Rhean studied her. They were close in age, when he came to the castle she had treated him kindly. Certainly more kindly than his uncle and her brother. Maybe she didn’t understand his position? It was possible, Darla wasn’t always the brightest person around. He considered telling her but decided not to. She was happy and as long as she didn’t know the truth she would keep treating him normally.
“To boring”, he said instead and ruffled Chermin’s hair. The boy clucked with laughter and stretched his small arms toward Rhean. A pain shot through Rhean’s chest. He had always wanted a son, ever since he was young. But he knew it was a bad idea, he sometimes wondered if would ever dare getting married. At least he could play with children like this, reaching for the child he had almost his hands under the boys shoulder when he was hoisted in the air by his mother. Darla tucked her son under her arm and walked angrily out of the room. When Chermin realized he had been denied his new friend he started yowling and squirming. The small boy’s screams shut of immediately when the door closed. Rhean tried to eat the rest of his breakfast but he couldn’t taste anything. In the end he gave up and leaned back in the wicker chair. Was there someplace somewhere that he would one day be able to call home? Maybe meeting someone and have a loving life? Long away from all things royal. He doubted it.
***
No farmer would ever have been up as late as the nobles attending the Harvest Ball. Each was dressed in their finest, which meant high-necked dresses for the ladies and tight suits for the lords. Several tables were filled with food and the guests were stuffing their faces. Of course none of them would ever use a word like ‘stuffing’. They would use words like indulgent. In Rhean’s opinion they acted like hungry pigs. One table of food could have fed a village for a month and still save for the winter. He walked through the room slowly, not really stopping but sometimes eavesdropping a bit of conversation. No one made an effort to approach him. A week back and except for Darla’s one visit no one had bothered with him. Was that sad he wondered.
Then as some nobles parted he a glimpse of brown among the sea of dark and black curls. Curious he moved in the direction he had seen the glimpse. He and Darla both had reddish hair, the colour he had seen had been lighter and proper brown. Then he saw her. She stood at the balcony, apparently looking at the clear sky. He realized she couldn’t possibly be from Ilsa and moved closer to get a better view. The woman had lightly brown hair in gentle waves, the locks reach at best her chin. Rhean had never seen a woman with such short hair before, he managed to get a view from the side from where he could study her unseen.
The face had soft, gentle lines. The eyes were a warm brown colour and the lips slightly pink. She wore an odd dress. Double layered it was wrapped around her body leaving the arm bare, a sash kept the fabrics closed at the waste. He glimpsed a thin linen of sort underneath the dress that was visible at the neck. The dress only reached the woman’s ankles, showing plain slippers in a similar peachy colour. Rhean noticed fine embroidery on the neck of the dress, a field of flowers had skilfully made. An odd feeling tickled in Rhean’s body as he looked at the woman, drinking her beauty. He guessed most people wouldn’t have called her that but he couldn’t help but enjoying the sight.
Straightening his suit and fiddling with his fluffy tie he sauntered over. Casually he reached out and carefully took a wisp of hair in his hand, toying with while addressing her. “A beautiful evening, wouldn’t you say my Lady?” he said. The woman turned toward him. Rhean next words stuck in his throat. As she turned he realized the person he was talking to was in fact a man. Being unusually feminine the young man was still surprisingly beautiful. He had a look of confusion in his warm eyes and an eyebrow raised questioning. Realizing he was still fiddling with the young man’s hair Rhean let go quickly. He tried open his mouth to say something.
“Did you want something?” the voice that left those pinkish lips was pleasant, the tone low. You could listen for hours to that kind of voice. Shaking off his stupor Rhean tried to find something to say.
“I was just surprised”, he said, hearing the arrogant tone of his voice with horror. “I’m not used to see men parading as women.” Now why had he said that? Sure, it was true but he didn’t have to be blatant about it. The young man looked even more confused than before.
“’Parading as women’” he said. “What do you mean with that?” By now Rhean felt a slimmer of panic as he kept talking.
“You know, putting on dresses, acting all fluffy and pretending to be a woman”, why did he say that? Why did he sound so arrogant? Rhean was horrified by his own actions. It was true what he said, but there were better ways to say it surely. Or just keep quiet.
Anger flashed in the young man’s eyes, most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it. Only years of reading his uncle’s emotion allowed Rhean to see the short flicker. The man swung on his feet and literally glided away through the throng, in the short moment when he turned Rhean noticed small beads braided into the soft hair. Then he was gone. Swallowed by the other guests. Rhean berated himself and leaned on the window sill. That odd feeling still tickled, it was both strange and fascinating.
A hand on his shoulder woke him from his thoughts. As he turned he started to grin. The lordling of Ashina smiled broadly and showed him two filled goblets. “Ready for a bit of game?” Kasha said. They had often gambled together in the past, sometimes dicing with the guards or playing cards with other lordling.
“Anytime!” Rhean took one of the goblets and followed Kasha. Calling them friends would have been too strong of a word but they got along well enough. Several other lordlings were seated at round table in an adjourning room. They nodded to him as he seated themselves. The game was simple and only paid it little attention, the impression of the young man still strong in his mind.
“You won’t believe what I saw a while ago”, he said adding a coin to his pile. “Here in the castle.”
“I rather not guess so just tell us”, one thin lordling whined.
“It was a man in a woman’s dress!” Rhean tried to laugh, it sounded strained. “I mistook him for a lady at first. Who showed more arms and legs than ten women of the court together on a hot day.” He expected them laugh or jest with him. Instead they looked at each other uneasily.
“Did you speak with him?” the thin lordling said carefully.
“Why, of course. Not every day you see something like that, you know.” They looked at each other again, as if they didn’t want to be the one to talk.
“Did he have brown hair and bead braided into it?” another lordling asked.
“Yeah?” Rhean said. “You know who it is?”
“Of all things to do”, Kasha shook his head. “That was the ambassador of Alcande.” Rhean froze. He had heard of Alcande of course, in rumours. Never as an actual existing country. Kasha most have seen something because he picked up his goblet and peered into it as if wishing he had more wine. “What you called a dress is apparently robes traditionally worn by men in Alcande”, he said. “You might have stepped into deeper water than you expected.”
***
It wasn’t the arrogant tone of the man that had made him angry. It wasn’t even what he said. The only thing he had done was saying what everyone was thinking when they looked at him. A man parading as a woman. Once he calmed down he realized he had never seen the man before. That had made him quite curious. Eléen sat in front of a mirror untangling his hair, a brush would have been quicker but he didn’t want to yank out the beads. The morning was grey, heavy clouds blocked most of the sunlight. More rain was on its way. Eléen thought about asking Aralla about the man until he remembered she would be busy ‘hunting’ a husband as she put it. Apparently, nobles in Ilsa used the winter to find a prospective partner. It seemed very cumbersome. Staying in the chambers would not let him find any information so once he was done with his hair he swept a short cloak around his shoulder. It only reached the small of his back but he had missed it during the night before. He might need a thicker one before the winter would be over. The robes were plain, meaning to keep him warm rather than looking good.
He stepped out of his chambers and started looking around in the castle. Hoping to find someone he could ask. No one seemed to be around. Not even a servant which was odd. A hush lay over the corridors. Maybe it was to early the day after a big ball. He didn’t know. As he rounded a corner he came about a small dining room. Sitting in a chair eating breakfast was the man from the night before. He was stunningly handsome, his face was angular but not sharp, making him seem sympathetic. Long limbed. His eyes was the colour of emeralds, the hair had a blond reddish colour Eléen had never seen before. The man licked sauce from one of his fingers when he saw Eléen and froze, colour rising in his face. Hurriedly the man picked up his napkin and dried his finger. His otherwise coppery face was not a purple colour. From his behaviour the man felt embarrassed. He cleared his throat and gestured to a chair.
“Would you like to sit down, your excellency?” he asked slightly strangled. “If Bethy is still in a bad mood she probably won’t mind bringing you some breakfast.” It was an odd thing to say. Hearing his stomach grumble he decided to sit down. Talking to the man directly would be easier after all. A maid entered the dining room, dipping. “Ah, Ashan! Can you see if Bethy is still chewing iron? The ambassador is hungry.” The maid dipped again and hurried away.
“Chewing iron?” Eléen asked. So, today he was his excellence and ambassador. Someone must have told the man who he was.
“Yes, that’s the beauty with Bethy. Oh, she is the servants cook. She only makes good food when she is in a bad mood and are more likely to give you some if she is.” the man said. He picked a piece of bread, opened his mouth, closed it and put down the food. He muttered to himself. Eléen couldn’t hear what.
“What’s your name”, he asked instead, determined to learn more about the man.
“The name is Rhean”, Rhean said. “And you?”
“Eléen. I don’t think I ever seen you before. Until last night that is.”
“Ah. Well…I’ve been away. Traveling mostly. Came back about a week ago. Nothing special.” he cleared his throat. “Hey, erm… I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to insult you. I was told that those robes are tradition in Alcande?” the last part sounded like a question.
“Part of it, yes”, Eléen said. “Not all men wear them.”
“But you do. Obviously.” Rhean said. The maid entered with a tray that she sat in front of Eléen. It was the best breakfast he had seen since arriving in Ilsa. Ham, sausages, cheese, buttered bread, two pieces of roasted sweet potato and a helping of apple pie with a white sauce on top. Trying to eat slowly he picked up the cutlery and cut into one steaming sausage. Looking at the other man he answered as usual.
“My father was a follower of the traditions, he passed it onto me”, he said. Rhean’s eyes narrowed.
“You said was.” it was the first time anyone had picked up on that. “That means that something happened.”
“He died in the beginning of the spring”, Eléen said, still eating. “His ship sank.” For a moment Rhean’s face went blank and then compassion blossomed on it.
“I am terribly sorry for your loss”, he said gently. “It must be difficult.” Eléen scrubbed at his eyes but the tears came anyway. How could this man understand? “Just a couple of years after I was sent here my father passed away. My uncle didn’t allow me to return to attend the funeral.” Rhean smiled wistfully.
“Your uncle didn’t allow you to return?” Eléen said, feeling confused. “Why not?”
“Oh, you know. I’m the king’s nephew so I can’t be trusted.”
“I didn’t know the king had a nephew…” Rhean looked at him and laughed.
“I’m not from Ilsa”, he said. “I am from the same kingdom as Darla, the crown prince’s wife.” Something clicked in Eléen mind.
“You are lady Darla’s cousin”, he said. “I’ve been told about you.”
“Unless you talked with the maids you probably only been told bad things”, Rhean grumbled. “I’m not saying I’m innocent but I’m not that bad!” He attacked a sausage with his fork that it jumped from the plate. For a moment the man looked stupefied, he then speared the escaped sausage and stuffed it into his mouth. Without meaning to, Eléen laughed. That’s when he realized he no longer felt like crying. Rhean raised an eyebrow at him in confusion and then smiled broadly while swallowing.
“Have anyone every told you you’re quite gorgeous when laughing”, he jested.
“I believe you said something like it last night”, Eléen said with nonchalance putting a piece of apple pie in his mouth. “Calling me a beautiful lady if I recall.”
“I have already apologized about that!” Rhean protested. “It is true by the way. Minus the lady bit.” Eléen stared at him. “No has ever told you that? To be honest I spoke so badly last night because I was stunned by how beautiful you are. Being a man doesn’t change that.” Feeling his face grow red Eléen dropped his fork, it fell to the floor. Rhean rose to his feet, walked up to his chair, bent and picked up the fork. His face was right in front of Eléen as Rhean put the fork on the table. “Let’s talk again soon”, he said and walked out of the dining room. Eléen heart was beating so hard and loudly he was surprised it didn’t echo in the room.
***
It was a rare autumn day. The sky was clear blue, not a cloud in sight. The sun even warmed some, if it wasn’t for the chilly wind he might actually enjoyed it. As it was he had put on proper clothes. A thick jacket and lined trousers with high shafted boots. On his head he wore a cap common among the common people, his hands were covered by gloves. In his hands he held a spool of thread, the end of the tread extending toward the sky. Rhean let his mind wander without trying to keep any thought in place. It was relaxing to that sometimes, the best way to come up with ideas or solve problems. A sneeze brought him out from his pondering. Coming down the great staircase was Eléen, his oddly short mantle wrapped around him. Those warm, soft, brown eyes were fixed at the thing dancing at the end of Rhean’s thread. The ambassador was shivering and walked with more haste than usual. When he reached the end of the stairs he hurried towards Rhean.
“Not gone fishing then?” Rhean said to him as the young man came closer. Eléen tried to wrap his mantle tighter without much success.
“The king took one quick look at me and said it would be better if I didn’t join them”, there were no resentment in his tone. Just a statement. “Which works just as well for me. I rather leave the fishing to fishermen.” His eyes followed the moving object in the air. “What is that?”
“A kite”, Rhean answered. “Children of farmers often play with them.”
“A kite? Like the bird?” Eléen raised an eyebrow in doubt while still looking upward. Rhean laughed, it echoed in the empty courtyard. The other blushed furiously. “What is so funny?”
“Nothing, I just hadn’t thought about that”, Rhean gave the kite more line and it rose higher in the sky. “It is just a piece of fabric fastened to some sticks and a spool of thread. A day like this it is easy to make it fly.” Eléen sneezed again and shivered violently. Eyes still fixed on the small speck above him. Seeing the young man’s lips turn blue he started to reel in the kite, it descended slowly.
“Why are you making it come down?” Eléen seemed disappointed.
“Because you will freeze to death if we stay out here”, Rhean said. “You really need some better winter clothing. Like a proper mantle or something.”
“I didn’t think it would be so cold”, Eléen muttered. “This is further south than Alcande, shouldn’t it be warmer here?”
“Not necessarily”, Rhean said. “Ilsa have a harsh sun during the summer and it is often very warm. But the winters are equally harsh. It because of the sea I think. Didn’t you say Alcande is located in a bay, surrounded by mountains?” Eléen nodded. “Then that might explain it.” The kite was now just a feet away from Rhean’s head, he easily stretched out his arm and brought it down to his side. It was big, half his height, its tail trailing on the ground when he held it. Eléen touched it carefully with a shaking finger. Laughing Rhean ruffled the others hair, staggering and looking startled the brown eyes widen with confusion.
As always a strange emotion surge through Rhean when he interacted with the oddly dressed young ambassador from the rumoured Alcande. He couldn’t put a name to the emotion, all he knew was that it made him want to feel it again and as much as possible. Which meant he sought out Eléen quite often. In the beginning this had confused the young man, then it had made him wary but after two weeks he acted like it didn’t bother him. Which it probably didn’t do, Eléen was a very honest person.
“Best we get you inside, ey?” Rhean said. “Some hot tea and maybe some of Bethy’s newly baked scones would be lovely. Maybe even a piece of pie?” Without thinking he put an arm around Eléen’s shoulders and started walking, taking the other with him. He then realized what he had just done. And he couldn’t explain why that made him feel embarrassed. More than once he put his arm around people’s shoulders in very much the same way. Usually when holding a tankard. Without being drunk. Yet putting his arm around the thin shoulders of Eléen felt different, almost intimate. He felt lost, should he remove his arm? Wouldn’t that be weird? While he thought that they had reached the great stone staircase. That’s when he realized that the other was walking stiffly, as unsure how to move, his face bright red. Rhean then quickly removed his arm and took a few jumping steps up the stair.
“Should we get some of that hot tea then?” he said, that strange emotion surging even stronger as he reached out his hand toward Eléen. The brown haired young man stared at his hand and then took it cautiously. You could have thought that he just offered him a dance, Rhean thought as his gloved fingers closed gently on the frail hand.
***
His heart were thumping very hard, the beat echoed through his body. He thought he had gotten used to it, being around the other man. Why Rhean seemed to seek him out so much was very much a mystery but he never made Eléen feel bothered. With Aralla so busy, it was nice to have someone he could speak normally with. Even if his heart had a tendency to race each time the other came to close. That arm around his shoulder had made him feel like he shouldn’t breathe. He thought he knew why he reacted like this but the very idea felt ludicrous. Surely not? Right? Best not answering that… It had surprised Eléen to learn that Rhean actually was about the same age as him, he didn’t think the other man knew about that yet.
They entered the chambers in which Rhean stayed while in the castle. As usual a maid was loitering around, pretending to be cleaning. Eléen didn’t recognize this maid. She was pretty he supposed. Black hair in a tight bun, slightly rosy skin and slim. Her uniform was a black dress and a white apron. One of the queen’s maids then. She certainly had no reason to be in Rhean’s chamber. Rhean put on a fake smile and bowed slightly to the maid who quickly dipped.
“Hi there!” he said in a cheerful voice. “May I help you?” the maid stared wide eyed at him and shook her head violently. Red stained her cheeks. “Then perhaps you can ask Bethy to send up some hot tea and a snack?” The maid seemed almost faint but dipped again, fleeing out through the door. Rhean sighed, let go of Eléen hand and flopped down into one of his armchairs. “Seriously!” he exclaimed. “I have never, ever, in my life played with a maid! Never! Yet not only do they act like I would, they seem to think I should. With them!”
Eléen knotted his brows, trying to understand. Play? Then understanding dawned on him and he felt his face flush. Well, he couldn’t blame the maids. Rhean was indeed very handsome, with a bit of a mischievous air and often smiling it was no surprised they though he would be up for some ‘play’. As to why they would seek it out was something he could not understand. Eléen didn’t think Rhean was actually the kind to play around and cause trouble. He was just stuck in a role he didn’t want and didn’t know how to get out of. It was easy to feel sorry for him. Or rather, compassion. Rhean wouldn’t want pity.
“You are not going to sit?” the reddish-blonde man gestured to the other armchair. “I will crane my neck if I have to look over my shoulder.” Eléen started and hurriedly took the other chair. As he sat, warmth from the hearth flooded over him, chasing away the chill in his body. They didn’t talk further. The kite had been handed to a passing servant and even if Eléen wanted to know more it felt good sitting in silence. After a while the door opened, admitting yet another maid – a kitchen maid this time – carrying a tray. Two big mugs with steaming tea, a saucer with milk and a small bowl with sugar cubes stood together with a basket filled with biscuits, cookies, sweet breads and scones. Seemed Bethy was in a horrible mood today. Eléen had not yet met the cook but he wondered if she wasn’t actually just acting grumpy so that no one would wonder why she showed such kindness toward the alienated young prince of a faraway kingdom. Was Rhean a prince? Eléen had never actually asked. When he thought about it he realized that most of their conversations had been about nonsensical things. An urge to learn more about the other man grew in his mind, he resisted with difficulty. Managing to beat down the urge he decided to ask another time. Just spending a quiet time with someone was something he hadn’t done for several months. He didn’t want to ruin it.
They ate their fill of snacks, Rhean stashing away most of the cookies – just in case he said – and sipped on their tea, letting the day go by. But Eléen couldn’t lie to himself. He knew the emotion that had surfaced together with the urge to know more. And he couldn’t decide if it delighted him or scared him.
***
Torches flickered in the light rain, the heavy clouds obscured the sun to the point the torches had been lit at midday. Most people in the streets wore jackets or cloaks that had been treated with tar as to allow the rain to slide of rather than soaking them. Some had hats that had been waxed, they seemed to serve the same purpose as the tar-treated jackets. Rhean had invested in a tar-treated cloak himself. You didn’t want to be drenched from rain water more than once. Today he was out looking for a tailor. In the poorer parts of the Cathandra the tailors had come up with the idea to make and sell several similar pieces of clothing. They used a fitting system so the workers could walk in and walk out the same with their new pair of trousers or new dress that had needed just a small bit of adjusting. The practise had then spread to the more well of parts of the city. The richest still went for fittings and costume made outfits. So did the nobility. But for Rhean’s purposes, those tailor shops was more fitting.
Eventually he found what he was looking for. The shop was a collaboration between several tailors and marketed itself towards women of the merchant class. Practical, well made yet with a good style. A small bell sounded when he opened the heavy door. A clerk immediately hurried out from a backroom. The clerk was a dry man with sticks for limbs, he looked at the tar-treated cloak and frowned. Rhean smirked slightly and took it off, the clerk jerked at seeing the well-made jacket beneath. A crest on the chest marking Rhean as a nobleman.
“My Lord”, the dry man said, voice dripping of oil. “What can we do for you?” The clerk probably thought Rhean intended to buy something for a mistress. Instead of answering, he started looking around. Trying to find what he sought. The dry clerk on his heels he began circling the store. After a while he found it. It looked like a kind of jacket but obviously meant to be worn inside or beneath a mantle. There were several different kinds in different colours. Some were knitted, others of felt made of wool. One jacket was made in a soft, warm fabric. It had flowers embroidered around the collar, bottoms made out of horn made it easy to close the jacket if one choose. There were three colours, one in peach, one green and one bleached. Rhean tried to figure out which sizes was the best and finally choose one jacket of each colour. He also noticed on his way to the counter something that looked like chopped of legs. Stockings the clerk called them. When worn they reached from the foot to the middle of the thigh. Again guessing he choose two pairs. At the counter he paid for the clothing and waited while the clerk wrapped the parcels in waxed paper to protect from the rain. Toying with a bottom on his own jacket he looked out of the window, it rained harder now.
As he left the shop and walked back towards the castle he hoped that Eléen would be happy with his gifts. Whistling he didn’t even ponder on why he had decided to buy the gifts in the first place. Waiting in a warm room was a gorgeous young man with warm, soft brown eyes.
No ever really knew what to make with him. Darla refused to have him as a retainer, thinking it improper. The Ilsan king certainly have no need of him, with an abundance of courtiers already. He might have had a chance with the Council of Lords if they hadn’t known perfectly well his uncle didn’t trust him. So he started to travel. Not very far and never in any rush. With just a couple of servants he would make a slow travel around the countryside if Ilsa, enjoying the richness of the land, the easy going citizens and the simple life they led. A few times each year he returned to the castle to show he was still alive, create some raucous and then leave again. This year he had sent a letter saying he would return and stay over the winter. One of his servants had caught a nasty cough and needed some proper rest. And the people in the castle began looking anxiously out of the windows, waiting for the wayward lord to make his return, wondering what chaos he would bring.
***
It was raining. Hard. He felt like he would have been dryer in a bath. Every piece of clothing was soaked and soggy, if he wring them the water could fill a bucket. His servants had been sent to find an herbalist before joining him in the castle. The horse moved slowly, it was starting to get old and probably longed for some rest. Rhean could understand, he sneezed and shivered. Blasted rain! The guards at the gate eyed him suspiciously as he drew closer. He didn’t feel like getting a spear in his side today so he lowered his hood and stopped near a torch. Of course they didn’t eye him any less suspiciously. Never trust a king’s nephew. But they did recognize him. Neither of them bothered with a greeting, which he thought was rather rude. What was the harm in saying ‘hi’ or ‘horrible night’ or just ‘welcome home’? Well. The last one was probably a stretch he admitted. The castle of Cathandra had never been a home for him. So he wasn’t certain he wanted to be welcomed home to it. Someone most have seen him because a miserable groom rushed out to take his horse with a quick bob. Rhean had already sat down from the old animal but he handed the reins to the groom and gave him a coin.
“Get back inside, man”, he said. “No need for both of us to get soaked.” The groom bobbed again and led the horse away. It was evening, candle and torch light blazed from almost every window. Hadn’t he been cold and wet he might have admired the view, as it was he hurried inside. Here, no one was waiting for him but he was pleased to find his chambers prepared. He caught a maid asking her to bring some food and ask if someone could prepare him a bath. The maid smiled at him shyly as if imagine something frisky. Rhean shock his head. He had never in his life played with maids but they all seemed to assume that he wanted to. Even stranger was the fact that every single one of them was seemingly on board with the idea. They never looked at him suspiciously.
He had managed to remove his wet clothes and wrap himself in a dressing robe by the time the maid returned with a tray. A thick stew, steaming, with to loaf of breads and a big slap of beef. It seemed the cook was in a bad mood. Bethy, the cook, had to be one of the oddest women Rhean had ever met. If you wanted good food, always ask when she was angry and she would give you her best. Ask her when she was in a good mood and the food tasted horribly. Since she usually only cooked for the servants she was often in a bad mood. The only exception to this was Rhean. His travels had made him prefer the simpler food of the servants over extravagance. The maid, who in passing told him her name was Ashan, informed him that a bath would be readied in his bath chambers while he ate. She waited expectantly. Rhean smiled gently.
“Thank you, Ashan. That sounds lovely”, he said. “Why don’t you take an early night? My servants can empty it in the morning.” Ashan looked so disappointed that he almost felt sorry for her. What in the known world had she heard about him? Taking a bath was wonderful. Not only did it warm him up nicely, it also washed away weeks of travel grim. Laying down in his bed he fell asleep promptly.
***
He was eating breakfast when a knock came on his door, without waiting for his answer Darla stepped through the door. A small boy followed her. Rhean blinked. Last time he had seen the child, Chermi had hardly been able to crawl. His cousin looked at him with disdain.
“Hi, there cousin”, he called. “Want some cheese?”
“No thanks”, her voice was crispy and the words clipped. Rhean shrugged and took another bite of his sausage. Bethy was in a bad mood this morning as well. Darla scuffed at the sight of his breakfast. “You should really act you station!”
“Concern, cousin? Didn’t expect that from you”, Rhean said while chewing. Chermin had closed in on the small table and looked curious at the food. His eyes was focused on a couple of sugar frosted buns. Smiling, Rhean broke of a piece and gave it to the child. His mother glared at him.
“You shouldn’t give him that”, she said, her voice slipping from the crispy tone. “That’s servant food.”
“Exactly!” Rhean said and grinned with insolent. “The future king should know what food his subjects eat. Probably tastier than anything you usually give him.” Darla snarled and stamped her foot. All dignity had fled her.
“You!” she shouted, “are hopeless!” Her hair was in disarray and her hand small balls. She stalked up the table and smacked him over the head. Why she thought that would change anything he didn’t know. He calmly took the rest of the bun and handed it to the boy who started munching away. His cousin shrieked indignantly.
“Why do always have to act like this”, she said. “Why can’t you just grow up!” Rhean studied her. They were close in age, when he came to the castle she had treated him kindly. Certainly more kindly than his uncle and her brother. Maybe she didn’t understand his position? It was possible, Darla wasn’t always the brightest person around. He considered telling her but decided not to. She was happy and as long as she didn’t know the truth she would keep treating him normally.
“To boring”, he said instead and ruffled Chermin’s hair. The boy clucked with laughter and stretched his small arms toward Rhean. A pain shot through Rhean’s chest. He had always wanted a son, ever since he was young. But he knew it was a bad idea, he sometimes wondered if would ever dare getting married. At least he could play with children like this, reaching for the child he had almost his hands under the boys shoulder when he was hoisted in the air by his mother. Darla tucked her son under her arm and walked angrily out of the room. When Chermin realized he had been denied his new friend he started yowling and squirming. The small boy’s screams shut of immediately when the door closed. Rhean tried to eat the rest of his breakfast but he couldn’t taste anything. In the end he gave up and leaned back in the wicker chair. Was there someplace somewhere that he would one day be able to call home? Maybe meeting someone and have a loving life? Long away from all things royal. He doubted it.
***
No farmer would ever have been up as late as the nobles attending the Harvest Ball. Each was dressed in their finest, which meant high-necked dresses for the ladies and tight suits for the lords. Several tables were filled with food and the guests were stuffing their faces. Of course none of them would ever use a word like ‘stuffing’. They would use words like indulgent. In Rhean’s opinion they acted like hungry pigs. One table of food could have fed a village for a month and still save for the winter. He walked through the room slowly, not really stopping but sometimes eavesdropping a bit of conversation. No one made an effort to approach him. A week back and except for Darla’s one visit no one had bothered with him. Was that sad he wondered.
Then as some nobles parted he a glimpse of brown among the sea of dark and black curls. Curious he moved in the direction he had seen the glimpse. He and Darla both had reddish hair, the colour he had seen had been lighter and proper brown. Then he saw her. She stood at the balcony, apparently looking at the clear sky. He realized she couldn’t possibly be from Ilsa and moved closer to get a better view. The woman had lightly brown hair in gentle waves, the locks reach at best her chin. Rhean had never seen a woman with such short hair before, he managed to get a view from the side from where he could study her unseen.
The face had soft, gentle lines. The eyes were a warm brown colour and the lips slightly pink. She wore an odd dress. Double layered it was wrapped around her body leaving the arm bare, a sash kept the fabrics closed at the waste. He glimpsed a thin linen of sort underneath the dress that was visible at the neck. The dress only reached the woman’s ankles, showing plain slippers in a similar peachy colour. Rhean noticed fine embroidery on the neck of the dress, a field of flowers had skilfully made. An odd feeling tickled in Rhean’s body as he looked at the woman, drinking her beauty. He guessed most people wouldn’t have called her that but he couldn’t help but enjoying the sight.
Straightening his suit and fiddling with his fluffy tie he sauntered over. Casually he reached out and carefully took a wisp of hair in his hand, toying with while addressing her. “A beautiful evening, wouldn’t you say my Lady?” he said. The woman turned toward him. Rhean next words stuck in his throat. As she turned he realized the person he was talking to was in fact a man. Being unusually feminine the young man was still surprisingly beautiful. He had a look of confusion in his warm eyes and an eyebrow raised questioning. Realizing he was still fiddling with the young man’s hair Rhean let go quickly. He tried open his mouth to say something.
“Did you want something?” the voice that left those pinkish lips was pleasant, the tone low. You could listen for hours to that kind of voice. Shaking off his stupor Rhean tried to find something to say.
“I was just surprised”, he said, hearing the arrogant tone of his voice with horror. “I’m not used to see men parading as women.” Now why had he said that? Sure, it was true but he didn’t have to be blatant about it. The young man looked even more confused than before.
“’Parading as women’” he said. “What do you mean with that?” By now Rhean felt a slimmer of panic as he kept talking.
“You know, putting on dresses, acting all fluffy and pretending to be a woman”, why did he say that? Why did he sound so arrogant? Rhean was horrified by his own actions. It was true what he said, but there were better ways to say it surely. Or just keep quiet.
Anger flashed in the young man’s eyes, most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it. Only years of reading his uncle’s emotion allowed Rhean to see the short flicker. The man swung on his feet and literally glided away through the throng, in the short moment when he turned Rhean noticed small beads braided into the soft hair. Then he was gone. Swallowed by the other guests. Rhean berated himself and leaned on the window sill. That odd feeling still tickled, it was both strange and fascinating.
A hand on his shoulder woke him from his thoughts. As he turned he started to grin. The lordling of Ashina smiled broadly and showed him two filled goblets. “Ready for a bit of game?” Kasha said. They had often gambled together in the past, sometimes dicing with the guards or playing cards with other lordling.
“Anytime!” Rhean took one of the goblets and followed Kasha. Calling them friends would have been too strong of a word but they got along well enough. Several other lordlings were seated at round table in an adjourning room. They nodded to him as he seated themselves. The game was simple and only paid it little attention, the impression of the young man still strong in his mind.
“You won’t believe what I saw a while ago”, he said adding a coin to his pile. “Here in the castle.”
“I rather not guess so just tell us”, one thin lordling whined.
“It was a man in a woman’s dress!” Rhean tried to laugh, it sounded strained. “I mistook him for a lady at first. Who showed more arms and legs than ten women of the court together on a hot day.” He expected them laugh or jest with him. Instead they looked at each other uneasily.
“Did you speak with him?” the thin lordling said carefully.
“Why, of course. Not every day you see something like that, you know.” They looked at each other again, as if they didn’t want to be the one to talk.
“Did he have brown hair and bead braided into it?” another lordling asked.
“Yeah?” Rhean said. “You know who it is?”
“Of all things to do”, Kasha shook his head. “That was the ambassador of Alcande.” Rhean froze. He had heard of Alcande of course, in rumours. Never as an actual existing country. Kasha most have seen something because he picked up his goblet and peered into it as if wishing he had more wine. “What you called a dress is apparently robes traditionally worn by men in Alcande”, he said. “You might have stepped into deeper water than you expected.”
***
It wasn’t the arrogant tone of the man that had made him angry. It wasn’t even what he said. The only thing he had done was saying what everyone was thinking when they looked at him. A man parading as a woman. Once he calmed down he realized he had never seen the man before. That had made him quite curious. Eléen sat in front of a mirror untangling his hair, a brush would have been quicker but he didn’t want to yank out the beads. The morning was grey, heavy clouds blocked most of the sunlight. More rain was on its way. Eléen thought about asking Aralla about the man until he remembered she would be busy ‘hunting’ a husband as she put it. Apparently, nobles in Ilsa used the winter to find a prospective partner. It seemed very cumbersome. Staying in the chambers would not let him find any information so once he was done with his hair he swept a short cloak around his shoulder. It only reached the small of his back but he had missed it during the night before. He might need a thicker one before the winter would be over. The robes were plain, meaning to keep him warm rather than looking good.
He stepped out of his chambers and started looking around in the castle. Hoping to find someone he could ask. No one seemed to be around. Not even a servant which was odd. A hush lay over the corridors. Maybe it was to early the day after a big ball. He didn’t know. As he rounded a corner he came about a small dining room. Sitting in a chair eating breakfast was the man from the night before. He was stunningly handsome, his face was angular but not sharp, making him seem sympathetic. Long limbed. His eyes was the colour of emeralds, the hair had a blond reddish colour Eléen had never seen before. The man licked sauce from one of his fingers when he saw Eléen and froze, colour rising in his face. Hurriedly the man picked up his napkin and dried his finger. His otherwise coppery face was not a purple colour. From his behaviour the man felt embarrassed. He cleared his throat and gestured to a chair.
“Would you like to sit down, your excellency?” he asked slightly strangled. “If Bethy is still in a bad mood she probably won’t mind bringing you some breakfast.” It was an odd thing to say. Hearing his stomach grumble he decided to sit down. Talking to the man directly would be easier after all. A maid entered the dining room, dipping. “Ah, Ashan! Can you see if Bethy is still chewing iron? The ambassador is hungry.” The maid dipped again and hurried away.
“Chewing iron?” Eléen asked. So, today he was his excellence and ambassador. Someone must have told the man who he was.
“Yes, that’s the beauty with Bethy. Oh, she is the servants cook. She only makes good food when she is in a bad mood and are more likely to give you some if she is.” the man said. He picked a piece of bread, opened his mouth, closed it and put down the food. He muttered to himself. Eléen couldn’t hear what.
“What’s your name”, he asked instead, determined to learn more about the man.
“The name is Rhean”, Rhean said. “And you?”
“Eléen. I don’t think I ever seen you before. Until last night that is.”
“Ah. Well…I’ve been away. Traveling mostly. Came back about a week ago. Nothing special.” he cleared his throat. “Hey, erm… I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to insult you. I was told that those robes are tradition in Alcande?” the last part sounded like a question.
“Part of it, yes”, Eléen said. “Not all men wear them.”
“But you do. Obviously.” Rhean said. The maid entered with a tray that she sat in front of Eléen. It was the best breakfast he had seen since arriving in Ilsa. Ham, sausages, cheese, buttered bread, two pieces of roasted sweet potato and a helping of apple pie with a white sauce on top. Trying to eat slowly he picked up the cutlery and cut into one steaming sausage. Looking at the other man he answered as usual.
“My father was a follower of the traditions, he passed it onto me”, he said. Rhean’s eyes narrowed.
“You said was.” it was the first time anyone had picked up on that. “That means that something happened.”
“He died in the beginning of the spring”, Eléen said, still eating. “His ship sank.” For a moment Rhean’s face went blank and then compassion blossomed on it.
“I am terribly sorry for your loss”, he said gently. “It must be difficult.” Eléen scrubbed at his eyes but the tears came anyway. How could this man understand? “Just a couple of years after I was sent here my father passed away. My uncle didn’t allow me to return to attend the funeral.” Rhean smiled wistfully.
“Your uncle didn’t allow you to return?” Eléen said, feeling confused. “Why not?”
“Oh, you know. I’m the king’s nephew so I can’t be trusted.”
“I didn’t know the king had a nephew…” Rhean looked at him and laughed.
“I’m not from Ilsa”, he said. “I am from the same kingdom as Darla, the crown prince’s wife.” Something clicked in Eléen mind.
“You are lady Darla’s cousin”, he said. “I’ve been told about you.”
“Unless you talked with the maids you probably only been told bad things”, Rhean grumbled. “I’m not saying I’m innocent but I’m not that bad!” He attacked a sausage with his fork that it jumped from the plate. For a moment the man looked stupefied, he then speared the escaped sausage and stuffed it into his mouth. Without meaning to, Eléen laughed. That’s when he realized he no longer felt like crying. Rhean raised an eyebrow at him in confusion and then smiled broadly while swallowing.
“Have anyone every told you you’re quite gorgeous when laughing”, he jested.
“I believe you said something like it last night”, Eléen said with nonchalance putting a piece of apple pie in his mouth. “Calling me a beautiful lady if I recall.”
“I have already apologized about that!” Rhean protested. “It is true by the way. Minus the lady bit.” Eléen stared at him. “No has ever told you that? To be honest I spoke so badly last night because I was stunned by how beautiful you are. Being a man doesn’t change that.” Feeling his face grow red Eléen dropped his fork, it fell to the floor. Rhean rose to his feet, walked up to his chair, bent and picked up the fork. His face was right in front of Eléen as Rhean put the fork on the table. “Let’s talk again soon”, he said and walked out of the dining room. Eléen heart was beating so hard and loudly he was surprised it didn’t echo in the room.
***
It was a rare autumn day. The sky was clear blue, not a cloud in sight. The sun even warmed some, if it wasn’t for the chilly wind he might actually enjoyed it. As it was he had put on proper clothes. A thick jacket and lined trousers with high shafted boots. On his head he wore a cap common among the common people, his hands were covered by gloves. In his hands he held a spool of thread, the end of the tread extending toward the sky. Rhean let his mind wander without trying to keep any thought in place. It was relaxing to that sometimes, the best way to come up with ideas or solve problems. A sneeze brought him out from his pondering. Coming down the great staircase was Eléen, his oddly short mantle wrapped around him. Those warm, soft, brown eyes were fixed at the thing dancing at the end of Rhean’s thread. The ambassador was shivering and walked with more haste than usual. When he reached the end of the stairs he hurried towards Rhean.
“Not gone fishing then?” Rhean said to him as the young man came closer. Eléen tried to wrap his mantle tighter without much success.
“The king took one quick look at me and said it would be better if I didn’t join them”, there were no resentment in his tone. Just a statement. “Which works just as well for me. I rather leave the fishing to fishermen.” His eyes followed the moving object in the air. “What is that?”
“A kite”, Rhean answered. “Children of farmers often play with them.”
“A kite? Like the bird?” Eléen raised an eyebrow in doubt while still looking upward. Rhean laughed, it echoed in the empty courtyard. The other blushed furiously. “What is so funny?”
“Nothing, I just hadn’t thought about that”, Rhean gave the kite more line and it rose higher in the sky. “It is just a piece of fabric fastened to some sticks and a spool of thread. A day like this it is easy to make it fly.” Eléen sneezed again and shivered violently. Eyes still fixed on the small speck above him. Seeing the young man’s lips turn blue he started to reel in the kite, it descended slowly.
“Why are you making it come down?” Eléen seemed disappointed.
“Because you will freeze to death if we stay out here”, Rhean said. “You really need some better winter clothing. Like a proper mantle or something.”
“I didn’t think it would be so cold”, Eléen muttered. “This is further south than Alcande, shouldn’t it be warmer here?”
“Not necessarily”, Rhean said. “Ilsa have a harsh sun during the summer and it is often very warm. But the winters are equally harsh. It because of the sea I think. Didn’t you say Alcande is located in a bay, surrounded by mountains?” Eléen nodded. “Then that might explain it.” The kite was now just a feet away from Rhean’s head, he easily stretched out his arm and brought it down to his side. It was big, half his height, its tail trailing on the ground when he held it. Eléen touched it carefully with a shaking finger. Laughing Rhean ruffled the others hair, staggering and looking startled the brown eyes widen with confusion.
As always a strange emotion surge through Rhean when he interacted with the oddly dressed young ambassador from the rumoured Alcande. He couldn’t put a name to the emotion, all he knew was that it made him want to feel it again and as much as possible. Which meant he sought out Eléen quite often. In the beginning this had confused the young man, then it had made him wary but after two weeks he acted like it didn’t bother him. Which it probably didn’t do, Eléen was a very honest person.
“Best we get you inside, ey?” Rhean said. “Some hot tea and maybe some of Bethy’s newly baked scones would be lovely. Maybe even a piece of pie?” Without thinking he put an arm around Eléen’s shoulders and started walking, taking the other with him. He then realized what he had just done. And he couldn’t explain why that made him feel embarrassed. More than once he put his arm around people’s shoulders in very much the same way. Usually when holding a tankard. Without being drunk. Yet putting his arm around the thin shoulders of Eléen felt different, almost intimate. He felt lost, should he remove his arm? Wouldn’t that be weird? While he thought that they had reached the great stone staircase. That’s when he realized that the other was walking stiffly, as unsure how to move, his face bright red. Rhean then quickly removed his arm and took a few jumping steps up the stair.
“Should we get some of that hot tea then?” he said, that strange emotion surging even stronger as he reached out his hand toward Eléen. The brown haired young man stared at his hand and then took it cautiously. You could have thought that he just offered him a dance, Rhean thought as his gloved fingers closed gently on the frail hand.
***
His heart were thumping very hard, the beat echoed through his body. He thought he had gotten used to it, being around the other man. Why Rhean seemed to seek him out so much was very much a mystery but he never made Eléen feel bothered. With Aralla so busy, it was nice to have someone he could speak normally with. Even if his heart had a tendency to race each time the other came to close. That arm around his shoulder had made him feel like he shouldn’t breathe. He thought he knew why he reacted like this but the very idea felt ludicrous. Surely not? Right? Best not answering that… It had surprised Eléen to learn that Rhean actually was about the same age as him, he didn’t think the other man knew about that yet.
They entered the chambers in which Rhean stayed while in the castle. As usual a maid was loitering around, pretending to be cleaning. Eléen didn’t recognize this maid. She was pretty he supposed. Black hair in a tight bun, slightly rosy skin and slim. Her uniform was a black dress and a white apron. One of the queen’s maids then. She certainly had no reason to be in Rhean’s chamber. Rhean put on a fake smile and bowed slightly to the maid who quickly dipped.
“Hi there!” he said in a cheerful voice. “May I help you?” the maid stared wide eyed at him and shook her head violently. Red stained her cheeks. “Then perhaps you can ask Bethy to send up some hot tea and a snack?” The maid seemed almost faint but dipped again, fleeing out through the door. Rhean sighed, let go of Eléen hand and flopped down into one of his armchairs. “Seriously!” he exclaimed. “I have never, ever, in my life played with a maid! Never! Yet not only do they act like I would, they seem to think I should. With them!”
Eléen knotted his brows, trying to understand. Play? Then understanding dawned on him and he felt his face flush. Well, he couldn’t blame the maids. Rhean was indeed very handsome, with a bit of a mischievous air and often smiling it was no surprised they though he would be up for some ‘play’. As to why they would seek it out was something he could not understand. Eléen didn’t think Rhean was actually the kind to play around and cause trouble. He was just stuck in a role he didn’t want and didn’t know how to get out of. It was easy to feel sorry for him. Or rather, compassion. Rhean wouldn’t want pity.
“You are not going to sit?” the reddish-blonde man gestured to the other armchair. “I will crane my neck if I have to look over my shoulder.” Eléen started and hurriedly took the other chair. As he sat, warmth from the hearth flooded over him, chasing away the chill in his body. They didn’t talk further. The kite had been handed to a passing servant and even if Eléen wanted to know more it felt good sitting in silence. After a while the door opened, admitting yet another maid – a kitchen maid this time – carrying a tray. Two big mugs with steaming tea, a saucer with milk and a small bowl with sugar cubes stood together with a basket filled with biscuits, cookies, sweet breads and scones. Seemed Bethy was in a horrible mood today. Eléen had not yet met the cook but he wondered if she wasn’t actually just acting grumpy so that no one would wonder why she showed such kindness toward the alienated young prince of a faraway kingdom. Was Rhean a prince? Eléen had never actually asked. When he thought about it he realized that most of their conversations had been about nonsensical things. An urge to learn more about the other man grew in his mind, he resisted with difficulty. Managing to beat down the urge he decided to ask another time. Just spending a quiet time with someone was something he hadn’t done for several months. He didn’t want to ruin it.
They ate their fill of snacks, Rhean stashing away most of the cookies – just in case he said – and sipped on their tea, letting the day go by. But Eléen couldn’t lie to himself. He knew the emotion that had surfaced together with the urge to know more. And he couldn’t decide if it delighted him or scared him.
***
Torches flickered in the light rain, the heavy clouds obscured the sun to the point the torches had been lit at midday. Most people in the streets wore jackets or cloaks that had been treated with tar as to allow the rain to slide of rather than soaking them. Some had hats that had been waxed, they seemed to serve the same purpose as the tar-treated jackets. Rhean had invested in a tar-treated cloak himself. You didn’t want to be drenched from rain water more than once. Today he was out looking for a tailor. In the poorer parts of the Cathandra the tailors had come up with the idea to make and sell several similar pieces of clothing. They used a fitting system so the workers could walk in and walk out the same with their new pair of trousers or new dress that had needed just a small bit of adjusting. The practise had then spread to the more well of parts of the city. The richest still went for fittings and costume made outfits. So did the nobility. But for Rhean’s purposes, those tailor shops was more fitting.
Eventually he found what he was looking for. The shop was a collaboration between several tailors and marketed itself towards women of the merchant class. Practical, well made yet with a good style. A small bell sounded when he opened the heavy door. A clerk immediately hurried out from a backroom. The clerk was a dry man with sticks for limbs, he looked at the tar-treated cloak and frowned. Rhean smirked slightly and took it off, the clerk jerked at seeing the well-made jacket beneath. A crest on the chest marking Rhean as a nobleman.
“My Lord”, the dry man said, voice dripping of oil. “What can we do for you?” The clerk probably thought Rhean intended to buy something for a mistress. Instead of answering, he started looking around. Trying to find what he sought. The dry clerk on his heels he began circling the store. After a while he found it. It looked like a kind of jacket but obviously meant to be worn inside or beneath a mantle. There were several different kinds in different colours. Some were knitted, others of felt made of wool. One jacket was made in a soft, warm fabric. It had flowers embroidered around the collar, bottoms made out of horn made it easy to close the jacket if one choose. There were three colours, one in peach, one green and one bleached. Rhean tried to figure out which sizes was the best and finally choose one jacket of each colour. He also noticed on his way to the counter something that looked like chopped of legs. Stockings the clerk called them. When worn they reached from the foot to the middle of the thigh. Again guessing he choose two pairs. At the counter he paid for the clothing and waited while the clerk wrapped the parcels in waxed paper to protect from the rain. Toying with a bottom on his own jacket he looked out of the window, it rained harder now.
As he left the shop and walked back towards the castle he hoped that Eléen would be happy with his gifts. Whistling he didn’t even ponder on why he had decided to buy the gifts in the first place. Waiting in a warm room was a gorgeous young man with warm, soft brown eyes.