Truth or Dare — Alain (Patreon)

"Why not play a game?"

The words lift in the quiet air like feathers blown by a gentle breeze, and you swear you almost see them materialize before you. Rising upwards, in the translucent shape of mirages, towards a ceiling so elaborate, your eyes can't focus on a single detail.

There are too many, in engravements along the edges, in the frescos painted on the corners, in the texture right in the middle. A rose made of stone, its petals wide open. It's not painted in gold, nor is the background green, but it doesn't take a large brain to know it represents the Theers' golden rose.

"Hm?" 

His answer can barely be called a whisper. It's more akin to hum, a whirr one does without thinking. You roll your head to the side, looking away from the imaginary words that still float above to see Alain sprawled on a plush sofa, his curls resting on one arm while his legs cross on the other. He does you the service of cracking open one eye, the brown hazy from sleep.

"Game?" Alain croaks the word as if he doesn't know its meaning.

You shrug, resisting the urge to rub your arms. The room isn't cool, the late afternoon sun slips past the light draperies on the tall windows to bathe the wooden floor in hues of orange. But the walls are so far apart, and everything is so unnecessarily vast that you can't help but feel exposed.

Here, inside the castle overlooking Tarragona.

"It'd help pass the time," you say, sitting up straighter in your chair. It's a narrow thing, but plush, of course, as is everything within the waiting room. Your fingers curl on each other, missing the comfort of your weapon, but you couldn't bring it inside.

You're sitting in a room filled with luxury, sharing it with a noble half asleep, and never before have you felt more out of your element. 

"While we wait for lady Ysabella," you continue, mostly to fill the silence. You chance a glance back at Alain, and now the man has his two eyes open. He cocks his head to the side, one of his curls coming down his forehead, and watches you for a moment.

Before a slow smile tucks his lips upwards. "You want to play a game to pass the time?" he asks, his voice no longer dragging with sleep, but dragging all the same. You can hear the mocking edge in it, of course, but even as your pride spikes, you have the feeling it isn't directed at yourself.

Alain always seems to be mocking, not someone in particular, but life itself.

"Yes, a game," you bite back with more force than maybe you required. "You're familiar with those, yes? Or are games too lowly for a mighty nobleman such as yourself?"

He smiles at this. "Oh, I know games. In fact, I like to call myself an avid player. I don't know if this is the place to play my type of games, however..." Alain's smile turns deeper, crooking to the side while his eyelids lower, and you know exactly what he means.

"Forget I ever spoke," you gruff, hating the heat that spreads through your cheeks. Hating, even more, when the damned noble sits up on the sofa just so he can laugh freely to do the air.

"Oh, my mercenary, it was a jest." He shakes his head, chuckling still, but brings a hand to his chest. "I apologize. I was just surprised, is all. I didn't expect you, of all people, to want to play a game."

He pauses. "But I should be used to it, shouldn't I?" he says then, his voice lower. He seems to be speaking with himself, but he watches you as if he's studying a particularly stubborn flower. "You keep surprising me, after all."

You bite the inside of your cheek and once again ask the heavens why you had to stay with this twin. The unbearable one, the one who makes you stupidly nervous. The one whose eyes, staring right at you, make butterflies fly against the walls of your stomach.

Why couldn't you have stayed with Ysabella?

Alain is quiet, and you realize he's waiting for you to speak. "I'm—" You lick your lips, blush deepening when your voice falters. "I'm immensely bored."

Alain hangs his head. You think it's supposed to be in shame, but his grin ruins the effect completely. "And what an ungracious host I've been," he murmurs. "Very well. You wish to play a game? A game we'll play. Name it. I am, as everyone likes to say, at your service."

You take a deep breath. Truth be told, you didn't quite expect to get this far. "How about..." You let the words linger, lips slightly pursing. A game. Memories rush to you, memories of golden times when the world was young, and so were you. "How about we play truth or dare?"

You smile at the memories. "Curious," Alain says, and your smile dies at his tone. The noble sweeps a hand over his curls, trying and failing to keep them away from his eyes. "So you'll trust I'll speak the truth, and I'm to have the same faith in you?"

"That's how it goes," you say. "If you want to lie and cheat your way out of a question, then you can. But it'll be dull, wouldn't it?"

Alain regards you for a while. You lift your chin, daring him. You don't know why but now you really want to play.

"Very well," Alain accepts. He leans forward to the low table beside the sofa to pour himself a glass of red wine. The glass is tall and thin, and it hangs from his fingers with almost carelessness. "Either speak the truth or face the consequences. How fun this will be."

Alain smiles wide before taking a sip. The sun coats his skin, making the golden brown brighter and igniting the depths of his eyes. "You start first," he orders. "I need guidance."

Ignoring his quip, you roll your shoulders in preparation. Alain drinks from his glass again, taking tiny sips, but he watches you over the rim all the while. As much as you dared him before, he's the one doing it now.

And you know this may be foolish, to play cat and mouse with a noble, a Theer at that. But there's a shudder down your spine that makes you bold, that wants to make sure you don't back down.

You decide to start simple. "Who was born first? You or Ysabella?"

Alain chuckles. "That's your pressing question?"

You smile back. "Just answer it."

He heaves a big sigh. "I was. For quite a bit, or so we're told. It seems my dear sister wasn't ready to come into the world and needed some persuasion." Alain looks up at the ceiling. "I was almost doomed to walk this earth without her. But God, so the priest say, saved her little soul."

He stays still, face inscrutable, before Alain blinks and looks back at you. "My turn now. Hmm." His grin widens as he leans forward on the sofa, coming closer to your chair. "How handsome do you think I am?"

You're so caught by surprise, that you can't help but laugh. "You're ridiculous," you say. "How vain do you have to be?"

"If you're too shy to answer, just say so, and I'll give you a proper penalty."

"Oh, I'll answer." You quiet your giggles, but can't suppress your smirk. "You're not half as handsome as you believe you are."

"Now, that's a cheat if I ever heard one," Alain protests. "That's no answer at all!"

You spread your hands, prouder than you'll ever admit. "I say it is."

"Ah, I'm helpless before you, sparrow," Alain whispers, settling back on the sofa. He sinks into its plush cushions, closing his eyes for a moment. And you're glad because your cheeks heat once again, and you have to squeeze your hands on each other. "I'll take that half-truth. Your turn now."

Your heart beats faster. You should divert the conversation. You should, but... "Why do you call me sparrow?" You hear yourself asking, and now it's a war drum that bangs against your ribcage. You look firmly at the ground, but you can see him from the corner of your eyes.

Alain slowly turns to you, a wide, ridiculously handsome grin on his face. "That's a story for another time."

You frown. "You won't answer?"

Alain shakes his head. "Not now."

Part of you is disappointed. The other part is almost relieved. Another time. Will you have it? You hope that you will. "Very well." You hesitate, eyes bouncing around the room. What can you make him do?

Alain waits patiently, twirling the wine glass in his hand. The liquid sloshes left and right in a lazy pattern. Finally, you point at it. "Drink it all in one go."

And the nobleman laughs, but he doesn't hesitate for even a heartbeat. Alain opens his mouth and gulps down the wine. When he finishes, he wipes his mouth on his sleeve in a very un-noble-like gesture. "I'll have you know this isn't the proper way to enjoy the drink of the Lord," he says in a strangled voice. You chuckle at his grimace.

"Alright, my turn." Alain considers you. "What does the White Company want from Tarragona?"

Ice pours on top of your head. Here it is. Alain's expression stays the same, the same grin, the same dancing eyes, the same carelessness in the lines of his body.

But you know that you walk on top of a line now. And your whole body tightens. "Dare."

Alain lowers his chin in a nod. "You never disappoint," he says. He then fills his glass once more and lifts it in the air. "Try this."

You open your mouth. "What?"

Alain lifts an eyebrow. "That's my dare. Have a sip. I won't be as cruel as you were and make you drown the whole thing." He taps the glass. "Just one little sip."

He stays in place, glass raised, smile daring. You hesitate... but slowly, you rise from your chair. Your legs are numb from sitting for so long, but they do their job, they take you closer to his sofa. Alain pats the spot beside him, and part of you just wants to reach for the glass and take it out of his hand.

But you find yourself sitting beside him. And when Alain brings the cup to your mouth, you grab his wrist, fingers circling his warm skin, and look into his eyes when gently, so slowly, he tips it forward.

The wine is delicious. Light and spiced and chilled. It goes smoothly down your throat, even as it threatens to close altogether. The wine is delicious, but you barely taste it, for all of you is on the tips of your fingers. On the feeling of his skin, on the sight of his eyes.

Closer than ever before.

Alain speaks in a whisper that floats between you. "Is it good?"

You can only nod.

He smiles, immensely pleased, and takes the glass away. Your fingers fall from his wrist, but you don't have time for disappointment, don't even have time for relief, because Alain suddenly brings his other hand to your mouth.

And careful fingers wipe at your bottom lip, cleaning a small drop of wine. "Good. You deserve only the very best, sparrow," he says in the same whispering tone. And it sounds so gentle, so sincere. You would believe it if it wasn't for the twinkle in his eyes. For the way his smile grows until it's a grin, and you know it impossible, but you swear he hears the mad rhythm of your heart.

It drowns your eardrums. "Flatterer." Is all you can say.

Alain moves back on the couch to sprawl against the big arm once again. "Please, people flatter me. I never saw the appeal myself." He winks. "I speak only the truth. Always."

You very much doubt that. But you can't challenge him. Not as your lips tingle, and your thoughts soar, and this is so foolish. So, so foolish. But you cannot stop yourself. "My turn," you croak, surprised by how deep your voice sounds. "Was our meeting at the tavern unintentional?"

Alain speaks immediately. "Dare."

A shiver on your back. A thrill at the tips of your fingers. So foolish. "Come closer."

You've lost your mind.

Alain takes his time. First, he sets his glass on the ground, then he pulls at his shirt, making it presentable, and only after he's brushed imaginary dust from his arms, does he move forward. You hold your breath as he comes closer, his eyes holding you captive. Alain settles right beside you, his chest near your shoulder, his arm coming along the back of the sofa to circle you.

Not touching. Not even the tiniest of brushes. And when he speaks, he dips his head so that his lips hover by the outer shell of your ear. "I'm not used to being ordered, you know?" Alain says, and you hope, with all the dignity you have left, that he didn't see your shiver. "I quite like it."

"It's your turn," you remind him, your face burning. But you refuse to look away.

"I'm afraid I'm about to ruin the game. I'm a big cheat, you see," he admits, not even trying to sound remorseful. "It was bound to happen, sparrow. I should have warned you."

"That doesn't come as a surprise," you tell him, smiling at his chuckle.

Alain sobers and comes the tiniest bit closer. "My question, gentle thing, is what would you have me do?"

You've lost your mind. But right now, you can't find it in yourself to care. Maybe you are mad. Maybe he plays you like a fiddle, and there's nothing more awaiting you than disappointment. Maybe he does.

But you cannot care.

You grab the collar of his shirt and tug him closer until your lips almost touch. Alain goes willingly, eyes narrowed at yours, the brown shining in the warm sunlight. "Kiss me," you demand.

And he does.