Commodity — Alain & Ysabella (Patreon)

The wine glass hangs perilously from his fingers.

Alain is vaguely aware that it's almost spilling onto the immaculate golden cushion of the plush sofa he has chosen as his perch for the evening. The nobleman decides that he does not care. Wine stains can also serve as decoration, let it show this sofa has had some use — even if by one sprawled, slightly drunk, good-for-nothing noble.

Alain twirls the glass, hearing the wine splash inside, and his lips quirk when he feels something wet coat his fingers. Oops. He doesn't look to confirm it, however, for his eyes cannot stray from you. A little sparrow.

Although of prey, you resemble nothing. You walk within the crystal halls with your head held high and your shoulders squared, and never before has Alain seen a common-born with a prouder chin. You stride forward, looking them all in the eyes, and he's struck again by that. When you first met, Alain couldn't put his finger on why you impressed him. What exactly made you stand out, but it didn't take him long to realize: you looked him straight in the eyes.

You hold people's gazes, whether they're dressed in wool or silk, whether they're covered in dirt or gems, whether they have a family name or none at all.

Alain's lips curl into a grin when he sees Lady Evelyn gather her skirts and step aside to let you pass. The painted hag scowls at your back, but he knows she'd never do it to your face. She wouldn't dare. You have the handkerchief of the Theers tied to your wrist but more than that, you have a light in your eyes and a countenance to your body that repels these rotten leeches like sunlight to maggots. They wouldn't dare approach you.

Alain brings his glass to his lips and swallows the wine. It's from an old, rich casket, and it flows like honey down his throat. He swirls it inside his mouth as his eyes keep tracking you. You're looking left and right, not hesitantly, but clearly searching for someone. His grin grows as he settles even more comfortably on the sofa, stretching his legs until he's practically lying.

His sparrow looks for him, but Alain is having so much fun watching you from afar. Besides, it's enough to warm his webbed, cynical heart. Someone that wants him. Isn't that nice?

You stop by a pillar with vines and flowers wrapped around it and slowly turn on your heels. Alain sees your eyes sweeping over the room, coming closer and closer to find him. He begins to raise his glass in a greeting, grin softening to something more of—

You snap your chin to the side as, strolling from amongst the crowd, a man approaches you. He says something to you, Alain can see his mustached lips moving up and down, and then Alain sees the same lips stretching into a disease of a smile. He doesn't know this noble, but from his puffed chest and stiffened steps, walking as if he has something to prove to the world, Alain can immediately tell he's from a minor house.

You say something in return, your eyes slowly appraising him, and Alain's grin dies when the idiot does the same. This particular idiot is young, with over-polished shoes and the worst hair Alain has ever seen. But even so, he drinks you without shame or decorum, as if you're...

As if you're just a lowly peasant. But even worse: one he can buy.

Very slowly, Alain sits up on the sofa. His fingers tighten on his glass as his eyes narrow on the pair of you. The noble speaks again, and Alain sees you listening with a closed, unreadable face. The man doesn't seem to mind, however, for he just keeps talking even more lively, as if he takes your silence for compliance. Then, with a pompous step, he comes closer and offers his arm.

Alain downs his wine and gets up. You blink at the offered arm as Alain calmly straightens his clothes and sets the glass aside. He walks the polished floor with unhurried steps, lazy and fluid, as carefree as his grin. But his eyes are hard as they fix on you.

You smile at the arm and raise a hand as if you'll take it, but you never do. Instead, you bring the hand to your chest, putting the gold handkerchief on clear display, and say what Alain assumes to be a declination.

But that worm of a man doesn't get the message. "... just one dance. Surely you have time for that?" Alain hears when he walks closer. His voice sounds exactly like Alain guessed it would: affected and spoiled. His grin sharpens. "I understand you're nervous, my name carries some expectations, but I assure you, I—"

"What a fine, proper arm you offer, my lordship," Alain interrupts. The noble jolts, but Alain's eyes are on you, and it's your surprise that he drinks in. After a heartbeat, you smile at him, and Alain suddenly wants nothing more than to see you sprawled on his bed. "But I can offer one even more dashing."

He bows before you, before offering you his arm, pushing the other noble's arm to the side. "This lady/gentleman deserves only the best," he says, turning his chin at the nobleman. "Don't you agree?"

The man's mouth opens and closes. "L— lord Alain?"

Alain grins. "None other. And you are?"

He flushes. Alain tries his hardest not to laugh. "I'm Frederik Thorn," he says. Thorn. Alain vaguely remembers hearing about the house. "It's a pleasure, my lord."

"The pleasure is mine," he lies and looks at you once more. You're watching the exchange with a small smile and a knowing light in your eyes, and Alain flashes you a grin before addressing the nuance once more. "Now, Frederik, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment to upkeep."

He pauses and then raises his arm closer to you. "If you'll have me," he whispers, eyes on yours, voice completely serious.

You let the moment stretch for just a beat before you put your hand over his forearm. "I will," you state and step into his space.

Alain squeezes your elbow before straightening up and beginning to walk away. "Have a good rest of your evening, lord Frederik of House Thorn."

Frederik mumbles something that Alain doesn't bother to hear. "Where are we going?" you ask, glancing at him with a delicious smile.

"Let's catch some fresh air, sparrow," Alain proposes, guiding you towards the balconies. The night is deep, the moon held high, and he wants you alone. "There are too many people here."

"Afraid of a little competition, my lord Theer?" you ask in a devious voice.

Alain grins, hand looping around your waist and snapping you flush against him. "That wasn’t competition. That was a..." His lips twist. "A stain on my heel."

You laugh, pressing your sweet lips to his jaw. "Didn’t seem like it."

He doesn't answers as you both step into the fresh chill of the night. He'll shut you up soon enough. For now, Alain likes that smug, victorious smile on your lips. He'll let you keep it for a little while longer.

- - -

Ysabella takes in a deep inhale.

And immediately regrets it.

Her eyes water as her throat burns up, and she fights with all her might to avoid coughing it right out. The air is filled to the brim with different kinds of perfumes, oils, and powders that must have been stored in their cases for far longer than sense advises. They turn the crisp morning breeze fluttering through the silken curtains into a pungent waft that borders on poisonous.

"... don't you agree, my dear Ysabella?"

The cough comes out, breathless and pathetic, and Ysabella does her best to stifle it as she turns surprised eyes toward the voice. Sitting at the center of a long, white divan, with her hands folded demurely on her lap and her snood holding her long locks like the picture of a saint, her cousin Catalina smiles a beautiful, innocent smile.

But Ysabella sees right through it.

At the corners of her painted lips, Ysabella can see the twisted pleasure, and shining in her dark green eyes, Ysabella can see the spite. Her cousin caught her off-guard and made Ysabella embarrass herself, and she knows it was done with purpose. "Oh, I do so apologize. Do you need a moment to gather yourself, cousin?" Caliana asks in a sweet voice, but her smile parts wider, and the feigned concern is crystal clear.

From around the lavished, poison-filled room rises a chorus of sensible giggles. The ladies all laugh behind gloved hands, never too loud, and not for long, but Bella finds herself the target of all their gazes.

Pettiness and shallowness. How she abhorred it all. "There's no need, sweet Caliana," Ysabella answers, smiling a beautiful, wide, perfect smile herself. She abhors it, but she never shone from playing the game. "I apologize to all of you, ladies. I did let myself be distracted. It caught me by surprise, but I won't let minor missteps distract me from your exhilarating conversation again."

The ladies exchange glances. "What missteps?" one of them asks. It's a young pretty thing that Ysabella has never seen before today.

"Oh, it's almost negligible," Ysabella says, waving a hand in the air. She gives Caliana a sympathetic glance. "Sometimes one doesn't have the time to properly oversee the drawing room. I always make sure to give at least two glance-overs before entertaining guests, but not all have the diligence."

Caliana's smile vanishes. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Caliana, my charming host, it's just that there's a broken teapot beneath the carpet, see?" Ysabella points at the corner of the room. "And it pains me to admit, but this chair has a stain on the arm. It's so small, though! Do not blame yourself for the oversight."

The ladies coo and gasp in unison. They lean forward to see better, the younger ones even getting up to inspect. "There's broken pottery here indeed!" the pretty young thing yells.

Ysabella, however, doesn't look away from Caliana. Their gazes lock, and she basks in her humiliation. You came for me first, cousin. Caliana's dark completion seems to grow even darker. "I... I shall have a word with my servants," she says, but her voice is sweet no more. Ysabella reclines back—

The door swings open.

And all ladies gasp for a different reason as you walk through the door. Your long legs stride confidently into the crowd of puffed-up, powered noblewomen. Your gloved hand rests on your belt while your other one leans casually on the hilt of your sword. Ysabella forgets about insults and jealous cousins as her breath gets caught in her throat once more.

But it’s held out of admiration. How charming you are. How glad she is to see you. Amongst fake gold that glitters an ugly shine, you bring her back to ground level with nothing more than your presence.

"My ladies," you greet, halting in the middle of the drawing room. You incline your head in a respectful nod, but it's not a deep bow, and you never set your eyes on the ground. From all around the room, blushes erupt on the maiden's cheeks. Ysabella can't help but be amused by the sight.

(if Romanus is male)

Most of them have barely left their gilded palaces. They have almost no contact with men outside their families — much less with a man like you. A mercenary, bound by no orders like their guards. Oh, Ysabella can see how they eye you, and she understands them. She understands the daydreams that'll form around you. It only amuses her.

(if Romanus is female)

Most of them have barely left their gilded palaces. They never met a woman like you — a mercenary, not bound by orders like their guards. A woman free of courtesy, with scars and a hardness in your eyes, but even still... beautiful. More than all of them combined. Oh, Ysabella understands the daydreams that'll form around you. It only amuses her.

Poor pretty things. If I did not have Alain, I would have turned out the same.

"I'm here to fetch the lady Theer," you announce, turning towards Ysabella. You flash her a quick, secret grin, and she feels as if her chest will explode.

Bella beams and practically leaps out of her seat. She moves—

Caliana rises in a flash, and Bella blinks when she cuts in front of her. "Is that so?" Caliana says, wrapping her gloved hand around your bicep. She leans her chest closer, and Ysabella knows that, if you look down, you'll get a full view of her cleavage. "I didn't know you were coming for me, but I can't say I'm disappointed. Where are you taking me?"

You furrow your brows at her. "I... I believe you're mistaken."

"Nonsense!" Caliana exclaims, and she throws her neck back to laugh into the air. Her throat exposes to you, and her breasts press even closer, and Ysabella has never once struck anyone in her life, but a sudden, vicious primal beast within her wants to latch onto her cousin and tear away every single one of her hair. "I'm a lady Theer. You've come to fetch one, haven't you? Well, here I am. I'll tell you what."

Caliana plunges a hand into her cleavage and takes out a gold coin. She pushes it into your chest. "Wherever you're taking me, go by the long route. It's been too long since I've enjoyed hanging from the arm of a handsome man/ a striking woman. We high-born have to take our pleasures when we can."

She winks at the maidens, who all giggle and blush and hide their faces behind their hands. "Lady Caliana!" one exclaims, breathless, her voice high-pitched.

You're looking at the gold coin with dark, silent eyes. Ysabella sees your body stiffening, and you don't push Caliana away, but she can see how you want to. Your mouth is pressed tight, and when you raise your chin to look at the ladies around the room, she sees something dawning on you.

They look at you like a commodity. Something to be bought, something for Caliana to use.

Ysabella has never struck anyone before, and she never will. But battles are fought with more than just blows, and there's a fury burning in her hotter than the flames of Hell. Her hands shake as she sets in motion.

But as she walks closer, Ysabella smiles a bright smile. "Caliana," she says, resting a gentle hand on her cousin's elbow. "You've made yet another blunder. It's me they seek."

Caliana brings a hand to her chest. "How silly of me!" she says, laughing once again. "But cousin, surely you won't mind sharing, will you?" She holds your arm even tighter, flashing a coy smile at you. "There's more than enough for the both of us."

Giggles erupt yet again. Your brows furrow even more, and Ysabella hates the look on your face. She hates it.

So, she leans forward until her lips are beside Caliana’s ear. And Bella smiles still, but her voice is colder than a dagger's kiss. "If you don't let them go at once, I'll put up a reward for your hair. A gold per lock, what do you think? I personally believe it to be overpriced, but Father always said it's best to play safe than sorry."

She feels her jump, but Ysabella tightens her grip on Caliana’s elbow and pulls her in. "Do you think your servants won't do it? Do you believe they're truly yours, darling? Will you be able to sleep soundly again? You may carry the Theer name, but do not forget, cousin, of your position."

Bella kisses her tenderly on the cheek. "It's far below mine," she whispers against her skin, one hand gently brushing a lock of her hair aside. "And, most of all, it’s far below this mercenary. Let go at once.”

She does.

Caliana’s hand snaps away from your arm as if you've contracted the plague. She takes a shaky step back, eyes round and face pale. "I was only joking, cousin," she blabbers.

Ysabella smiles. "Of course, you were, dearest."

You clear your throat and offer Bella your arm. "Are you ready?"

She takes it gladly, smile turning tender. "I am," she says, and together you step out of the room.

You walk the walls in silence, her hand on your forearm, and with each step, Ysabella’s heart grows heavier. "That was..." Ysabella shakes her curls. "I don't know what to call it. Infuriating and disgraceful. I am terribly sorry about my cousin. I slighted her, so she tried to get back at me through you."

"You’re telling me her interest wasn’t sincere?" you jest.

But Ysabella can't laugh. "She was awful. They all were. You didn't deserve –"

"Bella," you call and stop in your tracks. You turn towards her and lift her chin with your knuckles. "It's alright. If anything, I'm the one who's sorry you have to attend those sorts of gatherings."

She looks down. "I won't use you to cut them short ever again."

"You certainly will," you declare, and Bella goes willingly when you pull her into your arms. "If nothing else, my lady, where else will I witness you threaten to cut off someone's hair?"

Bella flushes. "I would never actually do it!"

She's lying, of course. She would.

You laugh. "Liar, I know what you're capable of," you call her bluff, and she slaps your arm but raises on her toes when you bend to kiss her. Ysabella shouldn't, not here, but she loops her arms around your neck and lets herself indulge in your taste. Just for a moment.

"Caliana was right about something, you know," Bella says when you part.

"Oh?" you ask, holding your arm out to her again as you resume walking.

She takes it, of course, steps matching yours. "There's very few pleasures as great as hanging from the arm of a handsome man/a striking woman."

You smirk but don't answer as you step into the open courtyard. The blue sky stretches to the heavens before the two of you, and Bella takes in another deep breath.

The air is crisp and light, and it doesn't stifle her any longer.