My Valentine — Part One (Patreon)

"Loveday?"

"That's, uh. That's what I heard."

"What is it, exactly?"

Hadrian scratches the back of his neck. "I suppose it's a day about love?"

You can't help but smile. "Really? I thought it was about war."

Hadrian blinks and then gives an awkward laugh. "Ah, good one," he says, fingers now fiddling with his cross. He stands tall before you, but there's something uncertain in the slope of his shoulders and the way his eyes keep glancing at anywhere but you, and you know then, that he has something he wants to tell you.

So, you just cross your arms and wait. Hadrian clears his throat and takes a step closer. "There's a festival, I heard, that the people in this village hold every year."

"Is that so?"

He nods. "And, uh. They take their... their paramour—"

"Paramour?" you interrupt with a laugh.

Hadrian flushes. "That's what the lady told me!"

You shake your head. This man. "Am I your paramour, then, Hadrian?" you tease, reaching a hand to his forearm. He immediately grabs your wrist and comes even closer at your gentle pull. He's always so quick to respond to touch.

"If you want to," Hadrian says, face suddenly serious.

And now your smile is sincere. "Of course, I want to, big man."

He smiles too. "Good. That's, uh. That's good. So, you'll come with me? To the festival, I mean. I heard there's food and dancing, but you don't have to dance if—"

You lean into his arms to kiss the side of his jaw. "It's a date," you whisper.

His arms close around your waist, and you feel his smile against your skin. "Never had a paramour before," Hadrian says after a while.

"Is that right?" you ask, lips quirking too.

"No, no one. It's hard to believe, isn't it?" Hadrian jokes.

"Very hard," you say, dragging your hands up his arms to loop your arms around his neck. "A man such as yourself, paramour-less?"

Hadrian nods. "That's why you're so important," he says. And he smiles still, but you can't help but sober at the tone. Hadrian looks down for a moment, his brows pulling into a frown. "You, uh. I'm just glad that I—"

He looks up again. "Lord, this will sound so corny, but I want to say it."

You play with the hairs at the back of his neck. "Then say it, Hadrian."

"I'm glad I met you," he reveals, words rushing as if half of him doesn't want you to understand them. "I thank the Lord that I did."

You kiss him, then, deeply. He inhales but is quick to reciprocate, arms locking around you like chains. He's always so quick when it comes to touch.

Hadrian's gift would be something for you to do together! And, I think, the sap of a man couldn’t help but make some kind of confession. 😄

- - -

Alessa walks like an arrow, eyes facing forward, face closed, and lips thinned. She doesn't stump because her steps are too nimble, but people instinctually get out of the way as they see her marching down the street.

You sit at the edge of a broken pillar, basking in the late afternoon sun when she comes into your peripheral vision. You turn your chin to smile at her, but when you see her striding as if she marches for war, your smile turns into a grin.

"Alessa," you greet when she comes to a stop beside you. "Let me guess, someone dared to laugh in your presence?"

Alessa's blue eyes fix on yours, and you have to hold in a chuckle at the ice cracking within. "What nonsense are you spewing now?"

"What happened?"

"Why must something have had to happen?"

You gesture in her general direction.

She presses her lips even tighter together. "Nothing has transpired," she says coldly and then stops. Alessa stands there, rigid and stiff and... almost awkward. You cock your head, studying her. Something is odd.

"Alessa," you say, voice lower as you scoot closer to her in your seat. Her eyes shift to the side, avoiding yours. "Did something happen? Are you alright?"

You reach a hand to hers and find it cold.

"I..." Alessa inhales, and now her fingers welcome yours. You intertwine your hands together. She still avoids your eyes, however, even as she steps closer. "I have something for you."

That has your eyebrows shooting up. "What?"

"'Tis... a gift," Alessa elaborates, her voice a whisper. You lean forward to make sure you can hear her. "It is costumery to... give a gift on this day."

Her hair falls over her face, but it can't hide the light red on the top of her cheeks. You stand up so you can brush it away. You let your fingers roam her cheek, and then you gently pull her chin up. Alessa lifts it, eyes finally locking on yours with an almost daring edge. You smile at the sight. She is so beautiful. "You have a gift for me?" you ask, lips turning at the corners.

You've heard of this day, of course. Lover's day. But you never thought Alessa, of all people, would put any significance to it. But she keeps surprising you. She's so full of surprises.

"I have," Alessa says, reaching into her satchel. She hesitates but then pushes a bowl into your chest. You instinctively hold it and see within a serving of smooth, yellow rice pudding.

You stare down at it.

"I have not tried it, but it should be adequate. The smell is correct, and the texture seems proper. I warned the baker I would come back if it was poorly made." Alessa talks quickly and was it someone else, you might say she was babbling. "So, I am confident–"

You lean forward and capture her lips with yours. She quiets, melting into your kiss. "Thank you," you whisper.

Alessa looks down again. Her blush is so pretty. "'Tis of no importance."

"Liar," you say, kissing the corner of her mouth. It tilts up in a shy smile. "It's of very big importance."

You sit back down, grabbing the wooden spoon from her hand. "Come here," you say, patting the seat beside you. "Every gift is best shared."

Alessa hesitates but accepts your invitation. "You shall have the first bite," she insists.

So, you do. It's delicious. But you like it even better when she tastes it, eyes closing in bliss. You like the happiness about her even better.

Alessa would give you a sweet treat!

- - -

Alain turns over on the bed, his bare chest glistening and curls sticking to his forehead. "I'm spent," he declares, flopping down on the mattress. The noble has a lazy grin, but his eyes can barely stay open, the brown almost dark in the shadows of the night.

You smile and crawl closer to him. Alain lifts his arm so you can snuggle underneath it. "Already? You've been drinking too much wine, Alain. You're getting slow," you say with a sly smile. Your hand wanders over his chest, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat.

"Are you trying to insult my ego?" Alain asks in a drawl. You can hear the sleep in his voice. "Because I... can I answer in the morrow? I can't think of anything witty right now."

You chuckle and press your cheek to the bend of his shoulder. His hand loops around your waist, bringing you closer as your own eyelids start to sting. "Hmm, I suppose I can let this go," you mumble. Sleep does sound good. "Just this once."

"This once," Alain echoes. And you close your eyes and plunge into the sweet depths of slumber. Outside, it's cold, but in Alain's bed, bare body wrapped with his, you couldn't be warmer. More comfortable. You sink down with a ghost of a satisfied smile, your muscles relaxed, and faint ripples of pleasure slowly and gently coating your nerves.

You're so warm. So—

Cold.

You shiver and crack your eyes open to meet a pale, morning light. The sun barely slips from the window, and a chill meets your skin before the bed's cover falls over you again. "Alain?"

He's halfway to the door, putting on a green robe, but your voice has him freezing. The noble stays in place for a moment, but then, very slowly, he looks back. "Did I wake you?" he asks. You can't make out his face in the low light, just shadows.

You frown. "Were you trying to leave?"

Alain pauses. "Yes."

There's a stab of hurt, but you push it away. "Oh," you say and look to the side. It's fine. You don't—

There's a box next to your pillow.

"Ah, so we're doing this." Comes Alain's voice. You hear his sigh, but you don't look at him as you wordlessly reach for the box. It's long and narrow, made of rich mahogany wood, and with an elegant clasp at the front.

"What's this?" you ask, pulling it to your lap.

You hear him come closer. "Well, how can I put this? I suppose most would call it a gift."

You snap your head up. "A gift?"

Alain gives you a stiff grin. "A gift."

You stare. He clears his throat. "See? This is why I'd rather you open it alone. I'm unfamiliar with the protocol. Do I... do I explain it? It's self-explanatory."

You fight back a smile. You've rarely seen Alain acting like this. It's almost too tempting to keep pocking him, but you take pity and simply open the box. Inside, sitting on a velvet pillow is a long quill. The feather is of a deep crimson, elegant and airy, and the silver tip has intricate designs drawn on it. You pick it up, holding it in the morning light.

"It's beautiful," you say.

Alain flashes you a quick grin. "But it pales in beauty next to you," he quips at once, cocky, of course, but you know him well by now. You can see he's still... uncomfortable. It makes you smile wider.

"Come here, honeyed tongue."

Alain hesitates before obeying. He comes closer, and when you lift a hand, he grabs it. "Thank you," you say, fingers playing with the rim of his robe. Today is lover's day, but you had forgotten about it. You never thought Alain would remember, or care, but... “I’ll treasure it.”

"I'd say not to mention it, but please do," Alain says, his grin turning surer. "I like to be reminded of my good deeds, sparrow."

You chuckle, carefully putting the quill back in the box and setting it on the bedside table. "I'll be sure to sing it to the high heavens."

"Just be sure to say it in front of other people; there's no need for heaven," he says, leaning over you on the bed. You can see his face now, handsome and sharp. You cup his jaw. "It's good for my ego."

"Your poor, bruised ego?”

"Oh, that's right!" Alain laughs and lowers himself on top of you. His lips are warm and plush, and you sink into his kiss. "Let me show you my witty come-back," he whispers, kissing down your throat.

You just smile, fingers plunging into his thick hair and eyes closing as his lips keep their caresses. The box beside the bed is like a pull, a presence that has a foolish warmth spreading in your chest.

Alain wouldn't tell you right there, but he'd give you something he has owned for a very long time.

- - -

Ysabella's smile could light up the darkest of night skies.

You don't have to guess she has something to tell you. It's obvious by the way she's bouncing on her heels, her luscious curls jumping around soft, golden-skinned shoulders. She has her hands behind her back, and the luxurious gown she chooses to wear couldn't hide the energy oozing through her body.

"Bella," you greet, turning a palm in the air for her to take. "How lovely it is to see you."

Ysabella blinks at your hand, but then she's quick to adjust whatever it is she's carrying behind her back to put a gloved hand in yours. "How lovely, exactly?" she asks, her smile widening even more. It makes a dimple on her right cheek, and you fight the urge to lean over and kiss it. Instead, you bring her hand to your lips to kiss her knuckles.

Her delighted giggle has you smirking. This is a game you both play, one that never fails to make her laugh. "Words can't express it," you say. "A noble Theer seeking my company? What could I have done to owe the such pleasure?"

Bella bats her lashes. "Why, you're so pleasing to look at. I can't resist you."

You bow, her hand still in yours. "Then I'm at your service. Look all you want."

Ysabella giggles before she kisses you on the cheek. "Hush," she says, fingers grabbing your chin. "I have something very important to discuss."

"Does it have anything to do with what you hide behind your back?"

Bella laughs again. You could get addicted to the sound. "What keen eyes you have," she says, squishing your chin affectionately. Ysabella steps back then. "Do you know what day it is?"

You think for a moment. "Uh, tomorrow's mass, isn't it?"

Bella shakes her head. "Not the weekday. I mean, what day it is?"

"You have me lost," you admit.

She giggles. "I knew you wouldn't remember," she says, and finally reveals what she's been hiding. Ysabella holds a small ebony velvet bag with golden cords at the top. "I don't know how and when the tradition started, but it's customary today to gather one's courage and confess to the one who holds one's heart."

"Lovers' day," you say, realization dawning on you. "It's today?"

Bella nods. "The confession is usually made with a gift. Now, dearest, I don't think you need any more confessions from me—"

"I'm always happy to hear them."

Another giggle. "So, I'll just give you the present instead," Ysabella continues. She holds out the bag for you to take. "I saw it, and I could only think of you. I hope you like it."

You pull open the cords. What spills in your hand has you speechless.

(if you're a woman)

An intricate bracelet made of silver and gold with a beautiful gem in the middle sits at the center of your palm. It seems to drink in the sunlight, transforming it into a light of its own.

(if you're a man)

A thick, heavy chain of silver and gold hangs from your palm. It has a large, compact gem in the middle, seeming to drink in the sunlight.

You may not know much about luxury and opulence, but you know enough to tell that this is extremely well-made. "This must have cost a fortune," you breathe out.

Ysabella waves your words aside. "That doesn't matter," she says, gingerly touching the gem. "It matches your hair. I— It belongs to you."

You close your hand around the gift. "Thank you, Bella. I don't know what to say."

She smiles a soft, sad smile. "Don't say anything. Gold is... I know how terrible this makes me sound, but gold isn't important to me. I've never lacked it. It's always there, free for me to use. Don't thank me, darling, this didn't cost me anything." She looks down, teeth digging into her bottom lip. "I simply thought—"

She shakes her head. "I simply wanted to give you something. I never gave a gift on this day to anyone. I wanted to give one to you."

"I'll have to give you one too," you say, stepping closer. The gem is beautiful, but it's her words that have you smiling. "Forgive my forgetfulness."

Ysabella's eyes seem to sparkle. "I'll be waiting with bated breath," she whispers, right before your lips meet with hers.

Ysabella would give you something she finds beautiful. Whether that's the most expensive jewelry in the kingdom or a particularly pretty rock. She wants to be a part of the tradition, one way or another.