Rhindov, dressed in what he considered a modest suit of burgundy silk, stepped up to the small yet quaint town house door and rapped his white gloved knuckles against it. The speed with which the door swung open attested to the expectancy of his arrival. Grinning, he bobbed his head at the young maid who’d answered the door and stepped in as she stuttered out a greeting and invitation in.

“We were just setting the table for breakfast M’Lord, would you care to join the master for his meal?”

“That would be lovely, miss..?”

“Eliza, your Lordship. If you would follow me?”

After receiving his nod, she turned and briskly made her way down the short hall. He followed at his own pace, taking in the ambiance. Dark wood floors and walls should have made the space cave-like and suffocating. Instead, there was something cozy about it. Even if there wasn’t much in the way of decoration besides a few landscapes and empty vases. Rhindov glanced around as he strolled leisurely behind the maid towards the dining room. A doorway on the right opened into the parlor, and another to Quaice’s study. Stairs took up the remaining space to that side. The doors on the left were a small music room, the dining room and kitchen.

His grin took on a different cast as he was shown to the table, and saw that Lord Quaice was already seated with a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. The young man looked up and rose from his chair, bowing at the waist and looking like he’d rather dump the contents of his cup over his head than stay in proximity to him. Rhindov returned the bow with a gracious inclination of his head, and took the seat that had been pulled out for him across from Yirel at the miniscule table.

“Lord Cavish, thank you for deigning to visit my home.”

“Lord Quaice, thank you for having me. I can only assume the short notice was a hassle.”

Yirel waved off the trouble and took a sip of his coffee as he sat and the maid poured Rhindov his own cup. “Sugar and cream please,” he murmured as he watched Yirel. For a handful of moments they sat across from each other in tense silence. Then the maid placed his cup before him and dipped into a quick curtsy before rushing off to bring the food in. The smells of breakfast were tempting at least, and he looked forward to seeing what would be offered. Raising the cup to his lips, he let his eyes drift over Yirel.

The young man was dressed in a crisp white linen shirt with a prim sable necktie closing the front of it at his throat. His hair had been oiled and braided back in a severe style that nonetheless looked delicate on him. Dark bronze trousers with shoulder straps attached completed the outfit over highly polished short boots. Rhin was pleased. Even wearing the proper clothes, Yirel cut an attractive figure. The clothes didn’t hide his waifish frame or try to disguise it, and the elegant line of his limbs were more emphasized in the masculine attire than they were in the drapes of feminine skirts. 

He leaned back in his chair, setting his cup on the table. Yirel tried to hide his nerves, but it was clear that he was uncomfortable for a variety of reasons. And he was trying his best to look anywhere but at Rhindov. It was a commendable effort, he supposed, though an ultimately doomed one. The way Yirel’s eyes kept drifting towards him before darting away again belied his interest about Rhin’s presence.

The side doors pushed out and a miniature parade of servants and automatons filed in, each bearing a platter that was either set on the table or sideboard. Yirel seemed relieved at the distraction, and Rhin let him have the sense of peace for the time being, turning his attention to the food that was being offered. He was mildly impressed with the spread, and had the maid pile his plate with roasted tomato slices, a selection of petite sausages, thin slices of smoked fish on crusty toast, with herbs and lemon, two poached eggs and an airy pillow of fry-pastry covered with candied orange slices in syrup and clotted cream. The pot of porridge on the table was studded with flecks of dried fruits, a generous scoop of butter melting over the top. Rhin had to admit the simple dish was tempting, even to him. The scents of spices and herbs mixed with the sweet and savory aromas of breakfast; Sage and nutmeg, allspice and star anise.The lordling had outdone himself to dress his table appropriately. Yirel took the same items he had with the exception of the sausages, and in a much reduced quantity. Either he wasn’t much for breakfast or his nerves were getting the better of him. Rhin shrugged it off and tucked into his plate, happily surprised that the food was more than passible.

“Mmm, delicious.”

“I’m glad the food is to your standards,” Yirel said, sounding just slightly strained.

Rhindov grinned and nodded. “As am I. There’s hardly much worse than good food done poorly.” He stabbed a sausage with his fork and plunged it into the golden yellow yolk of the nearest egg before biting it in half with a satisfying snap. Smokey pork seasoned with currants and pepper danced over his tongue. “But we both know I’m not here to discuss the merits of cooks or breakfast. I’ll cut right to the point-” He paused and looked across the table, to the suddenly pale and stricken face of the young lord as he stared back at him. “-I wish to court your Darling cousin.”

If a pin dropped in the other room he was sure he would hear it. Both Yirel and the servants were frozen stiff with the shock of his statement. Rhindov took his time with another bite of food, chewing thoroughly and taking a sip of his coffee before he leaned forward on the table. With a cleared throat and mere twitching of his fingers he sent the servants away.

Yirel blinked and added his own command to have the automatons leave as well. “Excuse me..? You want to court m- her?”

He heard the near slip, and repressed a chuckle behind another sip of coffee.

“Yes. I have been enraptured by her for some time now, and I believe that we came to an understanding last night. One that I’m sure she told you of?” He couldn’t help teasing Yirel, and the look of embarrassment on the young lord’s face was priceless. His gaze flicked to the closed kitchen doors, where he was sure the servants were trying very hard to listen.

“Ah, yes. She had mentioned something to that effect,” Yirel said as he cleared his throat. His gaze flicked to the doors as well, and then back. “However, it is my duty to protect her, even from herself. If I may say so; though my cousin is known to be noncommittal, you are worse in that regard. Why should I take this proposal seriously when it is far more likely that you simply wish to enjoy a brief adventure and then move on?” Yirel licked his lips and looked at the doors once more before focusing on Rhindov.

“That is a fair assessment, I won’t deny. But the fact that I am here to negotiate the courtship should go a long way to show my interests.”

That got his attention. Raising a brow at him, Yirel slumped in his chair. “I see. My cousin is a private person by nature, Lord Cavish. So before these talks continue, let us retire to the study where privacy can be assured.” With that he stood and took his coffee with him as he walked around the table. Rhindov stood as well and did the same, each leaving their hardly touched plates behind. He walked behind Yirel, letting him lead the way to his study and enjoying the view of his rump while he walked. He’d never really took note of the minor lord before -their circles were vastly different- and now he felt the sting of knowledge that such a ripe fruit had gone unnoticed for so long. He had lusted after ‘Darling’ for years before acting, and yet, here was the true object of his desires without all the frills and lace, and still just as invigorating.

He stepped in behind Yirel into the study, and waited for the few heartbeats it took for the doors to close and lock, the runes for silence flaring to life as the young man touched them and woke them up. “There. Now, what is the true meaning of your visit, Cavish?”

It was his turn to raise a brow, reaching out and gripping Yirel’s chin between his fingers. “That would be Lord Cavish, Quaice. And I was utterly sincere about my motives… Though I will admit the wording was misleading, for the benefit of the ever listening ears of your servants. I am here to negotiate the terms of our agreement,” he purred. Yirel looked up at him with huge eyes that were simultaneously wary, annoyed, and intrigued. He pulled away from his grip though, and Rhin let him go. For now.

Yirel went to lean a hip against his desk, crossing his arms and looking down at the floor. “Negotiate the terms of our agreement. That’s a very pretty way of saying you’ve come up with demands I’m to follow to avoid being outed.”

“What can I say? High Lords are taught how to say things in a pretty manner.” He pulled out one of the chairs that was stationed at the front of the desk and took a seat, lounging in it gracefully. "Now then… come here and open your shirt and trousers."