Kintsugi

by viveres

Summary:

Life as a Highborn noble can be as lavish and extravagant as one makes it out to be. After all, money talks in these parts of Eridia. Every interaction is transactional. Even relationships, a horrible realization that you had when turning down one too many marriage– or rather, business– proposals. But when all hope in love is lost, a thief breaks into your bedroom in the dead of night. He’s charming and easy on the eyes, but is your heart the only thing he’ll take?

Chapter 1: the witching hour

Notes:

This was originally posted on tumblr in July, but I forgot to post it here too... so here it is!! This idea has been stuck in my head for the longest time. Leander gives Flynn Rider energy so I hope you can see the vision too!! Updates might be slow since I have this thing called school, but I promise I'll finish this before the game comes out!!!

Love. An artist’s beloved muse. A poet’s treasured inspiration. An emotion so driving, everlasting, unconditional, and knew no bounds– or so the stories say. The theaters had no shortage of stage plays about love. Most bookstores had their romance sections stocked with every trope imaginable– soulmates, fairytale retellings, rivals turned romantic partners and everything a hopeless romantic hoped for. Everything you hoped for. 

You could not pinpoint when this infatuation with the idea of a love so fleeting started, but it did start with a childlike innocence. “Just one more bedtime story,” you would tell your nanny. One more about the frog and the princess. One more about the mermaid and the prince. One more about the beast and the beauty. 

By the time you reached the ripe age of sixteen, your infatuation was more so an obsession. A burning curiosity replaced your childlike innocence. Just one romance novel. Just to see what the rave was about, to see what happens next. And then one became two. Then two became too many. Now your bookshelves were filled with nothing but books about love. Pure love. Passionate love. Prevailing love. These novels built cathedrals from catharsis and heated confessions. All of which were fleeting, leaving you rosy-cheeked, kicking your feet, giggling and dreaming of the day you would be on the receiving end of such heartfelt words. 

All of which were lies– a terrible realization that occurred to you by the time you reached the debutante age. Letters and bouquets with cards attached all asked for one thing: your love, but not the love you were familiar with. Their love was written in quadruple digits and checks.

The love you knew and adored was the one thing nobles from Hightown could not afford. Love was not pure, passionate or prevailing nor was it fleeting. Love was transactional. In the hellscape that was high society, marriage was a means to elevate or maintain a certain status. Courtship was a means of networking and marriage was akin to signing a business deal. Perhaps that was one of the reasons romance was such a popular genre amongst Highborn nobles. Their lives were so devoid of love that they sought respite in fantasies of fiction. You were no different in that sense, but you wanted to believe. You wanted to hope that a love would eventually sweep you off your feet one day. 

Times had progressed. There were aristocrats who married for love, but such a case was as rare and costly as an argyle diamond, something not many would invest in. True love took time and time was money. High society had a consensus– why marry for love when you could marry a prospect that you perhaps grow to love? And if you did not love your prospects, you could find another one. After all, business was business and there were no hard feelings or any feelings, really. 

You sighed as you threw another envelope into the waste bin by your desk. You propped your hand onto your knuckles and let your gaze linger on your dusty bookshelf. You had not read a single novel since you made your entrance into fashionable society. Months passed and you assumed that the worst was over. Like any fad in Hightown, you assumed that the topic of your age and your fairly average birthday party would eventually become irrelevant, allowing you to indulge in the latest releases, but you were presumptuous and sorely underestimated how relentless lords and dukes were when it came to finding their sons a bride. To this day, you were as busy as ever. Hundreds of letters were delivered to your estate each day. Some were business proposals and others were outright marriage proposals while some were discreet invitations to social events, but almost all of them were from notable families which meant you had to reply with a letter to accept or decline. Otherwise, it would be discourteous and bad blood between nobles was more of a hassle than writing a letter. You turned your attention to the evening sky. The stars were blinded by the city lights, but they offered you the peace and solace that no one else could. 

Friendships were not as transactional as courtship was in Hightown, but it was a snake pit of its own. Wealth. Status. Power. Knowledge of such topics shaped the value of friendship. Friendships were based on usefulness. How beneficial was it to befriend someone of this family? Would that tarnish your reputation? There was also gossip, gossip and more gossip– a lady’s favorite item on the menu at afternoon tea parties. One was a “good” friend if one had the latest scoops and one was a “bad” friend if one dispelled any rumors. 

Personally, you considered yourself an average friend. You knew the latest gossip, but you were never one to spread anything. You only ever added to conversations once in a while to keep yourself “useful”. You nodded in agreement and engaged in small talk when necessary, but you also kept your distance. Snakes, or anything that looked remotely like one, terrified you. 

Your novels were to blame. They had raised your expectations for friendship as they raised your expectations for love. Romance was all you ever read, but characters had other relationships as well–  friendships. Friends who would break a love interest’s bones if they dared to break the main character’s heart. Friends who always had each other’s backs and would move mountains for the other.

Or perhaps those novels were to blame but for a different reason. You preferred a quiet afternoon of light reading to a garden party with constricting walls. Books were a thousand times better than polite snickers and compliments laced with venom. You were on the edge of your seat whenever you read about a passionate kiss and drained every time you attended an event. There was no competition between the two. 

Either way, you were greedy. Selfish, even. Despite all the money at your disposal, you wanted true love and true friendship, two of the rarest things in Hightown. No aristocrat could afford love in any form.

You sighed once more. You were ruminating instead of getting through your paperwork again. The witching hour was near and it was getting cold. The candlelight flickered in the evening breeze. You drew your shawl closer to your chest as you rose from your seat. You picked up your brass chamberstick and made your way to your balcony window to draw the curtains. As you approached the glass pane, the wind rushed past you and your candle wick snuffed itself out. Your brows furrowed. The breeze just now was far stronger than the one earlier. This one was more of a gale… which was strange. You were stationed at your desk with your window open for several hours. The breezes that came into your room barely swayed the curtains. The one just now threw your curtains into disarray. You shook your head and grabbed onto the window latch. Were you that drowsy? You read before that lacking sleep was akin to being drunk. The window shut with an audible click and you spun your heel, ready to turn in for the night.

Your eyes widened, locking onto a pair of brilliant, bright green orbs. Your bedroom was shrouded in darkness, but those eyes were shining like emeralds. You could not make out the rest of the person’s face, but you were certain that their eyes were as wide as yours. You squinted. Broad shoulders. Broad everything, really. Tall too. Short hair, probably. A man? No, a burglar! A burglar in your room! You opened your mouth and he put his hands up as if he was steadying a rabid animal.

“Easy. I’m not looking for trouble. I just– whoa!”

Most definitely a man. His voice was not too deep, but it also was too deep for it to be fake. Unless he was an actor? You had seen actors at the theater reach incredible lows with their voices before. But what kind of actor snuck around an estate this late at night? Most of them were well-off. Regardless, such a possibility was still plausible. Come to think of it… This bulgar sounded young. Not young like a child, but he didn’t sound like an old geezer either. Was he around your age? You pursed your lips. Oh this was no time for pondering such things! You scanned your desk for other objects to hurl at him. Though that chamberstick you just threw was likely the most threatening thing you had on hand, you grabbed the thesaurus that sat by your unsent letters. 

Normally, you used it to lengthen your replies to dukes and duchesses. You used it to craft flowery words, flattering compliments and faulty excuses as to why you could not attend their monthly croquet games. Normally, when you turned around after closing your window, you were met with the sight of your bed. It was extravagantly large, enough to fit three people and dozens of throw pillows and stuffed animals. Normally, the path from the window and your bed was clear. All you had to do was walk straight and flop onto your comforter. 

But as with most norms, there were exceptions. Tonight was one of them. You took a deep breath. The intruder lowered his hands, sighing in relief. You seemed to have calmed down… or so he thought. You grunted and launched the book towards the intruder like a javelin. He ducked in the nick of time once again, rolling over to his side. The thesaurus collided with the flower vase on your nightstand, shattering it. 

“Shit.”

You gasped, hands quick to cover your mouth. If your nanny heard you just now, you would never see the light of day. Not only were your words profane, your actions were the exact opposite of graceful. 

The grip on your face tightened. The intruder was not moving. He was lying on his back, limbs sprawled everywhere. Your breath hitched. Could he be…? Would that make you a…? 

Your palms began to sweat as you knelt down by his body. You closed your eyes and nudged his side with the tip of your fingers. He didn’t budge. You leaned forward, peering over his body, curious like a kitten with a fishbowl. He was most definitely a man. Your vision had slightly adjusted to the dark. Nothing in sight was as clear as day, but nothing in sight was a blur either. He was indeed tall with broad shoulders. Muscular from the looks of it, but not too burly. The dark trench coat and dagger sold the look of a vandal. Albeit, he was easy on the eyes. You paused, shaking those senseless thoughts out of your head. Vehemently. He was an intruder. A trespasser. A burglar. Possibly a–

Wait. A sharp inhale. An abrupt movement. You shrunk back as his eyes fluttered open. A gloved hand flew out and clamped over your mouth, pushing your back onto the side of your bed and pinning you there– before you could muster a cry for help. Both of your own hands wrapped around his wrist, a feeble attempt to pry him off of you. He put an index finger to his lips and flashed his green eyes at you. Quiet. 

He lowered his hand when you nodded. You took a deep breath and let out half a scream before his hand was on your mouth again. He flashed his eyes at you once more. Don’t.

This time, he lowered his hand, but kept it near you just the same. His other hand rested a few inches away from your ankles, trapping you in between your bedside and himself. One hand to guard your upper body and the other for your legs– should you try to escape. You could feel the warmth radiating through his gloves. He shifted some of his weight on the hand by your ankles, raising the temperature of the room as well as your cheeks. 

“I’m not looking for trouble. Honest,” he whispered.

“Is breaking and entering not trouble?”

“... Suppose, I only entered.”

“Without permission,” you deadpanned. 

“Nothing was broken.”

You glanced at the very much broken vase on the floor and he gave you a dry laugh. Technically, you broke it, but chances are it would have stayed intact if it were not for him. 

“I could fix it for you,” he offered.

“Fix it?”

“If you’d like.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

He smiled and held his hand up like he was solemnly swearing an oath. You tilted your head to the side as a pale green mist-like aura materialized and swirled around his fingers. He turned his hand, grabbing the ends of it, pinching with his thumb and index finger. Then, he pulled the mist downward. It was a swift motion. You blinked and then leaves and petals had formed. They were the same pale green as the mist from earlier. You looked at him and then his hand. He brought his creation closer to your hand. Your fingers brushed his when you took the flower. You gasped as the flower disappeared upon contact. 

“With a little magic.” 

“Are you a mage?”

“Something like that.” 

“From the Senobium?”

“I’m more of a freelancer,” he said with a click of his tongue. His brows were cross and his emerald eyes momentarily lost their shimmer and shine. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

“My lady? My lady? Is everything alright?” a voice called. 

You froze. The intruder did as well.

The door swung open and your maid, Adaline, entered before you could even say “come in”. Light poured into your bedroom, casting distinct shadows onto the carpet. You were able to get a good look at your intruder’s face now. The same green eyes. Olive skin with deep and noticeable eye bags. Dark hair that framed his face and a long scar across his left cheek that ran down to his forearm. He was most certainly easy on the eyes. You scowled and pushed him off of you, shooting straight up from your position. 

“My lady?” 

He laid on his back, bringing both his hands behind his head. He shot you a shy, toothy grin. You frowned. He was far too lax. From Adalines’s perspective, you were standing by your bed, an ordinary sight. If she came any closer, there would be a man on your bedroom floor along with flower petals and shards of ceramic. If you told her there was an intruder, she would inform the guards immediately. But what would he do? He was a mage. You did not know the full extent of his capabilities. He had a dagger on him and you were wearing slippers. He was knee-deep in trouble, but you were the one dripping with beads of sweat. Decisions, decisions, decisions. 

“Yes!” you squeaked. You cleared your throat, “Yes. Yes, I am fine. Wonderful. Fantastic, even! Did you need something?”

“No, my lady. I just heard a scream. And something shattering. A loud commotion from your room. I came to check on you.” 

“I stubbed my toe,” you replied coolly.

“Goodness! I’ll fetch the physician–”

“No!” 

“No?”

“No… need to disturb him! Especially at this hour. It’s late. I will manage.” 

“If that is what you wish, my lady,” she bowed, “I will return to my quarters now. Please try to get some sleep tonight as well. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“Do I?”

“Yes… with the Duke of Cromwell. Have you forgotten?”

“It would seem that I have,” you said, rubbing your temples. “Thank you for reminding me, Adaline. I will do just that.” 

“Will you?” She narrowed her eyes. Her gaze was stern. 

“Pardon?” Your palms were getting clammy. There was a reason you read stories instead of telling tall tales.  

“Forgive me, my lady. It’s just… you have a tendency to stay up late reading long after you say goodnight.” 

You sheepishly tittered and glanced at the bookshelf behind you. Such a conjecture was not too far off. Prior to your debutante, you spent your evenings reading till dawn. Adaline caught you in the act on numerous occasions. If you were not so busy these days, she would have hit the nail on the head. 

“Alright, alright. I will retire for the night now. Goodnight, Adaline,” you surrendered.

Your maid crossed her arms. You sighed and climbed into your bed, pulling the blankets up to your shoulders. You closed your eyes for good measure. A moment passed and you opened one eye to catch a glimpse of her pleased expression. 

“Goodnight, my lady,” she smiled and with another curt bow, she dismissed herself, closing the door behind her. 

Once her footsteps were out of earshot, you sprung up and threw your sheets to the side. The intruder was already sitting up. Your flower vase sat on his lap. True to his word, he was fixing it with magic. One hand held a shard of ceramic close to his face while a finger from his other hand traced the edges with a thin line of chartreuse. He then attached the shard to the vase. As he did, the magic evaporated, leaving behind a gold vein in between the cracks. The gold did not fade like the green aura. 

“What are you doing with the gold?”

“It’s kind of like an adhesive,” he explained, turning the vase onto its side. He picked up another shard and traced the edge with his finger, leaving a metallic sheen behind, then affixed it to the vase’s main “body”.  

You swung your feet over the edge of your bed and leaned forward, “I do not mean to undermine your magical prowess, Mr. Mage, but when you said magic… I was expecting something a little more–”

“Flashy?”

Your eyes fell to the ground and nodded. 

“Usually it is. I like to put on a show but I’m running a little low on mana right now. I’ll give you the full experience next time.” 

“Next time?”

“If you’d like to stop by Lowtown one of these days.”

“What makes you think I would stop by?” you asked, crossing your arms, “You are a stranger who broke into my bedroom in the dead of night, claimed that you were not looking for trouble yet you laid your hands on me and pinned me down. Accepting an invitation like that is akin to walking into a lion’s den.”

“I thought we’d be okay now since you didn’t alert your maid,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Forgive me. I did not have much of a choice. I was worried my life would be on the line if I was not quiet about your presence,” you huffed. 

“Ha... sorry about that… but thank you.”

“Thank you?” 

“For not turning me in even if you were a little scared. I promise you that I’m not looking for trouble. I would never harm you either.” 

You raised a brow. He said that same phrase quite a few times now.

“Then what brings you to my estate?”

“I… got into trouble elsewhere and needed somewhere to hide. I saw the window was open and jumped inside,” his jaw was taut and his eyes never met with yours.  

“Not looking for trouble, huh?”

He sighed, “Look, I’m not a bad guy. I was just doing a… commission.”

“That sounds like something an assassin would say.” 

“I’m not an assassin.” 

“What kind of commission has you working so late?” you asked, glancing at his dagger. He clutched the hilt and you inhaled sharply. He locked his gaze with yours as he let go of the handle as quick as he was to grab it. The glint in his eyes ceased.

“A client wanted me to retrieve something at your neighbor’s house.”

“Should you be disclosing the details of your robberies to me, Mr. Mage?” 

“Is it stealing if it didn’t belong to them in the first place?” His eyes were dark and hooded as he looked up at you. A shiver ran down your spine. 

“Oh so you are a chivalrous thief. From those fairytales.” 

“Something like that,” he said with a laugh. 

You were jesting, but your heart skipped a beat. The idea of a thief that steals from the rich and gives to the poor being real was alluring. Enchanting. And perhaps too good to be true. You pressed your lips together. He only said “something like that” and you were already daydreaming. You knew better than to take someone’s word at face value, but an occasional reverie never hurt. Head in the clouds and weight off your shoulders– it was the most marvelous feeling. 

Porcelain clinked against the wooden surface of your nightstand, checking you in with the reality that was right in front of you. The mage finished repairing your vase. Thin veins of gold were strewn across the ceramic much like the scar that traveled from his left cheek down to his forearms. They were a clear indicator that the vase was broken at one point, but admittedly, there was some charm to it. The gold glistened in the moonlight and paired well with your gilded furniture. 

“Do you like it?” he asked.

You hummed and nodded. ‘It was lovely,’ you wanted to say. 

The mage grunted as he bent down to salvage the flowers on your carpet. They lost a petal or two, but other than that they were fine. He did not seem too agree, vexation coloring his face.  

“I’ll get you some new flowers tomorrow,” he said, placing the barely withered flowers into the vase. 

“You do not have to.”

“I insist.”

“Really, I–”

“It’s the least I can do for breaking and entering.”

He smiled when you turned speechless. You groaned, “Alright, but you must come by in the evening. If a man were to be spotted in my room, it would be the talk of the town.”  

“As you wish, my lady.” 

Heat crept up your cheeks as he took your hand and pressed a firm yet gentle kiss on your knuckles, searing that area of your skin with a warm, fuzzy sensation. You stared at your hand as he straightened his posture and walked towards your window as if nothing had transpired. You held your breath as you watched him open your window and climb onto the balcony railing. The evening breeze welcomed itself into your bedroom once more. It was stronger this time, swaying your curtains, but it was not cold. 

“Wait!” 

You put a hand over your mouth. Words slipped through your lips before you could even process them. But it was too late for any kind of contemplation. The mage had paused and turned around. 

“Could I get your name?” 

“Leander,” he said. His emerald eyes flickered. They were somehow brighter than before. Eyes could not smile, but the way he looked at you made you think otherwise.  

“Leander,” you repeated softly.

“And you?”

“I am Lady (y/n) of the Sci–,” you grimaced and cleared your throat. A force of habit.  You rehearsed that line more times than you can count. It was a formal introduction for you and your family name, reserved for conversations with noble socialites and grand party entrances. You found them redundant yourself so you would do well sparing a somewhat chivalrous thief the formalities. “Just (y/n) is fine.”

“Just (y/n),” he repeated.

You rolled your eyes and Leander beamed in response. He turned his back to you once more and jumped off the balcony, disappearing into the night with a flurry of misty green flower petals. You rushed out onto the decking, peering over the handrail. Sure enough, Leander was gone, but your smile remained. 

Chapter 2: the duke and his accomplice

Notes:

Enter Elyon!! This chapter is mostly focused on introducing him and setting up the plot, but don't worry Leander is still mentioned ♡

Sunlight poured into your bedroom, illuminated the crevices of your bedroom and pried your drowsy eyes open. You reluctantly sat up and rubbed your eyes, catching a glimpse of the sun peeking out from Eridia’s horizon. You grimaced as a knock graced your ears. Staying up late and rising early was a routine at this point, but it was not often that you regretted the choices made the previous night. Whenever you would wake up after sleeping at an absurd hour, you felt tired. However, today was a bit different. Today, you felt like death. You were on the verge of collapsing. You were seated far from your vanity, but you did not need to look into a mirror to know that the bags beneath your eyes were dark and heavy. 

“Come in,” you called.

On cue, Adaline swung your bedroom door open. She beelined towards your balcony window and drew the curtains, letting the daylight flood your room. A few other ladies in waiting followed her inside your chambers like little ducklings, wheeling in racks of dresses. You yawned while she put her hands on her hips. 

“Good morning, my lady.”

“Good morning,” you replied sheepishly, shrinking deeper into your sheets. It was apparent that she was eyeing the flower vase beside you. And how could she not? Leander’s gold work shimmered and shined now that the sun was out. Many things in your room had gold accents, but Adaline had seen that vase for years. It was different to say the least.  

But the dreaded question never came. Instead, Adaline presented you with the usual: “Did you sleep well?” 

“I suppose,” you said nonchalantly. 

She sighed, “You can take a nap when you are done with the Duke of Cromwell.”

You pressed your lips together. He almost slipped your mind. Almost, that is. He was always on the back burner, a thought you did not want to acknowledge until it came back to haunt you. To remind you of your place in high society. To remind you that love was a prospect not a promise. 

Your father described this meeting as a simple luncheon except for the fact that it was everything, but a simple luncheon. He was a passive man in all regards. He never arranged anything with anyone, always letting them come to him. This was the case even for the Duke of Cromwell. He personally reached out to your father unlike your other potential suitors who wrote directly to you, piquing the interest of your father. And who would be a fool to turn down a Cromwell? 

The Cromwell’s were a distinguished family with a status much higher than yours— or most families in Hightown for that matter. The duke was their pride and joy, a young man that ran the most esteemed brothel in Eridia. Well, as esteemed as a brothel run by nobles for the nobles could be. Lords and ladies would come to get away from their loveless marriages. One single night full of bliss and then it was back to normal. One single night and the Cromwell’s were able to rake in thousands of dollars. Those nights happen every night without fail. 

‘What would the duke know about love?’ you mused as the maids helped you into a dress. 

One fluffed out your petticoats. Another cinched your waist with a corset. Your father probably had the dress tailored for today. You had never seen this dress before. Moreover, the maids typically asked you what you wanted to wear, letting you pick from the racks they wheeled into your room that day. Suppose they wanted to give you the illusion of choice. You could not blame them though. Your father’s words were absolute despite them being your ladies in waiting. You held your arms out as Adaline ushered the sleeves up your shoulders. She then spun you around, allowing you to face your reflection in the vanity mirror. 

The dress was a lovely royal blue color with delicate black lace trimming around the neckline, but when Adaline collapsed a silver necklace adorned with sapphires around your neck, it was not as lovely as you thought. Beautiful as your ensemble was, you could not help but frown. You were a walking Cromwell crest. The duke was the one that proposed this meeting yet it seemed like you were the one trying to win him over. Or rather, your family were the ones trying to win him over. 

From a business standpoint, having a relationship with the Cromwell’s was fruitful. The pros outweighed the cons. Well, technically, there was only one con— you and your feelings. Other than that, there was truly nothing to lose for both families. Only things to gain. 

Your family, the Sciarra’s, were tycoons of the Eridian perfume industry. The Cromwell’s brothel was located by the outskirts of the Amaryllis District which was glazed with sweet, floral fragrances. You did not need to know the specifics of whatever your father and the duke talked about in order to know that a union would benefit both parties. You were certain the Sciarra’s would take a slice of the Cromwell’s pie all while their profits would skyrocket as they would have access to the finest artisan perfume in Eridia for dirt cheap. Or perhaps access to your factories?

Adaline put a hand over your eyes, spraying a touch of perfume behind your ears. You resigned yourself to today’s schedule when she tilted your chin downward, forcing you to look your reflections in the eyes, and just like that, you were ready for your outing with the duke. 

“You look lovely, my lady.”

“All thanks to you.”

She smiled and took your hand, “You will do just fine.” 

You squeezed her hand, allowing her to guide you towards the door and down the hallways of your estate like a child on her first day of school. Not a single word was exchanged between you and your maid as you waltzed your way towards the foyer. You bit your bottom lip. 

Though it was the crack of dawn, it was still too quiet for your liking. You had so many things to say, so many thoughts to voice, but none of them came out. What was Adaline supposed to do if you cried your eyes out and threw a tantrum, demanding that you marry for true love even though you hardly left your manor to meet– let alone love– anyone? Console you with lies? Tell you it will be alright? Tell you that the one for you is out there somewhere? There was nothing she could do for you. She was your servant and you were her lady. Lady… Lady Cromwell… you shuddered at the thought. It was too soon to be thinking about such things. Even if they were inevitable. 

Adaline held your hand a little tighter as you descended the grand staircase that led to the foyer and the front entrance of the Sciarra estate. At the bottom of the steps, there stood a man with the most peculiar pair of eyes you had ever seen. His irises were a piercing electric blue, but his sclera were pitch black. Your breath hitched as he smirked at you. 

“Forgive me, your grace, but I thought you were going to wait outside,” Adaline quipped, letting go of your hand. 

He chuckled and extended his hand towards you. “I realized that it would be improper to let a lady be escorted by a maid while I twiddle my thumbs in a carriage. First impressions are important, mind you.”

You took his hand without a second thought, allowing him to press a chaste kiss on your knuckles, searing your skin hot with his lips. Albeit, it did not leave the same impression as the kiss Leand– you frowned. 

“Then, I will leave you to it.” Adaline  turned to you and brushed off the sides of your sleeves, “Take care, my lady.”

Her back was facing you before you could reply and bid her farewell yourself. You turned your attention back to the duke. 

“Shall we get the formal introductions out of the way?” he asked.

“We shall.”

“Then, ladies first.”

“Greetings. I am Lady (y/n) of the Sciarra household in the East of Hightown. Delighted to make your acquaintance,” you said with a curt curtsy.

He returned the gesture with a bow, “And I am Duke Elyon of the Cromwell household in the Southwest of Hightown. The pleasure is all mine.” 

You smiled. He smiled. Then, you both walked outside to the carriage in silence. Your footsteps were loud and echoed throughout the front yard. The heels of his boots clicked and clacked against the cobblestone. As you got closer to the carriage, the coachman hopped off the driver’s seat and opened the door for you both as you. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, a hand over his heart like a knight swearing an oath. His head was perpendicular to the ground. 

Elyon hummed, almost as if he acknowledged the coachman’s bow and climbed in first. He then turned around and then held a hand out to you. You gathered your skirts in one hand and took his with the other. He squeezed your hand as he pulled you to your seat. 

You smoothed your petticoats out while the carriage shook slightly as the coachman climbed onto the driver’s seat. With the crack of a whip, the horses started trotting. You folded your hands together, feeling his stare on you. Or perhaps he was not staring. The carriage was small. He was seated across from you. His only options were to look out the window or straight at you. You opted for the former, leaning against the window. You held back a sigh as you watched your estate get smaller and smaller in the distance. You hardly lived a life and now you were doomed to marry a man you hardly knew. Your eyes flickered to Elyon. 

To your surprise, he was not staring at all. His eyes were closed. His lashes were long, brushing his cheeks ever so slightly. His hair was as long and dark as night with the tips dyed a chestnut brown. He wore a single silver earring on his right ear, a stark contrast to the rest of his royal blue and black outfit. He sported a suit-like ensemble though the dress shirt was a little odd. It was left open around his collarbone and there were two ribbon chokers around his neck. He also donned a cloak with an enormous amount of fur trimming. Your brows are knitted together. It was summer. Eridian summers were sweltering and unforgiving. Even the early mornings were hot. You pursed your lips and looked down at your sumptuous dress. No matter. Aristocrats adored flamboyance one way or another. 

You turned your head back to the window. Your fingers found their way onto the black lace of your dress and ran their way across the dainty fabric’s bumps and grooves in a smooth back and forth motion. 

“You should rest, my lady. It will be a while before we reach our destination,” Elyon said as you jolted up from your seat. 

“Is your manor really that far from here?” 

“No it is not. It is only a thirty minute carriage ride, but we are taking a detour.”

“What for?”

His eyes fluttered open. His black sclera held the carriage atmosphere with an iron grip. He crossed his arms. 

“Have you not heard?” 

“Heard what?”

He chuckled, “There is a thief running around Hightown as of late. The city police have been pursuing him, but to no avail. All anyone knows is that he only steals from manors and caravans like this one. Your neighbor, the Earl of Sinclair, was his most recent victim. He was robbed last night. I’m not sure of the details, but my social circles have been saying all that he lost was a few magical artifacts in his antique collection.”

You blinked. That must have been Leander. The one who said he was not looking for trouble…

“So we are taking a detour to avoid this thief?” you asked, trying not to let your voice waver. 

“Yes.”

“But would a thief really strike in broad daylight?”

He chuckled again, “Who knows? It is better to be safe than sorry, no?”

“...You have a point.”

Elyon closed his eyes again as the conversation ceased. However, unlike the silence that occurred during your walk to the carriage, this one was comfortable. It felt natural. Less awkward. A little more peaceful. 

You would like to join him and rest your eyes but you were ruminating again. Leander. Leander. Leander. You shifted in your seat. What to do? Turn him in? He was a thief. One that targeted aristocrats. He stole from your neighbor and possibly many other families. But… Elyon never mentioned anything gruesome. So was it safe to assume that Leander was only a chivalrous thief with no blood on his hands? You dared not to press Elyon for more details. The last thing you wanted was to be a criminal’s accomplice. You could already imagine the headlines already: Lady Sciarra Aids the Hightown Phantom Thief’s Great Escape and is Now on the Run! The Sciarra Family Name is Now Forever Tarnished! Oh the Tragedy! 

“My lady?”

“Yes?” your voice cracked.

“Is this carriage not to your liking?”

“Not all, your grace.”

“I see. Forgive me then. You seemed rather skittish,” Elyon said, eyes fluttering open once more. A stern expression crossed his face.

“Nerves, I suppose.” You tried your best to make your smile reach your eyes. 

“I do not bite, Lady Sciarra.”

“How reassuring.”

“But it is true.”

“That it is.”

“I am not looking to trouble you, my lady.”

Your posture stiffened. Did all the men in Eridia say that whenever someone appeared to be distressed? Or was it your cursed luck? First Leander. Now Elyon. 

“I am not troubled by you, your grace.”

He sighed, “This outing is not a marriage proposal if that is what you are concerned about.” 

“And what makes you say that?” 

Were you that obvious? Your brows furrowed. No, you were thinking about Leander just now. Not that Elyon would know. Still… for someone so far off the mark, he hit the nail on the head.

“Call it an educated guess. Like I said, you seemed rather skittish around me.”

“I apol–”

Elyon held a hand up. “I am not offended, my lady. Your feelings are reasonable. I made my debut into society nine years ago. Ten years in a couple of months. Yours was fairly recent if my memory serves correctly and I am no manther. So please rest assured– I have no intention of marrying you.”

You opened then closed your mouth. You did not even know his age prior to this conversation. Your father kept every bit of information about Elyon away from you aside from his name and title. The rumors about the Duke of Cromwell spoke for themselves, but none of them ever described him as the type of man who would jump to conclusions so quickly. Admittedly, the conclusion he presented before you was rational. Sensible, even. If it were not for the fact that your mind was plagued with thoughts about your encounter with a certain thief instead of the situation at hand, Elyon would be right. You were concerned about marriage. And if you knew he was almost a decade older than you, perhaps you would be alarmed too. 

“So this outing is…?”

“A date,” he said. 

“Your grace! You just said you had no intention of marrying me!”

“I do not, but I have a contract to uphold.”

You rested your head in your palms, “My father put you up to this, did he not?” 

“Your father and my father.”

“Are you not the Duke of Cromwell?”

“I am more or less the Acting Duke of Cromwell. I may handle affairs and such, but my father is still the Duke of Cromwell on paper until he passes.”

“So this contract…”

Elyon tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, “You seem well-educated. Would you like to take a gander?”

Your breath hitched. You were indeed educated and you did have a guess, but your blood boiled. He raised a brow in turn as you exhaled slowly.

“Your brothel and my family’s perfume. A union between us would profit both parties in terms of business as well as smooth out any legal proceedings with this joint operation. ”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“But that is assuming we are to wed, your grace. You expressed no desire in doing so, but if that is the case, then what were the conditions our fathers proposed?” 

A wry laugh slipped through his lips as he leaned against his cushioned seat. “I initially reached out to the Earl of Sciarra about business proceedings between my brothel and the Sciarra’s perfumery. There was no marriage in the first few versions of our business contract. That is… until my father suggested a union. From there, my contract was profusely revised by our fathers. ”

You pursed your lips. “Would it not be beneficial to proceed with the original deal and use your status as a bachelor for another contract?”

“Beneficial, yes. However, I have been using that excuse for years now. I have not courted since my beautillion ball. My father meddled with my affairs in order to find me a bride. I suppose he grew weary of my ‘schemes’ while your father grew tired of you turning down every suitor that came your way,” Elyon said with a strained grin. You stared at his forehead. A vein could pop at any moment. 

“Perhaps he wants you to find something else to love aside from money,” you jested, ignoring that last bit about you. 

“So I’ve been told.”

“...Do you believe in love, your grace?”

“Pardon?”

“Love. Like true love. Courting someone because you love them. Marrying someone because you love them.”

He gave you a sideways glance, “I suppose I could believe in it. Like how children believe in Saint Nicholas.”

A pout formed on your lips as heat rushed to your cheeks. You were a fool. Of course, he did not believe in such things. Love was only reserved for the storybooks.

“If you were wondering about the reason I have stopped courting, all you have to do is be direct, my lady.”

Elyon was right, but also a tad bit off the mark yet again. You assumed that love was the reason he did not court after his debut like the hopeless romantic you were, but you were more so curious if there was someone out there who was just like you, someone who believed in fairytales and fantasy novels. Not in some measly piece of gossip. 

“Forgive me, your grace. I did not want to pry,” you replied coolly. Nonchalantly. 

“It is quite alright. I have nothing to be ashamed of. To put it simply, I am bored.”

“Bored?”

“Yes, bored, my lady.”

“Bored of what?”

“Why, courting, of course.”

You blinked. He was beaming. Glowing, even. Almost as if he believed his answer would earn him a gold star. You opened your mouth, but Elyon beat you to it.

“I am kidding, my lady.”

“I am in tears,” you muttered. 

“Humor me a little, Lady Sciarra.”

You hummed in response, allowing a silence to make itself known. The chirps and whistles of birds were audible from inside the carriage now that your shallow heart-to-heart with Elyon came to an end. You stared out at the window, catching a glimpse of the cityscape and the ashy blue sky. Was the Cromwell estate near the metropolitan area? 

“Do you ever feel like courtship only ever demands pieces of you, but not all of you?” he mused, breaking into your brief moment of solitude.

“I would not know, your grace. This is my first time courting.” 

The carriage halted. You planted your heels onto the floor, bracing yourself should you fall. A faint click rang through your ears. You turned your head towards the carriage door and the coachman who stood by the entrance, bowing with a hand over his heart. Elyon rose from his seat and hopped off the carriage.

“Well, perhaps after today, you will go on many more outings and come to know what I mean when I say that,” he said with an outstretched hand. 

“I will be the judge of that,” you quipped as you took his hand, allowing him to help you step off the carriage. 

Once your shoes hit the pavement, you were quick to let go of his hand and turned your attention to smoothing out any wrinkles on your skirt. 

“I thought we were going to your estate.”

“Changes of plans,” Elyon shrugged, “Unless… you want to visit my estate?”

You shook your head.

“I thought so. I would like to believe that almost anyone would prefer a bustling town plaza than a manor with empty halls.”

“You may be right, your grace.” 

This time, your smile reached your eyes without you making any attempts to do so. It had been a while since you went downtown. You hardly had any time for leisure after your debutante. In fact, you hardly left your bedroom– let alone your estate. You paused. Ah, but Elyon was here with you. Bookstores were automatically crossed off your to-do list. 

“Have you ever been to the Amaryllis District, Lady Sciarra?”

“This is the Amaryllis District?”

You took a deep breath, letting the strong floral fragrances fill your nostrils. Of course. There were only two places in Eridia that smelled this pungent– the Sciarra perfumeries and the Amaryllis District. You scanned your surroundings. You never ventured to this part of Hightown. This district belonged to the “cleaner” side of the river, but it was also too close to Lowtown for your father’s comfort.  But despite his warnings, the arts district was not too shabby. It was colorful and lively as any other plaza in Hightown if not more. The only difference was the pink curtains and… your eyes fell on a noticeboard by a building you assumed to be a brothel. 

There were many flyers tacked onto the weathered wood, but there was one that stuck out to you in particular. It had a half-body portrait of a man drawn on it. A man with deep, emerald eyes and a dark trench coat. A scar ran down from his cheek to his crossed arms. You squinted. His nose was a bit crooked, but you were certain that was Leander. Something was not right. Elyon said that the authorities could not find the thief yet there were posters of him in the Amaryllis District. You brought a hand under your chin.

“Something on your mind?” 

You flinched and Elyon’s eyes widened.

“No,” you said, “Not at all.”

“Come, then. Let us go. I have a reservation at one of the restaurants here. Best not to keep the staff waiting.”

You watched as Elyon’s walk away from the carriage. You turned around to see the coachman crack his whip and the horses trot off. The duke was several paces ahead of you at this point, but your gaze still lingered on that poster. You glanced at Elyon’s figure which became increasingly smaller the more you stared at him then you glanced back at the poster once more. You looked left then you looked right. Then, you tiptoed towards the noticeboard and tore Leander’s portrait off with a clean rip.

You inhaled sharply, looking over your shoulder. Everyone around you seemed to be preoccupied with something or someone. You nimbly tucked the paper into the pockets of your skirt and made haste to catch up with Elyon. 

‘You are not an accomplice,’ you chided to yourself, ‘He will clear it up with you this evening as promised and all will be well.’