Storme Family/Aila/AilaxOliver
Contents
A private Date
“I’m sure my accomplishments for earning an earldom still pale in comparison to Our Lady’s—Becoming a duchess when she was only twenty?” Oliver gazes into his cup, thinking, until he sampled one of Gideon’s apple slices. “She sets the standard for me. I can only hope to outperform her, though earning a higher title may take some time for me to do with all the other lords in the realm. Not to mention, she must be aiming to become a queen, and she’s only twenty-two.” He admits with genuine admiration hidden in his rolling accent.
Oliver looks over then back to the manservant, curiously having chosen to sit across from him. He could have told Gideon he wasn’t given permission to take a seat, for the fun of it, but that was too bothersome.
“Quite right you are Gideon agrees, though very little of what Oliver had said was actually right. Regardless of how incorrect his numbers were, the fact did remain that Aila had risen to heights not even the woman herself had expected at her young age.
So Oliver smirks instead, backtracking. “What is it that keeps Her Grace up at night? Thoughts of me I’m sure?” Oliver asks with his cocky surety. Yet, an ebb of concern stabs at his heart.
Gideon pauses, looking around the room. It seems quite obvious to him the things that must keep a person like Aila awake. It can be easy to forget that all the beauty and frivolity around them was not hers, not really. All of it had been here when she arrived, all of it would remain when she leaves...A bed for kings, a day bed for princesses, rugs hunted by dukes and paintings collected by Queens. Then there was the office itself, the duties she had to uphold, and even then there were still the things she took on outside of her duties, the guilds, the faith, the events.
He sighs, reminding himself it is not his job to educate this lad “Her Grace does not share the worries of her mind with commoners...But that is what I am sure it is. Worries.”
In return. The young lordling shrugs, not one who understands just yet the day to day worries of Her Grace’s mind. Whatever it is that troubles Aila, Oliver will just have to find out for himself.
“Hmm. How long have you been with the duchess now, my goodman Gideon? You’re always the one who is around her. Yet. You’re not sure as to hazard a guess?” His dusky green eyes stare back at Gideon, watchful and keen. Oliver has his doubts over the servant’s ignorance in any respect.
“I’ll tell you a secret. Gideon.” He waves a hand to shush the other. “—Between one faithful man of the duchess to another.” The corner of his lip twitches into a grin; youthful, daring, and ever mischievously boyish as Oliver enjoys playing into.
Oliver glances aside at the entrance to be sure they’re alone, and he turns back, shining his high beams on the older, skeptical man still.
“I plan to court our lovely Lady Aila properly.”
The young lord looked excited as he said it. Shoulders itching with anticipation. “I plan to be there at her side when she’s feeling weak. I shall be there when she’s alone. I will be the man she relies upon when she needs the strength. She and I aren’t just friends anymore. No. Things are changing now; for the better even. I don’t plan on letting her go, despite that she can be a bit of a brat.”
Oliver left behind his sprawling posture on the small sofa and leaned forward, suddenly looming in his height even while sitting.
“So.” Squaring up in his seat. Rolling his shoulders. Bratty demeanor erased. “If you know of anything I can do to ease the burdens Aila faces. You should let me know, as you will be seeing—a lot—of me in the duchess’s future.”
Gideon takes in this admission with a serious face that told nothing of the thoughts behind it. Oliver could square up and loom as much as he liked, he would need to sprout a few more chest hairs to intimidate this retainer. Instead of being cowed he appraises the man, wondering what had happened to instill such easy confidence in him that he would think to court Aila, his Aila.
A little tsk escapes Gideon as he finally lets out a sigh and sits back in the chair across from Oliver. Outside he can hear a familiar voice commanding guards nearby not to allow visitors into the wing. The owner of that voice was about to get a shock. Knowing their time together was ending he says to Oliver simply “I have been with Aila nearly three years and have found her to be a solitary creature. What thoughts burden her, I cannot know.
Yet from working in her household I can tell you that if you want to ease her burdens then you must remain an escape for her, My Lord. A courtship may not be wise to suggest.” A mysterious smile appears before he stands to greet Aila just as she arrives through her door stopping short to observe the two men waiting in her front room.
She is dressed in pale blue silks trimmed in white, her hair combed out that morning until it shone like gold and gathered atop her head in a twist of braids and twinkling pins that glittered atop her head as a crown. The look of surprise on her face is quickly wiped away as she resumed on her path confidently, commanding Gideon to “leave us” as she strides past the two of them and charges past into the bedchamber next door without sparing either a second look.
Watching the Duchess make her exit Gideon calls after her with “Yes, your Grace” but waits for her to shut the heavy door behind her before he bows to the Earl, waiting for his leave as well.
Oliver hadn’t stood up on purpose when Aila appeared, in fact he was grinning wider the moment he could hear her through the doors calling out orders in her ever so familiar, melodic soprano. There was something about her courtly demeanor and the strict rules she imposes on others, that made Oliver want to breach them, to tease her out of spite—At least here in private where he could get away with it.
So as soon as she entered the room, Gideon was forgotten and his attention immediately went to her. Dark eyes tracking her graceful stride like a keen-eyed lion hunting after a meal. He already knew what laid under the gown, and he could imagine it all clearly now still as she showed her backside to him, moving to her inner chambers.
And she was gone again, he stared wistfully after those dark timbers of the door a moment longer, and remembered the manservant was still there.
Oliver puts on his winsome smile, shining teeth and all. “It has already begun anyway, my goodman.” ...And at last, the Earl of Nascot nods his dismissal.
He waits just long enough for Gideon to leave, before looking back to the door the duchess had just escaped behind. Oliver guessed there was going to be a wait, as the woman was likely freshening up just for him. The thought made him smile, and he combs the non-existent stray strands of his pony tail and long bangs back into place. He had spent an hour washing and making sure everything was silky smooth just before he arrived, so there was little else he could do to prepare.
In the meantime, Oliver takes his lyre into hand and settles into what was apparently Aila’s favorite chair; feet kicked up over the armrests, and playing a few boisterous notes of a cheery song as he waits.
Behind that heavy door Aila stands covering her eyes with both hands as she takes some long, deep breaths away from the prying eyes of various people. Her life is teeming with staff, dominated by guards and just recently infiltrated by an Earl.
He had not been back here since that night, the night she had been so horrible to him and inadvertently left him to die at the foot of her bed; and since then she had invited him back for various reasons. It would be wrong to show him out now.
So instead she collected herself, walking steady to the vanity where her looking glass stared back at her frowning knowingly. She twirled some curls in her fingers, smoothing them down and stood back again still unhappy with what she saw- or perhaps it was how she felt.
The intrusion of the pinging of a harp in the other room softens the severe look on her face and she takes a few sure steps toward the door, opening it gingerly before telling him “you can come in now”.
No sooner then she had invited him she was gone, leaving the chamber to lead him instead to the room beside it. A room he had never been in before.
Aila’s chambers were not built for a single woman, but rather for a noble and their family. As such the two rooms Oliver had seen were just the start of a large span of rooms. Off of her chamber were things such as a bathing room, her wardrobe rooms, a writing room and a parlour. The parlour, intended for a Duke and his kin to relax at the end of the day was decorated as lavishly as the others, heavy covers pulled back from the windows and shutters thrown open as the first room had been. As such it is bright and breezy, revealing to him more of the Duchess’ personal life than even she might realize.
The Harpsichord she had spoken about sits in the center in the room, beyond its seats to lounge on and shelves of books Aila likes to read. Manuals about bows and archery, sappy love stories, poetry, books of music, books about manners, all the things she thought too personal to display in her study. It shows the evidence of the girl behind the meticulous duchess, a few bits of outfits, jewelry and hair pieces left out of place, ribbons left on tables, slippers kicked off on the rugs and a pile of sewing on a table that threatened to overflow onto the floor. Clearly her standards for herself are not as high as the ones she holds for others, in this private living room.
She sits at the narrow seat by her instrument not facing the keys but facing the door as Oliver approaches at last instead, sizing him up without much shame about it. The summer was doing him well, he looked strong and healthy after a bit of sun and his easy smiles and confident strut was enough to lift anyone's spirits. Suddenly she was glad she had invited him so freely before “You’ve finally come to see me. I assume you wish to play?” She of course is referring to the instruments, but the quirk of her eyebrow may make one wonder. “What ever were you speaking to Gideon about I hope he did not offend you”
“Oh. Your servant was an absolute perfection of etiquette. I’ve no complaint what’s so ever with him.” He answers in his smoothly rolling accent, slowly enunciating a few of the syllables just so Aila and her barbaric ears could understand the nuances of his dwilish tongue, and his eyes scan over the room. Messy, but with an order to it only the shameless owner of it all could understand.
“That is good” She replies in almost a whisper.
He could find marks all around the room that show Aila’s hidden depth, the great care she puts in the things important to her. Oliver cocks an eyebrow, teasingly, as if he knew how embarrassing it might be for him to see all her personal effects. Even as he looked around, he wondered if he had seen it the last time he visited, he could barely remember patches of that night he rushed through the palace, feverish.
“Of course I haven’t forgotten what you said about us playing together.” Oliver’s eyes shine with mirth, following his grin, “I’ve actually been looking forward to seeing if you’re just as good as a harpsichord player as you are at tormenting children to sled with you.”
Showing he’s at the ready, he gestures his gold-painted lyre tucked under his elbow; flavored with its gaudy sky blue dragons that wrap around its curves like fantastical eels.
His voice turns suddenly grave as he faces her directly, grave and grim. Aila regards him only with suspicion.
“But there’s something I think we better get out of the way first…”
In a few steps Oliver crosses the room in long, powerful strides; suddenly swooping in, and bending down to her stool to steal a hot-blooded kiss. Taking it all, her warm breath, sweet scent, and delightful taste, like a drowning man craving for life-giving air. His hand slides into her hair, fiercely grabbing at a large tuft to make her arch her lips up to meet his own. His need is unstoppable, and he doesn’t let up until he’s forced to break away for a breath.
“I’ve missed you…” Oliver hovers close gasping, with his fist closed on one of the duchess’s braids. He stares into Aila’s eyes with his lop-sided grin to match.
Aila tries to remain in control as the younger man strides toward her so quickly, with a hunger in his eyes that she cannot ignore. He makes her feel small even when he kneels before her in the room that used to be all hers. Oliver is here now, seeing her things, kissing her as he pleased, touching her as he pleased...even her precious hair, her crowning glory, her pride itself. His want is enough to make her want back - and she does, kissing him with equal ferocity until he pulls away, still gripping her hair.
He says he misses her, and it is apparent in the way he kisses her, and keeps his hold onto her as if he is afraid she will run away. For a long moment she studies his face and decides how she should repay him for his treatment.
“I’ve missed you too, yet you took too long to answer my summon” her words are hard, but her smile is playful amusement. “I am a Duchess do you not know what that means?” Acidic words, but a gentle touch as she runs a hand across the smoothness of his clean-shaven cheek
“Unfortunately my newfound duties had me busy a hundred miles away, even for an esteemed, beautiful duchess such as yourself.”
Oliver smiles now, straightening up again to his full height, but he tugs on Aila’s braids to force her to crane her neck up to meet his gaze. Each touch and caress proved to be a test to stretch the bounds of this new level of relationship between Duchess and Earl, every moment felt like to Oliver he was exploring something untouched.
“Much too far for comfort, I agree, but those witless peasants and incompetent scribes won’t be able to tax themselves properly now without help? Will they?”
Aila is leering at him threateningly, yet speaks gentle words “Certainly not. I can tell you have been learning.”
He finally releases his possessive hold over Aila’s hair and goes back to tuning the strings of the lyre, head cocked to the side listening with a practiced ear for the perfect pitches for each plucked chord. It takes just a moment and the looming warrior-courtier, in all his preened finery, nods satisfied. “This will do.” Oliver mumbles to himself.
His eyebrow cocks again as he looks to see Aila watching him expectantly, her waiting beauty makes him grin wide, as it always does; and Oliver promptly sits down on the bench next to her with a quickness enough to be almost rude; which for Oliver usually tends to be on purpose. He playfully bumps her hips with his and sits close enough to rub shoulders.
She feels the quality of the fabric that made up his outfit against her bare shoulder, it brings goosebumps prickling up her arms as they settle together on the little bench. She doesn't mind his quickness to sit beside her, and bumps him back onto his half of the bench with her boney elbows.
“Now, your Grace.” Oliver says with his puffed up courtly pride. “I believe it’s time I make up for all these dreadfully long, few days that I spent away from you. Shall we begin?”
Her instrument is a rather large harpsichord with two rows of keys built primarily of cypress wood, heavy, smoothed to perfection and ornate with delicately painted details on every visible surface. When Aila bends forward to lift the cover it reveals rows of glimmering brass strings all in place and tuned by the most skilled tuner in the lands naturally. The keys themselves are wood as well, a brighter almost white spruce polished to a mirror-like finish to favor the delicate lady’s fingers.
“Keep up” Aila prompts, glancing down at the keys as takes the proper posture and places one hand at the ready, the other remains resting in her lap. Before them is sheet music already laid out on thick expensive paper, the song Aila has been practicing was written by a Caligan composer. It’s name harkens back to summers past, and the memories therein.
It begins slowly, with delicate strokes of the keys the room is filled with the sweetness of brass being plucked by tiny fingers within the wooden body and echoing forward. Keeping time with a gentle tap of her foot the first page is nearly done before she adds her second hand to the keyboard and the two are in harmony following the music along in a way that shows she did practice; but not too much. All the same she is the picture of confidence even as she hits a -somewhat sour- note and simply laughs it off before asking softly “Do you know it?” prompting him to join in.
Oliver hadn’t been quite paying attention to the music, his attention was solely fixated on the dance of her hands across the keys, then it would travel past her lithe arms up to the silent focused expression on her face. He blinked in surprise when he realized Aila had stopped and was looking at him.
“I am not familiar with the exact movement of the song, but I believe I heard enough to be your accompanist.” He says confidently, meeting her challenging eyes. Her look spoke enough to make him want to rise to her expectations.
And truthfully he did have an ear for it, Oliver began slowly plucking his lyre in a complement to the song that had resounded throughout the room just a moment ago. Testing at first. One string played too high, then another too low, and then as Aila’s fingers joined in on the harpsichord once more, Oliver was able to follow with his lover leading. His lyre eased out a harmony of chords to fill the background, as Aila’s skillful keying told the main story of the blissful summertime notes.
His years of playing the lyre and hiding the embarrassing skill from his father had come to fruition at last. He fantasized as a teenager playing for a Queen, but he could settle for a Duchess. Oliver turns to look at her, between the notes singing in the air, to flash a quick smile of his white teeth before looking back to his own instrument.
Shoulder to shoulder, smiling at eachother intermittently, with a growing pile of papers on the floor beside Aila as she pulls out favorite song after favorite song to play with him. This is how Gideon found them hours later, still very much enjoying their time together though it had slowly turned from less playing and more idle chatting as the afternoon turned to evening.
As the young Lord reaches around his mistress to playfully slam a key as part of some punchline, he interrupts amid Aila’s laughter with “your Grace” Continuing after the Duchess had whirled around with “My Lord” addressing Oliver too.
“What is it?” She snaps at him, standing from the narrow bench to collect the pile of papers thrown carelessly onto the floor. “Let me guess”
Gideon stands looking unamused, both hands held behind his back at attention like before waiting for whatever line she had for him today.
“Food?”
There is no will to play with her today, he stands aside from the door “Yes Your Grace.”
“We shall take it on the terrace” she commands flatly, carrying her armload of papers to a bookshelf where she tapped them straight before leaving them there. With her back turned to him Gideon is looking at Oliver, eyebrows raised until Aila turns back around and his servant's smile returns in full. Oliver just shrugs back looking pleased over something.
“Yes your Grace”
The sound of the door outside the room shutting prompts her to relax again “Gid means well” she offers to Oliver, making a very rare concession for her manservant. “He knew my father as a boy, there is some sense of duty there I cannot fault”. She begins to lead the way to the large archway leading outdoors just outside her parlour. There are plants, a table with some chairs, and the evidence in one corner of -some bird- in the form of some bones and feathers from various midnight snacks. There is a secure stone railing, fit for battle as well as leisure which looks out over where the sea had once been. Where salty winds had made this a wild and chilly place to stand a few years ago now was just a pleasant breeze and blazing sun.
“It would have been foolish of me to think I could have you all to myself. The only way I knew I could see you alone today, past all the sycophants and courtiers, was to sneak in and ruin your schedule on purpose.” Oliver hums low at Aila's side, the smile could be heard in his voice, and with a movement that bespoke a natural grace, he links his elbow intimately with hers. The space between them could never be too far apart. Each time he rubs his shoulder with Aila’s, he feels a spark of excitement.
Along the way, his eyes scan over the rest of their sun-washed balcony, until they reach the railing, and the Earl of Nascot wonders for a moment where the everpresent gyrfalcon could be hiding.
He turns back to Aila with an interested expression. As Oliver stares he notices a stray lock of hair, and takes it upon himself to brush it back behind her ear, “You know come to think of it, you haven’t told me much of your own family either. I would very much like to know what grandiose beginnings the Divine duchess of Perdan hails from. There are no other angry family members I will have to watch out for and duel to earn the right for your hand?” Oliver curves one of his peasant-cowing eyebrows at her in waiting amusement.
Aila bats away his fingers before replying somewhat sharply “I do not speak of it often because it is not a pleasant subject.”
Instantly she regrets this, and turns away from the view back to him “You have no one to worry about when it comes to my family”. She admits, sounding sorry as she is just now realizing he hadn’t asked anything offensive of her. People's families are not usually painful subjects, afterall “They are either dead or dead to me.”
Some serving girls stop in the doorway and bow to them both before placing some trays on the heavy stone table nearby. This was no formal dinner or fine chef-prepared spread, instead he got a glimpse at the sort of thing she ate when she was alone. A heavy silver tray held a collection of things, slivers of fine cheeses, a few fluffy rolls of fresh bread, a dish of butter but the main dish was a simple salad. A bed of sweetgrass, parsley, sage, rosemary, mint and spinach in a heavy bowl topped with plums cut into bites. That then was sprinkled with scallions and leeks cut into tiny slivers, some dollops of a tarte raspberry dressing with candied nuts and violet flowers sprinkled over as a finishing touch.
When they are left alone Aila motions to the table for him to sit with her, already reluctantly explaining “My father died when I was a teenager, you already know about my mother. The rest are inconsequential as I said before, they are dead to me.”
Oliver stares at Aila for a few moments before he’s spurred to move to the table. He managed to steer them into an awkward subject he realizes, and now Oliver has to break the sudden frigid frost that was creeping over the duchess with one of his dashing smiles.
“You’re telling me the only thing I should worry about is your father’s ghost to come haunt me if I ever do you wrong?” The young lord jokes as he joins Aila at the table overlooking the city, sliding into one of the ornately carved chairs of old oak. “It’s a good thing I could never do anything to insult you.“
He would never let any awkwardness touch him, Oliver immediately spears a plum slice from the salad banquet with a fork, and raises it up to Aila’s lips.
“And…” Oliver continues speaking light-heartedly, “I do remember you mentioning your mother was an embodiment of a vengeful wraith herself. You must meet my own sometime for comparison, even if she’s on an entirely different continent at the moment... You would like her much better I’m sure. She has a love for gardens and would probably start sobbing if she saw how beautiful the ones in the palace here are.”
A frown takes him over. Giving their laid out dishes a slightly contemptuous glance. “She also prefers dinners with no meat in them.”
Aila takes the fork from him and eats the plum off of it before handing it back, to his annoyance, making note of the frown on his lips and stating blithely “You are not pleased” while wrestling with the statement about her fathers ghost. Surely if her fathers ghost had any ability to influence her he would have appeared to chase off the aged diplomats who she always seems to get entangled with. “Some folk consider cheese a meat” she offers with a sarcastic helpfulness, clearly not too concerned with his liking for dinner. She continues picking at the leafy bowl mostly aiming for the sweetest morsels.
“Now that you are a landed Lord is it not proper for you to bring your dear parents here? If only for a visit. “ She resists stating what she would do if her father were still alive, the fine houses she would buy him or the household staff she would give him but finds it more painful to speak of than any joke ought to be. “If you climb in rank as you seem so determined to do, it would do well to have supporters around you.”
“Are you not my biggest supporter already?” He asks with faux severity, his eyebrows rising up at Aila, before feigning interest with his salad again, and picks out just a few of the green leaves for nibbling. The slices of cheese at least satisfies some of his appetite.
He shrugs as he takes another small bite of cheese. “I’m not sure if I would like to bring them here to stay overlong. Having the freedom to do what I please in my own lands, is exhilarating, and not to mention the absence of my father’s milk-curdling glare hovering over my shoulder is a lovely experience.”
Aila can tell he is not happy, but as he talks about his parents she cannot help but smile at him amusedly. He likes his freedom, and dislikes his father...She remembers the story about his Lyre playing and submits “You are right, I would not like to meet him either”
“Is this what you usually eat?” Oliver then asks after a pause, trying not to let himself look too disappointed in the lunch. “Not that I mind.” He fibs, “I never try to eat anything too heavy in the middle of the day.” But a few slices of chicken breast wouldn’t hurt…
“Ehm no, like most people I eat different things every day” she replies with a saucy smile. “You look like” she stalls on the words disappointed child and replaces it kindly with “like I’ve let you down”.
Oliver is delighted he managed to get Aila to smile again, “Please. Every moment I get to steal you away from the rest of the court is the exact opposite of a disappointment.” But he does cock his head to the side, and Oliver’s meaningful gaze drifts between the table spread and the duchess.
“Although…” His voice purrs. “Perhaps I would like to put my hands on something far more delectable soon.”
He assures her with sweet words but she can see a different sort of hunger rising from him, one that had been there since his arrival but ignored by her teasingly. She had sat beside him for half the afternoon playing with him, brushing shoulders and sharing brief smiles and touches. She supposed the salad was the final insult, and it is bittersweet as she knows soon their fun will end. An internal debate had been raging with her for the entire visit that day, but it was now under the weight of his lusty gaze that she knew it could go no farther as things were now.
Confidence and smug approval fade at this realization and the Duchess’s shoulders relax in a huff as she admits “Oliver, we need to talk about some things before we move on to dessert”
Oliver leans forward in his seat. It seemed the tone of the conversation was changing, and now he was curious over whatever was brewing inside the fidgeting duchess. He nods in understanding, putting his fork down and rests his hands across the tabletop.
He could guess at where the subject was leading. “I suppose we should… Especially now that I am an Earl. Some things have changed.” His lips curve into a small smile. The future was looking quite hopeful for him indeed.
As he leans forward again and lays his hands across the table she moves in to rest both of her hands on his, looking him in the eye as she does. As if on cue Luna lands on the railing beside them, big claws tapping on the stone as she turns to look at the two.Aila has nothing to give her, like Oliver Luna was disappointed with the meal on the table.
Aila continues, choosing her words carefully as she rubs her thumbs over his hands, she knows that wording this right was only half of the battle. “Some time soon the realm will be made aware of something that you deserve to know first.” She is all straight faced and determined, serious and unabashed but inside dread coils inside her like a snake.
“Duke Kenneth and I have begun a courtship” She stops for half a heartbeat there, stayed by her own fears; But goes on to offer quickly “He knows about you and I, he does not care” before Oliver can interrupt her.
Oliver blinks. Not able to respond to what she just unloaded on him for several long seconds. His face hardens, and Aila would be able to feel his hands tensing up under her fingers. Not that he’s able to move them away. His fists ball up, and he’s stuck frozen, reeling from all the implications he had just heard. Almost like the floor was suddenly taken out from under him, and his stomach plummets into that abyss.
“What?” He looks up after what felt like a century. Voice all detached and emotion severed. “Duke Kenneth? You’re courting?” Oliver asks looking hard into Aila’s eyes, his sharp brows furrowing downward.
“What about us then? Was I not going to be given a chance? I thought this...” He can barely think of what to say next. His mind was scrambled, his tongue feeling like lead, and the normally suave lordling did his best to stay calm. It wasn’t that he was betrayed, not that was what truly is happening, but it sure did feel like a stab to his heart.
“I thought this… That we were courting.” Oliver stares down back at his hands again on the table. It did hurt his pride. “You picked him over me then?”
Aila has never been a gentle woman, she guffaws at his outrage and bluntly states “You made no such offer.” with a bit of an accusatory tone. His fists are balled up under her hands, she pulls away and lays them in her lap defensively. She can see his pain and it pains her too, she fights her natural urge to roar something cruel at him in response, her hopes that he really had just wanted to be her friend were slipping away- and she fears this is something she won’t be able to fix.
“I can tell you are upset, I would not have let it go this far if I thought you had anything like a courtship in mind. It did not seem that way.”
The cruel laugh made Oliver grimace, confirming whatever choice she must have made. “The idea of it is that funny to you? What I thought?” And now Oliver stands up from the table. His nails dig into his palms. He bristles defensively after all her callous treatment of him so now. “I came here because of how your letters spoke of how much you wanted me here, after all the flirts, and now…”
His princely nose crinkles up in a snarl. “Now you’re saying you did not care for any of that? I’m to be cast aside?” He looks at her straight on, ignoring the distressed chirps of the falcon in the corner as it must have viewed what looked like its two parents arguing. “I came here today to ask you if you wanted to make our relationship here...” Oliver gestures vaguely at the air to his side, encompassing the balcony. “-Make us official to the realm.”
“Everything I wrote is true” She spits back, unaccustomed to allowing anyone to speak to her in such tones as his, but he gets every benefit from her- she does feel very guilty. “You are my friend, you always said it!”
Aila had made herself feel silly, and finally stands from the little table abandoning her dinner in favor of pacing with her arms crossed. “Why do you think I put Lori up to seducing you? I had a fear that you wanted more and you dashed that fear. If you had shown any sort of indication of wanting /me/ alone we would not be here. I cannot wait forever.”
She relents, but does not apologize “I thought we were just having fun.”
Watching her had softened Oliver’s expression somewhat, duchess’s obvious anxiety gave a pang of dismay in his chest. He didn’t like the lack of control he had in this situation, and he still had to hope.
Oliver strode around the table in quick, long strides. Eliminating the distance and the barriers between them both and following his natural inclination to stay close to this heady woman. Her moment of vulnerability made him move faster than he realized what he was even doing; and then Oliver reached out, gently grasping her by her sides, just above her hips. He had to be sure to make Aila to look at him.
His gaze was direct and heavy. Oliver openly drank in the entirety of her face, every contour, indentation, and strand of hair and it made his heart squeeze.
“Aila.” He says again, more gently now than before. “I do want you… Those three days we had together in Isadril were amazing, they were everything I could have ever hoped for, and I promised you I would come to stay with you again, here in your own chambers… So here I am now. To fulfill everything I dreamt of doing with you.”
Daring. He slowly lifts up a hand to caress the smoothness of her cheek, and he smiles openly despite how vulnerable it makes him feel. “What choice will you make now Aila? Deep down, inside… You must have always known what my intentions were.” Oliver pauses to let his words sink in, or to draw up another surge of courage, and it’s with a quiet intensity he finally says, “Court with me now Aila, and I promise days; weeks; months and years of enjoyment for you.”
Then he remembers what Gideon told him just earlier that day. A hint that he didn’t quite understand until just now, “I promise I will strike away the gloom that keeps you up during all the dark, lonesome hours of the night. You will never again have to suffer those gnawing fears that grow in your heart when you’re stuck awake and shivering in your bed.” His Laststar Smirk suggests he’s easily confident he can manage these things, “For I’ll be there for you Aila, giving you something no other man can—All of my love.”
Being gentle is not working with him, she should have known it would not; they are more similar then they are different and she is not known for taking no for an answer either. “There is much you do not understand, Oliver” she feels a sense of deja vu, has she said this to him before?
She makes no move to remove his hands, but her own rise to rest in the crook of his arm as he stands there holding her. “You do not understand me yet” she submits “I am a woman with varied tastes, you are a delight like the sweets I love so much but Kenneth is a cornucopia. I do not want your love Oliver, you so easily would have traded that fickle affection on a tumble with my dearest sister.” She looks him in the eye steadfast in her conviction in this.
“You are younger than your years Oliver and I will happily ride you as I would the finest stallion in my stables. It is out of affection I have told you of my courtship. You have an opportunity to remain the stallion in my stable. You can ride the finest mare in Perdan. But our love will remain that of friends who tup... not lovers.
I am not sure I could ever love you Oliver, not as a husband, but you yet excite me. I yet enjoy the sweetness of your delights.
Now show me all is well and strip.”
So Oliver wraps his arms around Aila tighter, one going around to yank on the back of her braids, tilting her face up to meet his once more, kissing her deeply. His need was great, he couldn’t help but indulge a little with what she was offering to him. Oliver would take her right there on the table, and be commanded like the fool he was.
After what felt like a great length of blissful, and nauseating time. Oliver gently, but firmly pushes Aila back by her shoulders, breaking off the woman’s groping advances over his chest; his collar was already partly undone.
“I’m sorry Aila.” The young lord says, meeting her eyes. He draws a tantalizing thumb over her lips, thinking of his choice for one final moment—Just a breath of time. “I can’t. This man… This simple sweet. Who can’t compare to the amazing, spectacular and bountiful depths of greater dukes… Will need some time to think.”
He slowly tries to untangle himself from the embrace and turns away from her. It grated Oliver, now that he said it outloud. To be placed underfoot as such, and it disgusted him to be easily drawn in. Now that he knows what Aila thinks of him. The gentle fondness that was on his face before was replaced with regret and unease. He shrugs and tugs on his shirt to put it back into place.
“And you should know what happened with Lorelai was before all this time we spent together, because after that night, I made my choice to stay with you.” He explains gently, then looks across over the balcony, pausing for a moment, “Perhaps we can be friends still, but… If you decide to stay with the Duke, and the day comes it ends between you two. I might not be around to be his replacement either.”
He leaves her breathless and wanting, something the precious Duchess was not used to nor did she like in any capacity. The look on her face is not a forgiving one as he pulls away from her and covers himself up again. She does the same, lifting the seams of the silky blue bodice up on her chest with one hand as he mentions Lorelai and stares out over the scenery below. She feels she knows he is lying, but stays silent as he explains his position.
It is sensible, but Aila does not like being told she cannot both have her cake and eat it so there is still no smile or forgiveness for him. Instead she just nods stiffly and wanders away from him continuing the fix where he had tugged at her fine outfit. “I understand” Are the words from her, quiet and holding back a torrent of things, complaints, a scoff, maybe even an apology. As he leaves her alone on the blustery balcony she looks to the falcon still sitting there on the rail staring at her, and sits back down with a sigh.
