Page 116 of Dark Angel

It’s Emmett’s turn for his eyes to widen. “Oh.”

“See why I need this? I can’t talk to girls. I don’t like them. How am I to get one to wed me?”

Emmett just stares at him. “So, you like…”

“Yes!” Charles shouts loudly. A few others in the room look over at them momentarily.

“Interesting.”

“How?”

Emmett shrugs, “Just unexpected, I suppose.”

Charles rubs his face in his hands. “I have never said that out loud.”

Surprisingly, Emmett takes the moment to rub his shoulder. “It takes guts. Believe me, society isn’t ready for this, but if that’s what you want…”

“Even if I want it, I can’t act on it.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell my father! Are you insane? He already thinks I am too weak. He made you spell me to become stronger. Imagine if he finds this out as well. Then I will never become the leader.”

Emmett shakes his bright red hair. “I think you need to take some time figuring out what it is that you want and forget about what your father wants from you. It’s not his decision to make.”

Charles gives him a half-smile. “Thank you, Emmett. Please, just keep this between us for now.”

He taps Charles’ jaw lightly. “You know what? Normally, I wouldn’t listen and just tell people. But I like you, Bladesmith. You have guts deep down. So, I’ll keep it our secret.”

“Thank you.”

*?*?*

He lives so close to the Sage. It’s barely even a walk, but it’s double the length when he’s inebriated.

Charles is leaving the Sage not long after midnight. Emmett ended up staying for a while, then departing before Charles and the other patrons of the tavern. Charles remembers dancing with a young lady and enjoying himself. He also remembers drinking a few different drinks.

Violet told him to get home when the clock ticked onto the following day, so Charles listened, finishing off his last pint and wobbling slightly on his way out the door.

It’s too late to catch a coach, and the walk isn’t too far. He’s done it dozens of times.

Stepping a little unevenly, Charles pulls his coat closed and steps through the freshly fallen snow. He’s freezing down to his bone marrow, but he will be home shortly. No doubt the fire will be roaring in the parlour. He wonders if his father is home yet or not.

Moving one leg at a time, his mind steadily focuses on where he’s going.

He turns down into the alleyway, which is almost pitch black. Tiny sprinkles of moonlight pepper the way. Charles groans, he could go around, but it will take him an extra five minutes at least, and all he wants is to get home and sleep off the buzzing alcohol.

No, it’ll be fine. He will be fine.

Stalking down the alley, he listens to the soft crunch of frost under his boots. The patter of snow drifting down and adding to the pile already coating the ground. He can’t even make out the cobblestone paving, the alleyway is so thick with snow.

Yawning loudly, Charles rubs at his eyes, which are feeling heavy and full. He needs to sleep off the alcohol and possibly eat some pastries. He’s craving something sugary. And chocolaty. And gooey.

A twig snaps and he halts. His olive eyes peer down. Strange, that didn’t sound like it came from his foot.

Another step.

No, definitely not his foot.

---