Rowan jumped off of his horse outside the Walpick Tavern. He attempted to smooth the wrinkles out the oversized clothes he’d borrowed from Liam to no avail. His heart felt like a scared bird fluttering in his chest. As he opened the heavy, splintered door, he was slapped with the smell of stale beer and smoky firewood.
The pub was teeming with people, all of whom were chattering loudly. The walls of the tavern were adorned with various family crests and dusty animal trophies, only adding to the crowded, cluttered feeling. Rowan scanned the packed room until he found a pale, angular face. Miraculously, Bran had managed to find an empty table and was sitting alone. His thin face looked anxious as he chewed at his nails.
Rowan exhaled. Was Bran this nervous about meeting Isabella? How much more stress would it add when he showed up instead instead of his best friend?
Rowan swallowed thickly before approaching the slender man and explaining the situation- mainly that he had been asked by the baroness to meet him here.
“I hope that’s alright,” Rowan laughed nervously while scratching the back of his neck.
Uncharacteristically, Bran appeared to be just as nervous as he was. “That’s fine,'' he assured, gesturing to the barkeep. “Actually, let me buy you a pint of mead. It’s the least I could do for how I left you the other night.”
Rowan’s shoulders relaxed slightly. Bran didn’t shoo him away. That was a good start.
“I wasn’t going to mention it, but I’m beginning to wonder if you really hate my company that much,” Rowan tried to keep his voice light and joking, but it betrayed a hint of anxiety.
Bran paused to take a sip of his mead. “I wouldn’t use the word hate,” he replied cheekily.
Rowan stuck his tongue out, but he could feel tension leaving his body at the playful banter. He took a long swig from the pint a barmaid had handed him. “What’s so special about this tavern that you and Baroness Isabella come all the way out here?”
The taller man shrugged. “Well, other than the passable food, there’s a badminton net out back. It’s one of the few places that will let Isabella play.”
“Fan of badminton? I wouldn't peg that as your sport.” Rowan felt he was using the term sport very liberally.
“It’s one of Isabella’s favorite activities.”
“Care for a match? Maybe I can help you practice for the next time you play against the baroness.”
Bran stretched his arms out and cracked his neck. “Dear, I doubt anyone could challenge me as much as Isabella, but you are welcome to try.”
Rowan tried to ignore the fluttering he felt at the word ‘dear’. He needed his head to be screwed on right if he wanted to impress Bran with his athletic ability.
-
After half an hour, Rowan was sweating heavily and out of breath. How did badminton require so much damn running? Bran was winning by 5 points, and was only 2 away from finishing the match.
“Hold on, hold on a bit.” Rowan was panting, trying to ignore the stitch in his lungs. He bent over, resting his palms on his knees. “You know, if you win it’s because I can’t move around in Liam’s huge clothes.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Bran hummed.
“It’s true!” Rowan protested, trying to maintain some scrap of dignity. “If you win, that’ll be the reason why. A rather hollow victory, if you ask me.”
Bran tutted. “I intend to destroy you fair and square. Come here and I’ll cuff them for you. We’ll consider it temporary alterations.”
Bran’s black locks had been artfully braided over his ears and pulled into a half bun. He tugged out a few pins before reaching for Rowan’s shirt sleeves.
Rowan wasn’t particularly athletic, but he had hoped some latent ability would appear during the match; his father was an excellent huntsman. But it was quickly becoming apparent that those genes had skipped a generation. He needed to think of something quick if he didn’t want to further embarrass himself.
Rowan was deep into a new badminton strategy when long, elegant fingers tickled his wrists. Bran was folding the fabric of his sleeves, his face screwed up in concentration. The touch sent shivers down Rowan’s spine and he had the overwhelming urge to let out a whimper. Had it been that long since someone had touched him so gently? He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed that kind of tenderness.
Bran seemed completely casual about the whole thing, oblivious Rowan’s rapidly unfolding internal crisis. After the sleeves were finished, he bent down to fold and tightly lace the ankles of Rowan’s borrowed britches.
Rowan wracked his brain for words. Anything to fill the charged silence he felt. He was going to look like a pervert if he kept ogling Bran in silence.
Rowan cleared his dry throat. “You’re good at this. Did you learn alterations by practicing on your girlfriend?” he asked, feeling incredibly smooth.
Bran let out a small laugh while keeping his eyes on the task at hand. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend. I've been able to hone the skill by practicing on Adam.”
Something withered in Rowan’s chest. “Who’s Adam?” he asked before he could stop himself. His mind conjured the image of a buff Adonis, tall enough to sweep Bran off of his feet, unlike Rowan whom he towered over.
“He’s the son of a servant in my household. All of his clothes are second hand, so they’re usually too big for him. He’s constantly borrowing my books, so I can’t have him tripping around.”
Rowan’s shoulders relaxed. Adam wasn’t a hunky boyfriend. That was good. “You sound very fond of him. I mean, you must be if he’s allowed to borrow your precious books.”
“I did teach him how to read. It’s the least I could do now.”
Rowan wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. “You taught him how to read instead of his teacher?”
Bran stared at him. “Rowan, he’s a servant… he’s fae.”
“Yeah? Fae children are allowed to attend elementary school with human children. All kids are allowed in primary school. There are only limits when it comes to higher institutions.”
“And you really think fae attend primary school?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” he asked confusedly. Didn’t they want their kids to learn how to read and write?
“They can’t control their magic. They’re scared of the punishment they might face. Also, most families can’t afford the books and supplies. Honestly, even many human children don’t have the funds to attend. I don’t think a single child from the orphanage has even set foot in a school building.”
Rowan was gobsmacked as a sinking feeling moved down his chest. “Is this true of all the cities in Gallan?”
“I would assume so. I don’t know why the others would be any different. You really didn’t know?”
Rowan shook his head as a horrible feeling wormed its way into his gut. He attempted to grapple with the image painted before him. A kingdom with so little care and compassion that the basic needs of its citizens were not being met. It seemed so disconnected from his everyday existence. Was he really that out of touch?
“I guess I haven't put too much thought into the lives of the underclass,” he answered honestly. “I’ve never really talked to anyone about it before. I only deal with nobles, and I’ve never met a noble that cares about them as much as you do.”
Bran had stopped re-tying the laces of Rowan’s britches. He had drawn himself up to his full, considerable, height. “Why shouldn’t I care?” he asked defensively. “It’s the underclass that allows this kingdom to survive. How could you not care for them?” Bran’s tone had grown sharp. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. “I should go.”
“Wait! I do care for them,” Rowan pleaded. “I care about all the citizens. It’s just not something that’s crossed my mind before. If you haven’t been able to tell, I don’t really involve myself in the kingdom. You’re the first person to talk to me about it. Please believe me,” his voice faltered. “Please don’t leave. I’ve upset you and I apologize, but please stay, even if you think I’m a right idiot.”
Rowan didn’t care that he had resorted to begging. He wasn’t going to let this passionate, surprising man escape again- especially after dropping such a bombshell on him.
Bran crossed his arms, still looking unconvinced.
“I’d love to walk through the market with someone before I have to head back to the castle. I’ve never been before, so I don’t know my way around. Let’s go together then I can buy you lunch, anywhere you want to go my treat.”
As if on cue, Bran’s stomach loudly began rumbling. His blue gaze remained steely and indignant on Rowan, until his stomach grumbled again. “Fine,” Bran aquessed. “Come along. The best markets are on the south streets.”
Rowan followed Bran along the bustling streets like an excited puppy dog.
Maybe he could still salvage their day together.
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