Bab 33: 33. French Brocade
Lady Zoila sent Joseph to have a bath and change his clothes in a different chamber. Meanwhile, Tariq made his way through the promenade of yellow jasmine towards the armoury.
The little house was covered in slate bricks, which was a clear dissonance to the remaining plan of the estate. The French door and its Georgian windows in a half arc were wide and broad, framed by white plaster details, allowing a large amount of light into the room.
Sitting on a Prussian blue chesterfield sofa right next to a bay window, near a stand with around six lances, was Gerrard, smoking a pipe,
Or, more accurately, *Gerrardine*.
“May I come in, Sister?”
“You already have. Take a seat.”
Tariq grabbed a padded, ornate chair that was sitting next to a desk that had a hammer, some pieces of leather, and a chest on top of it. There were three desks in the room, each of them around two metres in length and one metre wide. The boy sat, frowning and clenching his fists on top of his thighs, looking down.
*It’ll be better if I just say it directly.*
“My sword… My *Blood Sword*...was stolen.”
Gerrardine took a puff from her pipe, her eye searching Tariq.
“That is bad.”
“Yes.”
“Does Father know?”
The boy swallowed, gazing out the bay window.
“No. Not yet.”
Gerrardine took two more puffs, then grabbed a piece of paper from under a porcelain ashtray that was sitting on a table in the corner.
“Munin arrived with this message.” The girl showed the paper to her brother.
*Avoid the area of St. Legions' University in St. Lukas, particularly the attached graveyard. The fallen ones are rising at the Shadow of the Magna Hour, and preying on the sons of the land.*
“This is what I wrote for him...”
“Oh! Clever boy. I bet it was one of those “fallen ones” who stole your sword.”
Tariq shrugged.
“You're right.”
“You want me to forge a new one for you, I suppose...”
“Well, if it's not too much of a hassle, Sister...”
She put the pipe aside on the ashtray, frowning until the scar across her empty eye socket wrinkled. Her eye stayed on Tariq.
“Have you seen him? The Archbishop.”
“Yes. He’s there, at the college...” The boy scratched the nape of his neck. “I heard him talking to the dean yesterday...about ringing the bell at midnight and 3AM.”
“Right around the hours when the veils of the Umbral grow thinner.”
“Exactly. Also...I saw the demon. It's a huge, filthy beast. It kidnapped my dorm mate, and when I went to rescue him...there were three boys, long dead, in violated graves, inside the ruins of a cathedral.”
She frowned even deeper, looking as if she had sucked on a lemon.
“Nasty.”
“Yes.”
She sat up straight and grabbed Tariq by his cape, pulling him closer.
“Don't play the hero again. No matter what you hear, or see, or whoever is in trouble. That asshole is after you, and if, God forbid, he takes you...”
“I know, I know. Grandma told me the same thing.”
“Good.” Gerrardine released her brother, leaning back on the couch again. She crossed her legs, which were covered by black leather boots that reached halfway up her thighs. “Avoid staying there on the weekends. Come here, or find another safe place. But *always* report back to me.”
“Yes, Sister.”
Tariq swallowed.
*What if...that thing...gets Joseph?He lives all alone in the middle of nowhere...*
He looked down at the wood floor, clasping his hands together over his knees. Then he shook his head quickly.
*No. If I give in to those thoughts, I'll go mad.*
“Those injuries on your head… Was it the demon who did it?”
The prince touched his head, feeling the bandages. He had taken off his hat as soon as Lady Zoila finished taking care of Joseph, but there were so many problems racing through his mind that he hadn’t even realised.
"Yes."
She stared at the injuries for a while, but remained silent.
“About your sword,” she spoke finally, “I'll need four relics, each of them related to the four elements.”
“Right.”
“However, they cannot be the 'traditional' symbols… Wands for Fire, cups for Water, swords for Air, and pentacles or coins for Earth. You'll have to find artefacts which carry their energy, but have, how do I put this...a quirky *twist.*”
"W-Why? Isn't easier to use the traditional lore?"
“This sword will be made just for you. With your blood. Your prana. The symbols must be something meaningful to you, something you conquered by yourself. Not a generic cup you can go to a village and buy."
Tariq huffed.
"Come now, Brother. Fire is your Will, Air, your Intellect. Earth is your Accomplishments, and Water, your feelings. It's not *that* hard."
"Right..."
***
Joseph was alone in the room, dressed in an orange silk robe, sitting on the huge bed. His feet were swinging, the mattress was so tall.
He couldn't stop smiling. The fresh smell of verbena soap wafted from his body, his hair still heavy with water and the scent of jasmine. But the icing on the cake was that he was *finally* able to walk with both his feet again.
*I mean, my hands are still in bad shape, but...I couldn't be more grateful.*
He had just learned that the bedroom belonged to Prince Tariq. It was indeed very much like him. Simple, but incredibly distinct and beautiful.
"How was your bath, Doctor Selden?"
Joseph turned around. Tariq was there, his hair still in a ponytail, holding a folded change of clothes. He was dressed in just his shirt, cravat, and an olive green waistcoat.
"It was wonderful!" The blond boy smiled, moving off of the bed and standing right in front of the prince.
"Good. Here. Wear these. Nana wants us to have lunch with her."
Joseph went pale.
"Oh! Wow! I mean… Is that alright? I...have no clue of how to behave at a table...with a noble."
Tariq smiled and laughed.
"Don't worry about it, alright?"
Joseph took the clothing. They were a beautiful velvet set of a turquoise coat, trousers, and waistcoat, all embroidered with silver thread.
The doctor trembled. One piece alone was worth his parent’s house, at least.
"M-M God! This is...F-French brocade."
"They belong to my brother, René. He’s around the same size as you. Now come on. She’s waiting."
The boy unfolded the clothes slowly, like he was holding a powder barrel with a lit wick. He wanted to roll them out on the bed to avoid any wrinkles, but was having a hard time of it with only one hand.
"Let me help you."
*I thought they would have servants for this sort of thing...*
Then, he realised.
*Certainly they do. For other nobles, though.*
The matriarch already took care of his injury herself in a miraculous way. Their servants bathed him, and now one of the princes was helping him to dress properly, so he could have a meal with the lady of the house...
*I’ve already received too much.*
Joseph stared at Tariq for a while. The soft light through the curtains painted his already warm skin and hair in gold... The dark locks, tamed on his head, save for a few curls falling in his face, were like a bronze frame for his masculine and rebellious face.
*God, how can someone be this beautiful?*
Joseph gripped his robe.
*I wonder...how would it feel...to touch his hair... Is it as soft as it seems?*
*The touch of his skin… Is it as warm as it seems? Is it soft...or a little rough, like his hands?*
The image of the prince’s naked figure that he saw on New Year's Eve came to his mind.
The young doctor shut his eyes and shook his head, his hair whipping all around.
*Dear God, what the hell am I even thinking?*
"What's the matter?"
Tariq was right in front of him, his eyebrow raised.
"Oh...n-nothing."
"Let me help you out of your robe."
Joseph trembled and felt his face begin to flush. He was completely naked underneath the robe. He lowered his head.
"Er… That isn't necessary, my prince."
"Are you sure?"
"Y-Yes. I might take a little while, but...I'll be there."
"Why is your face red?"
*Please, just leave already.*
There was a brief moment of silence.
Tariq crossed his arms, frowning, and Joseph could feel his eyes all over him.
Those heavy hands touched the doctor's cheek, slowly trailing down along his neck and resting above his collarbone.
"Ah!"
Joseph's face burned as if he had dived into a pool of lava. His mouth watered and his eyes stung with tears.
Not tears of sadness, however...
It was shame, for letting out that moan... But also...
*Would he…*
*Would he...want it?*
*Do I want it?*
Tariq's hands kept moving, caressing his neck, his chin...right near his lower lip.
The doctor bit his tongue as the prince kept caressing his face with his thumb.
He grabbed Joseph's chin, making him look up, and the doctor noticed the deep colour of blush running across his caramel skin.
"You're hot… Do you have a fever, Doctor?"
*Those falcon eyes… I...could drown in them, as if they were a pool of gold...*
"I...I d-don't think so..."
Joseph felt an arm of iron grabbing his waist, suddenly, irrevocably, pulling him close.
Their torsos were glued to each other, so tight that it became hard to breathe.
The doctor felt his nipples harden when the robe fell partially open and the prince's shirt rubbed against his bare chest.
Tariq's hand moved from Joseph's chin to cup his cheek, his fingers pushing into his hair and wrapping around the back of his neck, gently tilting his face to meet his own.
The prince's breath was dangerously close to Joseph’s mouth.
This time, Joseph just closed his eyes.
*How would it feel…? Those hands...touching my body?*
Hadiah
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