Chapter 31 – The Taste of the Evening
The Highcourt Ward was quieter in the mornings, the polished stone streets still damp from last night’s rain. Alena stepped through the tall double doors of House Deneith’s main hall, her satchel snug against her side and the translated pages inside carefully wrapped in oilcloth.
Caelan Thorne’s office was easy to find, not because of any sign, but because it was the only one with a glaive mounted behind the desk like a silent sentinel. He was already there, sleeves rolled to the elbow, pen in hand.
“You’re right on time,” he said, setting the pen aside. His voice carried that warm formality he seemed to keep for people he respected. “Come in.”
She placed the bundle of translated texts on his desk. “It’s all there, the main passages, the annotations, and the rough phonetic guide.”
Caelan untied the cloth, flipping through the pages with a quiet hum. “Your handwriting’s easy to follow. I can see where you’ve marked the repeats. Saves me trouble.”
“I’m glad,” she said, sitting across from him.
He leaned back slightly, studying her for a beat. “So, how’s your week been?”
“Steady,” she replied. “Yours?”
“Well enough.” He reached for the cup of black tea cooling on the blotter. “Devon and I went pub-hopping over the weekend. Something we do every now and then to take our minds off work.”
Alena’s gaze lifted, her interest piqued before she could hide it. “Oh? Where’d you go?”
“The Black Hart first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Devon likes their wine list. Then The Gilded Keg, that one’s more my pace. Good ale, good crowd.”
She nodded as if only politely interested. “Is he more of a wine person then?”
Caelan set the cup down. “Depends on the day. Sometimes a dry red, sometimes whisky. He’s got a better tolerance than most.”
Alena let out a small, thoughtful hum, twirling a loose thread on the cuff of her sleeve. “What about food? Does he order much when you go out?”
He arched a brow. “Usually whatever pairs with what he’s drinking. He’s particular about that.”
“Mm. Has he ever been to that tavern on North Row? The one with the rosemary bread?”
“I doubt it,” Caelan said, watching her fingers tighten on her sleeve. “He’s not much for bread.”
She pressed on without thinking. “So if you had to pick one, what’s his favourite pub?”
Caelan leaned back in his chair fully now, folding his arms. “Depends if he’s going for company or for the drink.”
Her head tilted. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, some places he goes because he likes the atmosphere. Others because he wants to talk to the bartender. Others still…” He let the pause stretch just enough for her to realise he was looking directly at her. “…because he’s meeting someone.”
She blinked, heat creeping into her cheeks. “I was just curious.”
“Were you?” His tone stayed mild, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
“You’re being awfully keen when the subject turns to Devon.”
Alena straightened, brushing an imaginary speck off her skirt. “I’m not—”
“You are.” The words were quiet, even, and left no room for debate. “You’re an open book, Morran. Has no one told you that before?”
Her blush deepened. “It’s not… it’s not like that.”
“Of course,” he said smoothly, but his smirk suggested otherwise. “Would you like me to be your wingman?”
She stared at him, caught between indignation and embarrassment. “…I don’t—”
“It’s a yes-or-no question,” he cut in, still perfectly calm.
She gave a nervous laugh and glanced down at the translations on his desk. “We should probably finish reviewing the project.”
“As you like.” He gathered the papers again, though that faint gleam of amusement lingered in his eyes.
When they were done, Alena stacked her books in her arms and stood. She hesitated in the doorway, half-hiding her face behind the covers as a small, sheepish smile tugged at her lips. “Did you mean it?”
Caelan looked up from the desk. “Mean what?”
She shook her head quickly. “Never mind.”
Before he could answer, she slipped out into the hallway. Caelan sat back in his chair, the faintest of smiles curving his mouth as he glanced at the door she had just closed. Cute, he thought. Like one of those small forest rabbits that thinks it’s hiding, but the tips of its ears are still showing.
The crystalink on Gideon’s kitchen counter buzzed. He glanced over mid-breakfast, brow lifting when he saw Caelan’s name.
Got some expensive bottles from a foreign client. Too good to drink alone. Host something at your place tonight.
Gideon sighed but felt the corner of his mouth twitch. And by “something,” you mean…?
You, me, Devon, Alena, Neia. Wine, food, no work talk. You’re cooking.
Gideon shook his head, already pulling out a list of ingredients in his mind. By evening, his apartment was warm with the smell of roasted fish and baked root vegetables.
They arrived in staggered pairs. Caelan first, with two dark green bottles under one arm and a paper parcel of cheeses and smoked meats in the other. Alena followed soon after, a neat box of golden pastries from a Highcourt bakery balanced carefully in her hands. Devon came in on a draft of cold air, carrying a small wooden box that rattled when he set it down, revealing a deck of storytelling cards painted in jewel tones. Neia was last, smiling warmly as she stepped inside and offered Gideon a jar wrapped in linen.
“A little something from my kitchen,” she said, pressing the weight of it into his palm. “Blackberry preserves.”
He gave a small, surprised smile. “Thank you. I’ll make good use of it.”
Soon the table was filled with plates, glasses, and more wine than anyone was likely to finish. Caelan uncorked the first bottle with practiced ease, pouring a measure for everyone, and Devon explained the rules of his game as they settled in: draw a card, tell a story. Truth and invention could mingle as they pleased.
They arranged themselves almost instinctively. Gideon and Neia on the couch nearest the fire, Caelan in the armchair angled toward them, and Alena and Devon on the loveseat. The room filled with the easy rise and fall of voices, laughter breaking through when a story took an unexpected turn.
Caelan began his subtle work early. When Alena’s glass emptied, his hand was already reaching for the bottle before she could speak. When Devon faltered on a detail, Caelan’s glance toward her was enough to draw her into the conversation, giving her the chance to lean in and fill the gap. A story prompt about lost relics led to a short exchange on ancient scripts, and Devon offered her a faint, appreciative smile when she described her work.
With each round of the game, the wine softened edges and lightened moods. Devon’s posture eased until he was leaning into the back of the loveseat, long legs stretched in front of him, one arm hooked over the side. His polished manner slipped just enough to show a boyish ease beneath it.
Later in the evening, Alena’s glass was empty, and Caelan was distracted topping his own. Devon, lounging in the corner of the loveseat, lifted his half-full glass toward her instead.
“Try this. Tell me it isn’t better than what Caelan picked.”
She hesitated, her fingers brushing his as she took it. She sipped, the rich flavour blooming on her tongue, but her mind wasn’t on the taste at all.
“Well?” he prompted, eyebrow arched in challenge.
She handed the glass back, and without breaking eye contact, he drank from the exact spot her lips had touched.
Her eyes widened, startled, like a deer caught in a lantern’s light. He caught it instantly, and his mouth curved into that effortless, boyish smirk; the kind that was equal parts charming and dangerous. Devon knew exactly what he was doing. He couldn’t seem to help himself when the company was good, the wine was better, and the air between them was already humming with something unspoken.
Her pulse stumbled. Omigosh. That was an indirect kiss. Like in the books. Kyaaaaaa!
And near the end of another card game they were playing, she caught him losing a round he could have easily won.
“I think you’re just bad at this,” she teased, propping her elbow on the arm of the loveseat.
“I let you win,” he said, swirling his wine lazily. His gaze slid toward her, the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth. “You’re much prettier when you’re gloating.” Before she could answer, he leaned in slightly and gave her nose a gentle pinch.
Her heart gave an unsteady skip. She laughed, trying to play it off. But she already knew she’d be replaying this exact scenario in her head all the way home.
From his armchair, Caelan sipped his wine with a look of quiet satisfaction. His plan had worked. Alena’s shoulders had dropped, her voice had grown freer, and she was leaning toward Devon now without even noticing. She looked happy. And that, he told himself, was what mattered. Even if a small, unexpected thought flickered about how cute she was when she’s so happy like this.
By the time the last round of the game ended, the warmth in the room had become something more than just the fire and wine. Neia’s laughter had softened into a half-lidded smile, her head tipping sideways until it came to rest against Gideon’s shoulder. He went still for a moment, every muscle aware of the contact, before choosing to stay exactly as he was. And later, Gideon, warm with food and wine, let himself relax and closed his eyes. When Caelan glanced over and saw them both asleep, he exchanged a look with Devon and Alena.
Caelan noticed first, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I think they’ve tapped out,” he murmured to Devon.
Devon followed his gaze and smirked. “Well, we wouldn’t want to wake them, now, would we.”
Alena looked over and covered her mouth, her heart giving a strange little twist at the sight. “They look… very comfortable.”
“Then we’ll leave them be,” Caelan said, standing. “Let’s go.”
Gideon barely stirred as they gathered their things. Neia’s head stayed on his shoulder, his own head now resting against hers, both of them sunk deep into the couch.
“They’ll thank us in the morning.”
The three of them slipped out into the cool night. Devon gave a casual wave before heading the opposite direction.
“You’re headed my way,” Caelan said, falling into step beside Alena. “I’ll walk you.”
“That’s… nice of you,” she said, tucking her hands into her sleeves.
“Someone has to make sure you get home in one piece.”
Highcourt at night was quiet, the cobblestones glistening from an earlier rain, lamps throwing halos of gold onto the street. “Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “It was fun.”
“I noticed.”
She tilted her head at him. “Noticed what?”
“That you were awfully giggly.”
She huffed, half-smiling. “Was I?”
“Mmhm. You were. And I’m guessing a certain someone had something to do with it.”
Her pulse jumped. “You read too much into things.”
“I read exactly enough. And if I’m not mistaken, you enjoyed yourself more than you thought you would.”
They walked a few more paces in comfortable silence, the distant hum of a tavern drifting from a busier street. Caelan’s hands slid into his coat pockets as he glanced at her again. “You’ve already seen a side of Devon he usually takes much longer to show people,” he said. “Neia got there fast too, but that was mostly because he was trying to wingman for Gideon. With you… it’s different. You’re the newest one in the circle, and he’s warmed up to you on his own.”
She blinked. “Different how?”
“Less polished. More himself. It suits him. And you.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she looked away quickly. Caelan saw it. He didn’t call her out, only gave a low hum, as if filing the detail away for later.
When they reached her street, a breeze swept through, and one side of her jacket slipped down her shoulder. Caelan’s eyes flicked to it. He hesitated for half a second, then stepped a little closer, brushing a loose strand of hair aside before pulling the fabric back into place with deliberate care. His fingers lingered a fraction longer than necessary against her arm before he let go.
“You’ll catch cold,” he said softly.
Her heart skipped, but she managed, “Thanks.”
“Anytime, Alena.” His voice held that calm, unshakable warmth that made it hard to tell if he was teasing or sincere.
She stepped inside, leaning against the door for a moment after it closed. Outside, Caelan turned toward his own home, telling himself it was just a friendly gesture. But the image of her looking up at him in that moment stayed with him long after he disappeared into the lamplight.