Page 28 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
Even now, as he turned his attention back to this endless sparring session, Noble could think only of their afternoon ahead. Her laugh: filling the small meadow of their secluded grove by the river, sunshine beaming through the budding alder trees. Her mouth: slipping a peach slice past her teeth, talking circles around him. Her body: slicing into the water like a dagger into his chest.
His whole body hurt with sore muscles and bruises, yet suddenly it was his heart that ached the most. Because not only were his growing romantic feelings for Hattie socially inappropriate, they were a distraction from what his father saw as Noble’s predestined purpose: Mighty Knighthood. The most direct path to status, security, and prestige for Noble and the legacy of their family.
With a grunt, he swung his shortsword down, blocking another one of his father’s brutal hits. Hattie’s presence revived Noble’s energy, and he worked his way forward in an onslaught until finally his father deflected and swung for Noble’s neck. Kalden stopped the blunt blade a hair’s width away from Noble’s pulse-point.
Noble’s cheeks flamed. Losing in front of Hattie embarrassed him, but his father’s pleased little squint had returned, and Noble was relieved to see the pride in his father’s expression—the possible end of this training session.
But then Kalden’s gaze flicked to Hattie, no doubt spotting the hope and expectation on her face—the implication of plans made. Noble saw the moment his father decided to ruin his birthday. A quick pulse of a stony jaw.
With a frown, Kalden looked back at his son and said, “We’ll rest for a quarter hour, then continue.”
The sun had risen considerably since Noble had been in the training yard. “It’s been nearly three hours,” Noble protested.
“And your form still isn’t right.”
Noble dropped his sword in the dirt. In his mind’s eye, he saw the promise of a fun and relaxing afternoon slipping away like a mirage. As he approached Hattie, he tried to keep the dismay from his face, assuming a confident saunter, donning a cocky grin like armor to defend himself against her disappointment and his own.
He breezed past where she leaned against the beam, going for a small table by the weapons rack that held a jug of water. Ladling himself a cup, he drank deep, feeling Hattie’s attention on him and pretending he didn’t. He wanted to give himself a moment before he let her down.
“Ready?” Hattie asked hopefully.
Noble set his cup aside. “Can’t make it. More training.”
Hattie laughed—but when he didn’t join in, her face fell. “Wait, really?”
He wiped his brow on the hem of his shirt, blotting the sweat. “Yeah.”
The thought of continuing his training session made him want to cry; missing his birthday outing with Hattie made him want to rage. Yet there was nothing he could do. He was failing his father by not being a better fighter, failing Hattie with ruined plans, and failing himself by not being good enough for either of them.
Noble glanced past Hattie, trying to think of what he could say to ease her disappointment. The sight of a newcomer approaching from behind her had his stomach sinking further.
Bulky, blond, with cruel eyes and a conniving personality, Brendan Harrow was older than Noble by two years. He was of noble blood—the child of a former Lord—and having lost his father shortly before the arrival of the Asheren family at Castle Wynhaim, hereveredKalden in a way that compounded Kalden’s disappointment in his own son.
Noble had recently overheard a pair of governesses whispering about the possibility of Brendan’s eventual match with Hattie. Just two weeks ago, she and Noble had been snacking on a spread of cured meats and hard cheeses in the library—her favorite pastime, and therefore, his,too—and she’d mentioned offhand how much she detested Brendan:I’ll have to marry a nobleman someday, butFates, please let it not behim.
Noble hadn’t known what to say, so he’d said nothing.
“But I’ve been looking forward to this all morning—all week,” Hattie was saying, oblivious to Brendan’s approach. “I baked the pastries fresh—extra chocolate and all.”
His heart squeezed. “Tomorrow, maybe?”
“What’s tomorrow?” Brendan asked, sidling up to Hattie.
She flinched at his sudden nearness—an almost imperceivable twitch, but it was obvious to Noble. “Nothing,” she said, blinking rapidly.
Brendan rested a hand on her shoulder. “Has Noble hurt your feelings?”
Hattie shook her head, shrinking away from his touch. Thankfully, Brendan had the self-awareness to let go—saving Noble from having to break his fingers.
Noble crossed his arms over his chest. “This is a private conversation.”
“Brendan,” Kalden called cheerfully from the center of the training area. “Have you come to join us?”
Brendan swiveled toward the Mighty Knight. “If you’ll have me!”
Kalden met Brendan with a chummy clap on his back. “Perhaps you can train some sense into my son, here,” he said on a laugh.
Noble offered Hattie a sheepish smile. “Iamsorry,” he murmured.
