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“Mr. Sterling?”
The call brought Richard pause before the manor’s library.
His first instinct, of course, was to run. It was long past the designated curfew, and Richard’s plans for this manor were much too early in development to be foiled by a couple of nosy staff.
However, something about the voice rang of vague familiarity, too emotion-filled to be that of a servant. It called to him like a siren, luring him in, lowering his inhibitions. And against his better judgement, he soon found himself thinking: It couldn’t hurt to see this out.
He cautiously glanced in from where he lingered in the corridor. Instantly, the warm hues of candlelight bathed his frame from where it once was shrouded in blue-grey shadow.
Thankfully, Richard’s suspicions would turn out to be correct. There would be no servant meeting him at the doorway to scold him, instead, a Novelist, of whom he’d only met in passing. On his face, a polite smile, with a book tucked neatly under his arm and a gloved hand offered at Richard.
“Ah, I pray I didn’t frighten you” He let out a hushed chuckle, perhaps in response to Richard’s demeanor reading mildly like a cornered animal.
Richard, in turn, straightened, like a jerk reaction to rebuke the assumption.
“No such thing.” He assured, taking the offered hand and giving a gentle shake.
Had it been a pretty woman on the receiving end, Richard undoubtedly would’ve leaned down and kissed it. Make a show of it, as he often did. Let his lips linger, his thumb running over the knuckles. Perhaps even make a sly compliment or two regarding her physical appearance, if only to play up an unassuming facade in place of any actual attraction.
Well, it wasn’t like Novelist wasn’t pretty—if a man could ever really be described as such. His features were sharp, but the edges were filed down, just enough not to slice upon touch. He had this boyish charm, enhanced only by the soft candlelight highlighting the peaks of his face
For him to maintain some essence of youth well into adulthood, he must be well off, further proven by the male’s clothes. The latest style, tailored to perfection and in pristine condition, even at such a late hour.
Richard smiled. He could have fun with this.
“Forgive me,” He allowed his touch to linger beyond what would be expected of a casual handshake before allowing his hand to fall back to his side. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage, I can’t seem to place your name.”
While the truth, it was a test in its own right. Would the little Novelist falter, perhaps even anger at Richard not remembering his name? Those raised in nobility held a sense of haughtiness and oozed self-importance, to not remember their name was as good as spitting in their face.
However, the male’s smile was unwavering, perhaps even brightening some. “I’m Orpheus, a novelist.” He shifted, removing the book from where it rested under his arm and instead clasped it behind his back with both hands. “Fret not, I didn’t take the miracle Sterling son as an avid horror and mystery enjoyer.”
Richard clicked his tongue, suppressing the urge to grimace. It seemed this man, “Orpheus”, truly did have him at a disadvantage.
The Miracle Sterling Son— while it wasn’t a title Richard had heard in at least a decade, it dominated the headlines once he returned at age 7. Being a family of aristocrats, it was to be expected that quite the fuss was made when the twins initially disappeared, and many had lost hope on Richard after the first year.
However, where there was loss, there was opportunity.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Orpheus continued in his place, “I must say,”
He took a step forward, teetering the invisible boundary between his space and the Richard’s, tilting his head curiously. With the newfound closeness, when he looked up, it was through his eyelashes.
“Your story is quite extraordinary, truly nothing short of a miracle.” Orpheus spoke with passion, as if it truly was a subject to fawn over. “They theorized that with that kind of fortune on your side, you must be destined for greatness.” He chuckled, his eyes closing and his head shaking before he met Richard’s eye once more.
It was almost… mocking in nature, and yet the Knight was entranced in spite of it. His shoes felt like they were encased in concrete, despite his better judgement—that of which had been blaring warning signs since the very start—screaming at him to leave.
“Quite big shoes to fill.” Orpheus tilted his head. “How would you say their words hold up now?”
Richard swallowed. What the hell was this guy on about, was this some sort of thinly veiled insult?
He opted to maintain his composure. If he felt any amount conflicted by the situation, his face sure didn’t reveal any of that.
“Greatness is a vague end goal to strive for, the idea of it varying from person to person, ” Richard instead countered, meeting Orpheus’ step forward with one of his own. Not just that, but he leaned down, closing the height difference and lingering near the Novelist’s ear. “But I’d say I’ve done quite well for myself with the second chance I’ve been given.”
He chuckled, his words hot, near tangible against the skin beneath his lips. Looking at Orpheus from this angle… well, perhaps pretty could be used to describe another man. Even if just this one.
Richard straightened, wiping faux dust off his helmet, leaving the other reeling in his vague threat dripping with flirtation.
“Well, as charming as this conversation has been, I’m afraid I’m not taking interviews at this time.” Orpheus opened his mouth to speak, broken out of his stupor, but Richard interjected. “In any case, it was a pleasure, Mr. Orpheus. I look forward to finding out what becomes of you.”
With that, he smiled, giving a nod, before turning on his heel back into the corridor. His flowing cape remained the only indicator he was ever truly there.