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The bell on the door chimed its happy greeting as Dorian pushed his way inside. The door was an old, heavy wood that stuck in warmer weather, chosen more than likely, to invoke an older time period than the modern bustle surrounding the quaint shop.
A woman, chiseled jaw and stern eyes, snapped a book shut and hurried to stow it beneath the counter she perched behind.
“Good morning. Welcome to the knight shop.” She folded her hands together atop the wood block counter. “My name is Cassandra. How can I assist you?”
Dorian took a cursory glance around the shops small entryway, taking in the replica armor displays with placards of detailed historical info displayed, a few sign boards with information on prices, even a small selection of merchandise, shirts, keychains, mugs, “I love Knights” bumper stickers.
There were professional portraits of available knights working at the shop, a few drew his eye closer than others. Once selected, would these knights arrive at your doorstep in full armor? No, that was rubbished. Wasn’t it?
He snapped his attention back to the woman awaiting his response.
“I would like to hire a knight for my cousin.”
The woman swept her hand toward the wall of portraits.
“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
Dorian scanned over the photos again. They were housed in ornate, but elegant frames. There were several appealing faces, but he was not shopping for himself at the moment.
“Hmm, not particularly.” He tapped his chin a moment in thought. “Who would follow rules the best?”
“Cullen.” she answered without hesitation and slid a form and pen across to him.
---
Cullen arrived a few minutes early to the posh tea room in an area of town he had never set foot in before.
He had dressed as requested, a simple understated black suit and narrow tie. Even still, he felt underdressed compared to the rest of the patrons within. He had anticipated some sort of modern coffee shop trying to cater to higher crowds by calling itself a tea shop. What he found instead could have stepped right out of some Victorian era drama right off of the television.
Each table was busy with gossiping guests dressed their best, as if they had just left a church service or important business meeting. Even the wait staff was impeccable. How did they keep stains off their uniforms so well?
Large, bright windows at the far side of the room of quaint tables overlooked a lavish garden, complete with koi pond and cherub fountain in the center. Every plant seemed to be in bloom. The water sparkled in the reflecting sunlight and birds flittered from petal to petal, inspecting each flower for its bounty. It must have taken an army of gardeners to keep everything looking so magazine worthy.
He scanned the crowded, murmuring tables and found his client. The woman sat, serene, seemingly waiting for nothing. A cup of steaming tea sat beside her untouched. He would have expected her to be tapping away at a phone or reading a book while she waited for his arrival, but instead she sat observing her surroundings, prim hands clasped beneath the lace pastel tablecloth.
He approached and offered the sketch of a bow.
“My lady. I am Cullen Rutherford, your knight for the day.”
She looked up, openly appraising him. He expected her gaze to be something haughty, judging like the ones he could feel behind his back as he had walked in. But the depth of her eyes were curious, tinted with a generous amount of wary concern. If there was something more it was well hidden.
“Thank you, ser Cullen.” She gave a small, wry smile at the title and Cullen found himself returning it.
The woman had a delicate accent, from what part he could not place. She spoke with care, obvious polish rounding every word. Instead of making her seem stuck-up the accent just finished off the delicate librarian look her pinned up hair and thin glasses had begun.
There were two other chairs at the small table and she gestured for him to take the one beside her, to her left.
A waiter arrived at his elbow as soon as he sat down. It was still morning, so Cullen decided on coffee.
The woman beside him was watching him from the corner of her eye. That open curiosity kept her eyes moving. Was she trying to figure him out or catch him revealing his true nature?
Cullen straightened as the waiter left to return his order. “It’s uh… this is a nice place. I’ve never been before.”
Her expression changed almost immediately from wary to excited.
“The Pennington family has owned it for many decades. They opened it as a meeting place for some of the first Templar orders and the second owner dedicated the gardens to his young daughter who was just smitten with the outdoors. My uncle once…” She caught herself, a touch of pink highlighting her cheeks. “I’m sorry. You were just making small talk, not asking for the history of the place.”
The way she spoke was small, polite, diffusing, as if she were unused to carrying on much conversation that did not follow a pattern or script. He found himself curious to hear more of what she would say.
“I love history.”
Her eyes pulled away from his only to return. They were filled with a stunning light that made them almost as blue as some of the flowers she spoke of. “The… the gardens are very beautiful. They’re an old Orleasian design, but the plants are all thriving in Ferelden. The Crystal Grace is in bloom right now. The birds are in love with it and can’t stay away.”
He looked out through the grand windows overlooking the garden, picking up some of the details she had described. “I never thought I would appreciate something so Orleasian so much.”
That wary hesitance in her eyes was vanishing at his interest. “My family has a garden of Antivan influence, lots of marble and high pillars.”
From anyone else the statements might have seemed boastful, but from her they were excited and eager. “Many of the plants don’t do well in the colder months here, but we’ve gotten them to survive. It takes a lot of work and some of them spend months out of the year in a greenhouse, but it’s well worth it to see them when they’re finally able to bloom.”
Cullen leaned a little closer, hoping to hear more about her interest in gardens.
“Ah! There you are!
Another man strode toward the table, steps sure and purposeful. He was almost as tall as Cullen, but the suit he wore was of some fine material Cullen could not identify. The cut was sewn as if were crafted just for him, which it more than likely had been. A beaming smile full of perfect white teeth was a permanent fixture on his face. His hair was dark, more brown than black, and slicked back with a more than generous helping of product.
“Miss Talia Trevelyan!” He grasped her hand and kissed the back of it before she had even fully offered it across the table. “It’s so good to see you again! It seems like it’s been ages.”
The man paused as his eyes drifted to Cullen, confusion and something else squinting his eyes.
“Cullen Rutherford,” he supplied, offering his own hand to shake. “I –“
“He’s my escort for today,” Talia interrupted with a pleasing smile.
“Ah! Oh yes, escort.” The man gave a chuckle that seemed amused at the idea, but he relaxed and shook Cullen’s hand with a firm, practiced grip. It reminded Cullen of the last time had, had to buy a car.
“Stephen Castelan. Good to meet you.” He sat down in the open chair at their table. “Rutherford, hmm… I’m trying to place that name. Is your family –“
Talia picked up her cup of tea from the saucer with a clattering that drew both men’s attention. Cullen was willing to bet the move was absolutely intentional.
“Stephen, I don’t believe I’ve seen you since the Autumn Seasonal. How is your family?”
He brightened, captured by the question.
“My father put me in charge of acquisitions for the company. Finally! I’ve been running nearly half of the entire business for almost the last six months. It’s been thrilling.”
The waiter returned with a large pot of coffee and a small tray of cream and sugar. Cullen poured himself a coup with a touch of cream while Stephen heaped sugar into his own. Talia watched them both, eyes full of interest. He felt like they were being studied. If her hands had not been wound around the cooling cup of tea he would not have been surprised to see her writing notes.
Stephen took a sip of coffee before continuing to describe his growing role at his father’s company. The man needed no more caffeine. He gestured and spoke with grand enthusiasm, spinning tales of his accomplishments and mastery. Cullen spent more time worried about the coffee pot being knocked over than what he was saying.
Talia nodded and laughed in all the appropriate places, but did not interrupt. Occasionally she threw small glances Cullen’s way. He offered her an encouraging smile when he could. She would dart her eyes back to the man across the table, but the tiny amusement in her lips had Cullen feeling like this was their own private joke. He had lost count of how many billions Stephen had saved the company or how many hours of polo the extra work had cost him. Cullen had the luxury of tuning him out and taking in his surroundings. She did not.
In a lull of business stories Cullen found himself blurting, “Talia was just telling me about some of the flowers that were in bloom.”
Both stared at him, Stephen even blinked once or twice as if he had forgotten the other man had been sitting at the table with them. Talia set her cup aside and clasped her hands atop the table. He watched her collect herself after almost shrinking from the attention. He felt awful for putting her on the spot so suddenly.
“We just acquired a fertilizer factory, actually. Manure is surprisingly lucrative.” Stephen stepped in to fill the silence and Cullen glowered at him unnoticed as Talia went back to dwelling in silence.
“That sort of brings me to something I was hoping to discuss with you.”
Talia tilted her head, indicating an unspoken interest. There was a flicker of some emotion that she immediately quelled.
“I’d really like to be able to meet with you again.” Stephen leaned forward, an eager and excited expression taking over. Their current get together had hardly started and already the man was asking for more?
Talia shifted in place, giving a quick glance at Cullen before clearing her voice.
“Oh, that might be possible. I would need time to look at my schedule and make sure ser Cullen was available.” She cut her eyes to him again and he nodded in agreement, taking note of the tiny sign of relief in her brows.
“Oh, of course! Maybe over dinner sometime with your father.”
“My father?” Her shoulders stiffened, but otherwise the question remained innocent.
“Yes, I haven’t spoken to him in years and nothing more than greeting. I would love to see him again.”
Her eyes narrowed just the slightest. Stephen did not seem to catch on to the turn in their conversation. He continued blundering forward as if nothing had changed.
“I think our businesses could profit from each other.” A grin found its way to his face, ambitious and earnest. “Now that I’ve taken over so much of the company I know so much more about the way things work within it. I’ve been brainstorming some ways that we could branch out and diversify ourselves out of the current markets that we’ve been locked into for so many stagnant decades.”
Stephen went for another breath of air, but Talia interrupted.
“You don’t want to dine with me. You want to meet with my father.”
The connection finally met. Stephen’s eyes widened. “No! I mean yes. I do want to meet with you. And I’ll have to meet with your father eventually anyhow, right?” He offered a charming smile, the implications of that sentence hanging in the air.
Talia straightened, a patient, but weary smile on her lips. It was practiced, old and thin like she had been using it for too long. “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”
The man scrambled to salvage the crumbling conversation, panic filling his features. Cullen almost felt sorry for the man as things fell apart in his hands.
“Wait! Your father set this whole meeting up with mine.” His tone strained to impart his sincerity. He reached across the table to grab her hand.
Talia immediately froze, eyes growing wide and full of a look that spurred Cullen to action. He latched onto the other man’s wrist in a firm grip, not painful, but enough to get a message across.
Stephen shot a glare at Cullen, a warning in his eyes.
“Let go of her.” His voice was low enough to not draw attention from the bustling room, but enough of a threat to make the man yank back his grip.
Talia withdrew her hands from the table and slipped them beneath the tablecloth. He could see her rubbing at the one that had been grabbed.
He marshaled himself not to form his words into a snarl. “Did he hurt you?”
The woman stared at him as if processing his words before shaking her head.
“I’m ok,” she whispered.
“If you’d just give me a moment to –“
“This meeting is over.” Cullen stood and offered Talia his hand.
“You can’t just –“ Stephen sputtered up at him, his voice rising. Pairs of eyes began to turn in their direction, curiosity and hunger for gossip making them predatory. “You’re just a-“
Talia just stared at his hand and it came to his mind now that he was asking to break the first rule Dorian had laid down for this job.
He could feel heat rise on his neck at the scene this was becoming. Cassandra would string him from the rooftop if his name became a source of scandal.
Stubborn honor made Cullen refuse to withdraw his hand. If the woman refused him at least she had an out now. She could lay the blame at his feet, but escape this floundering man that sought to use her. He kept his chin high, his back straight. Let the gentry stare. They would not sway him from what he felt was right.
Talia was staring up at him, eyes wide. Maker, they were blue. They drifted from his own, to his hand, and back.
Stephen was still rambling on. Distant threats and warnings faded in his ears as Talia placed her hand within his and stood.
Her hand was different than how he imagined, and he was embarrassed to admit he had been imagining it. It was small in his own, but not soft. He could feel a roughness to the pads of her fingers and palm. Somehow in her affluent life, full of rules and expectations, she had found something to do with her hands.
He gave her a reassuring smile as Stephen tossed his cloth napkin to the charger and spat his ire. He found himself near breathless when she returned it.
He turned from the table and offered her his arm, praying this was not some silly gesture used only on TV dramas. He was rewarded with the warmth of her as she stepped closer to slip her hand into the crook of his elbow.
Cullen could not help but feel like a real knight as he escorted her outside. He could have sworn he saw a few older patrons give him a brief nod of approval. Maybe his name would not be muddied after all.
Her steps slowed as they reached the watery sunlight. It was an overcast day out, but bright enough to not be dreary. Fall had brought about an undercurrent of chill, just a nip of wind now and then to warn of future weather.
Cullen brought his steps in line with her own, content to meander at her pace.
“What did Dorian tell you?” There was a bite to her words, but not directed at him.
“Only to defend the princess’s honor.” Dorian had demanded confidentiality on the details of the contract. Cullen put on his most charming smile, hoping she would not press further.
She gave an exasperated sigh, but did not pry for more.
Her steps began to falter as they reached the parking lot.
“Ser Cullen, thank you for-“
“I’m to see you to your car, my lady.” Her hand almost slipped from his arm but his interruption kept it in place.
“You don’t have to.”
“I do.” He stated simply, hoping the firmness in his voice would quell any further debate.
He could hear her mutter Dorian’s name, but she continued leading him to her vehicle.
Cullen did not consider himself a car man. He could appreciate a well-made car and would certainly never turn down the opportunity to drive one, but he did not have every make, model, engine detail, and price memorized.
She led him to some sort of BMW that fell between sporty and conservative. The stormy grey paint was spotless and Cullen wondered if there was a butler hired just to buff it every day. The sunroof, tinted windows, and detailed wheels completed what must have been a car dealer’s dream sale.
He may not have been an enthusiast, but he knew an expensive car when he saw one.
Talia withdrew the keys from her small purse and clutched them in her hand. She was avoiding his eyes and the car. The silence that had been so comfortable between them as they had walked now grew strained and awkward.
Cullen cleared his throat and fought for something to say. “It’s a um… it’s a nice car.”
It was as if she had been waiting for him to say it. Her shoulders sagged and she gave a weary nod. Cullen ground his teeth and wished he could recall the words.
“Thanks.” The response was muttered and insincere.
She clicked a button on the keys and the car chirped a happy response, unaware of the strife it was causing.
The woman that had took his hand and smiled so warmly at him was gone, replaced with someone small and closed. Cullen struggled to gather his wits before she breezed from his life.
“I apologize.” He found himself blurting, not even entirely sure what he was apologizing for.
She blinked up at him as if she had to process the meaning of those words. The light did not return to her eyes and he found himself missing that curiosity that had burned so bright just moments ago.
“It’s alright.” She mumbled, reaching for the door handle.
He reached for it first and stepped aside to sweep open the door for her.
“It isn’t if I have made you uncomfortable.”
She hesitated, toying with the keys in her hands as the moment stretched out between them.
Talia finally nodded.
“It’s just…” She gave a little uncommitted shrug, finally turning her eyes back to him. They were full of something that pulled at him to understand meanings beyond what she was saying. “This isn’t me.”
Those words resonated within him and found matching ones buried somewhere in his memories. This is not me. He had once shouted those words to himself, repeated them each day during each memory that threatened to engulf him and carry him away like a wayward tide. She had been born into this life, he had chosen his. Those words came from a different place for him, but the message was the same.
He placed his hand over his heart, giving her a brief bow. “I would never presume that it was.”
She stared up at him, searching his eyes for truth. He held her gaze, letting her see the way her words had found purchase within him.
After a moment a shy smile touched her lips, heralding the blush that touched her pale cheeks. Her head ducked down at just the right moment to miss the matching one crawling from his neck.
“At first I was furious at Dorian for this… this knight thing. But now I’m glad for it.”
She set her bag into the car and slid into the seat. Cullen stood fumbling for a moment for words, his hand still perched on the top of the car door.
“I hope to see you again, Talia.” He had decided on simple, but the words insisted on continuing. “Maybe as something other than a knight. Well, I’ll always be a knight, but… I mean-“
He slapped his hand to his forehead, fingers finding his temples as that blush turned fierce. He was rewarded with a kind laugh.
“I would like that, ser Cullen.”
The answering grin could not be kept from his face. He gave her once last glance before shutting the door and stepping away.
That grin stayed with him until he returned to the office and Cassandra caught the look in his eyes.