Page 3 of Bloom

Jaime awoke in the morning to find Aleric glaring down at him. The small throw blanket had slipped off, and Jaime’s morning wood was straining through the sleep pants which were too short on him.

“A servant took your things to wash and has fetched a few items from one of my cousins who leaves clothes here when he goes home to visit. You’ll put them on and be ready when I return.”

“I thought you’d like me pants that are too tight. You gave them to me.”

Aleric rolled his eyes. “What else was I to give you late at night? Get up and eat.”

A tray had been left on the table in front of the couch. Jaime hadn’t heard anyone and hoped he hadn’t traumatized a servant with his morning wood. “I’m up.” A huge pile of clothes had been left on the armchair.

Aleric avoided looking at him and pointed at the large ottoman against the wall near the fireplace. “The top opens. You can keep your stuff in there since I don’t use it.”

“Thanks.” Jaime dragged the blanket over his lap. “Er, what am I supposed to do after I eat and dress?”

“I’ll come back after a while.”

Aleric left, and Jaime headed for the privy room while trying to clear the cobwebs from his head. He’d slept like a rock the previous night. The couch was long enough and quite comfy, but it’d been rather late by the time he’d finally settled. After he took a leak, he hurried to eat breakfast, although it was already partially cold. Oh well. He returned to the privy room to wash up and change.

Jaime had noticed the night before that there was no visible lock on the privy room door that led to Aleric’s bedroom. That meant the latch was on the other side, which he thought was quite odd. It was almost like he was afraid someone would try to get in through the privy room.

He’d have to later ask Aleric if anyone had tried robbing him. The Monet family held a court partly made of family members, and they had relatives of other higher-up families who came to visit since it wasn’t like they had real responsibilities for the most part. Lord Monet had built the family fortune up quite a bit with business dealings, and according to Jaime’s last landlady, they enjoyed holding large parties. It wasn’t like the expense meant much.

He dressed and sighed over the laces. The newer Soleilian style involved laces that started at the shoulder and went all the way down to the wrist. They were often used instead of buttons down the front. It was slowly spreading to Moria since he’d seen a rich man wearing a coat like that the last time he’d been over the border.

It was tedious to do them up. Why couldn’t they have stuck with laces that started somewhere on the forearm to keep the cuffs closed? Or regular buttons? Even some women's dresses now had sleeves that laced to the bodice. It was almost like someone had purposely thought of a fashion to make getting dressed a nuisance.

Thank Elira, Mother had taught him how to do laces as a child, and he’d remembered so he wouldn’t look like an oaf later. When he got to the end, he looped the access around a button hidden inside the sleeve and made sure it was snug. Trailing laces would be frowned upon, and he could imagine Aleric’s snotty attitude and words about commoners not even being able to dress themselves.

The coat had toggles so he didn’t have to spend ages lacing the front. Thank the Goddess Elira for small blessings. With everything complete, he took a deep breath before observing his reflection in the long looking glass by the door. He turned and plucked at the green coat, making sure it was straight. Thankfully, the cousin’s clothing was big enough so Jaime didn’t look like a sausage. He’d never properly fit into Aleric’s things.

It was beyond strange to see himself in silk. The embroidery on the coat was done in a pattern of gold leaves. He hadn’t worn anything so nice since he’d been a child who thought Mother and Father would live forever. Auntie had burned his last coat to ensure no one ever found it and questioned the finery.

At that moment, he should have been living in Moria and known as-

It didn’t matter. That time was over. He’d live and die as a commoner, and that was better than death as a seven-year-old. He’d come to terms with it a long time ago and hadn’t planned on being a part of anyone’s court ever again either.

Besides, common life wasn’t so bad even though he’d had a few lean times as an adult. This was only for a year, and he’d deal with it. Once Aleric was used to him, he might be nicer. He’d been a shithead last night, but he could mellow out a bit, right? He also might allow more in bed instead of treating Jaime like he was nothing more than a mouth to insert his cock into.

When he came out, Aleric had already returned, and he gave Jaime an odd look.

“What?” He glanced down at himself. His laces were straight, and he’d done the small toggles on his coat since they shouldn’t be left loose.

“You managed to dress yourself. Come on.”

Jaime followed him into the hallway, and Aleric locked his door. “What do you mean, I managed to dress myself? Did you think I’d put my trousers on my head and wrap the coat around my bottom?”

Aleric gave a vague shrug and slipped the key into his pocket before starting down the hall.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re playing chess this morning.”

“Why? I’m no good at chess.”

“I didn’t mean you. Keep quiet and out of the way. If I tell you to do something, do it, and don’t bitch.”

Jaime followed him downstairs to a large day room where several other men and women in fine clothing had gathered. More than one had faintly similar features to Aleric, although none were quite so striking, and clearly, no one else had a Rowland parent.

Several tables for two had been set up. Perhaps it was like a tournament, and instead of clashing weapons or jousting, they’d fight with their minds. A man with greying hair, possibly a Master Steward, was writing names in a small booklet. A man complained because he wanted to be on the other team. The Master Steward frowned and crossed something out in his book.

Lord Monet was at the head of the room in front of the large windows where a longer table had been set up. He had the same silver hair, although age had dulled it a little. A couple of servants were setting up a sideboard, and one placed a wineglass in front of Lord Monet.

A few people said hello to Aleric, including an older man with silver in his hair and beard. He had orange eyes like Jaime. Aleric ignored the last man and proceeded to the long table. A younger man by the lord looked faintly similar to both since he had the same chin and nose. He was clearly the younger, half-brother. Zacharie's short, wavy hair was a dark blond unlike his Father, and his eyes were a muddy green. He cast his older brother a slightly annoyed look and took the drink a servant gave him.

“Jaime, get me a glass of Merry Meadow red wine and orange juice.” Aleric sat on his Father’s right.

Jaime headed for the sideboard. A couple of ladies were pouring wine for themselves, and they barely looked at him. When he glanced back at the main table, Aleric was speaking to Lord Monet. Jaime picked a bottle of Merry Meadow called Too Good For You. He was pretty sure the winery had burned down some time ago, and the owners had died in the fire.

He couldn’t remember what anyone had drunk at home before. Alcohol hadn’t been on his mind back then. As an adult, he preferred ale, beer, or whiskey if he drank.

He filled three-quarters of the glass with wine and topped it off with orange juice. That should work. He didn't know how long the tournament would go, so the drink should last Aleric a while. Jaime didn’t feel like going back and forth for him.

When he brought the glass back, Lord Monet appeared a little puzzled, and Aleric raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get me trashed so I lose?”

“What?” Jaime held it out.

“That’s mostly wine.”

“So…you want more orange juice in it?”

“You also filled the glass up to the top. Do you see anybody else with that much?”

“Uh…” Jaime glanced at the others in the room who’d barely filled their glass halfway, and everyone was taking dainty sips to make it last. “Consider it two drinks, and don’t chug it.”

“Nobody fills the glass up to the top,” Zacharie declared. “Unless you’re a poor commoner looking to get sloshed before noon.”

“Use more orange juice than wine,” said Aleric.

“Fine. Sorry.” Jaime went back to the sideboard and wasn’t sure what to do with the full glass, so he poured a little over half of it into another and left it. Servants would clean up, and they surely wouldn’t mind it there, not that he was trying to make more work for them. He noticed Aleric at the table giving him a look like he’d fucked up again.

For Elira’s sake. How did he expect Jaime to have the drinking habits of nobility figured out when he didn’t even drink wine? He poured in a little more orange juice.

“If you don’t finish something or need to remake it, you pour it in the bucket against the wall,” Aleric said in a scathing tone when Jaime returned.

Looking back, he noticed the silver bucket to one side and out of the way on the sideboard.

“Pour both glasses out, and if I tell you to remake something, remake it. Don’t half-ass it, and use one of the stirring sticks to properly mix the new drink. Use a little more orange juice than wine, and put it in a fresh glass.”

A couple of ladies heard and giggled. Jaime nearly told him to make his own damn drink and had to bite his tongue before he went back. The bucket held a little liquid that showed someone had decided to dump their drink.

When he returned with a new drink, Aleric didn’t say thank you, and Zacharie sneered at him.

“I can’t believe you’ve got a slave. A stupid one too.”

“He’s technically an aid,” said Lord Monet. Aleric must have already told him who Jaime was. “He’s being paid, and don't call him stupid.”

“He’s a fancy slave because he can’t leave.” Zacharie’s tone grew quite snide. “Alex wouldn’t do that. He’s decent.”

Aleric cut his eyes at him. “He’s an aid. I’m not beating him or making him labor around the Castle all day. He’ll barely do any work while he gets a free roof over his head plus food.”

“But he’s stuck with you,” Zacharie said as if that was the worst imaginable fate.

“Both of you need to be quiet,” said Lord Monet.

Jaime backed up a bit from the table to observe the room. Lord Monet wasn’t going to release him, and if what Aleric said was true, and he tended to side with locals, Jaime would’ve ended up in a prison cell to await a buyer. Blurting out he was innocent wouldn’t matter.

All the servants were in black and white which was pretty typical, and none wore a collar or cuffs. Slaves often wore tunics which made their status pretty clear, and if they tried to escape, they’d stick out. It also allowed for easy access if they were being used for sex.

It seemed the court didn’t approve of slaves. Jaime hadn’t seen much, but nobody in the room had one with them either. It was hard to tell if they didn’t buy slaves because they didn’t like the concept or if because they’d follow whatever Lord Monet did.

Jaime backed up a bit more to use the window seat so he could watch everyone. Aleric wasn’t paying any attention to him, and a couple of men came in with stacks of cases.

Each case held a chessboard and chessmen made from green and pale blue glass. So many must have cost quite a bit. Courtiers hastened to pick a table and flip a coin to decide who would go first. Many sat on the couches and chairs around the edge of the room. Three approached the main table with chairs, and Lord Monet asked a young man if he was ready to get his ass kicked again. The man, who had whitish silver hair and must have been a relative, laughed.

“You won’t get me this time, old man.”

“Old man?!”

The one across from Aleric didn’t look related, and he flipped a coin. When a board was laid between them, he took the light blue pieces. Zacharie was against an older woman, and a few of those watching appeared to be betting.

Aleric’s opponent was too quick to move. Jaime wasn’t good at chess and still assumed one with skill should take more than three seconds to decide where to put a piece. He could only see the back of Aleric’s head, but he seemed to be studying the board even before making a simple move.

As the minutes passed with the general chatter, Jaime caught the words “checkmate” now and then. The Master Steward wrote in his book to keep track of winners and losers. Most of the losers went to get another drink, and one complained that he shouldn’t have had two before playing.

Aleric beat his opponent relatively quickly, and Lord Monet said checkmate minutes later. Zacharie lost against the woman.

“Old doesn’t mean I lost my wits yet.” Lord Monet tapped his head, and the young man he’d played laughed as he stood.

Round two didn’t start until the last pair had a winner. Jaime was having trouble figuring out who was on which team. The winners went against each other, and the teams shrunk bit by bit. Jaime eventually lost interest and turned a bit to look outside.

They were on the bottom floor, so he had a decent view of the front yard. A couple who must have decided they didn’t like chess and preferred to go for a ride were leaving on horseback. The lady’s yellow cloak edged in gold fluttered as the pair rode through the open gate. C?te was on a slight slope, and Jaime could see a sliver of the ocean in the distance and a dot that must have been a ship.

The ocean had seemed so vast and endless as a child, and he remembered standing on a hill to one side of the city back home with a clear view of the water ahead. When he’d first arrived in C?te, he considered continuing and entering his old home city just to see it. He likely would have been safe, but he couldn’t bring himself to risk it.

That night hadn’t been to get a holding.

He stared outside, ignoring the talk and a small argument about whether the other cheated or not.

Zacharie’s loud voice made him look around. “I knew you’d keep winning and get to the end!”

Jaime widened his eyes as Zacharie stood and leaned over the table to kiss the orange-eyed lord.

“Get the pot, Lord Gautier,” called a man.

“Now I don’t know who to hope for,” said Lord Monet.

“Your son, of course.” Lord Gautier sat in the abandoned chair across from Aleric. “Blood comes first.”

“Kick his ass.” Zacharie settled again.

“Don’t talk against your brother like that,” said Lord Monet.

Jaime stared at Zacharie and tried to think of how old he was. He wasn’t quite twenty, right? Perhaps he was. Either way, Lord Gautier had to be about forty-five or so. Maybe even a little closer to fifty. The lord was handsome for his age with few lines and a fit body that said he was quite active. The silver streaking his hair and beard gave him a distinguished look, not that Jaime was into older men. He’d never been with anyone more than a few years older or younger.

A forty-something-year-old man being with anyone that young was a bit off in Jaime’s opinion. What on Ymir’s dirt did they have in common? Lord Gautier smiled at Aleric and held up a coin. “You’ll be tails. I’ll be heads.”

Without waiting for a reply, he flipped the coin and let it land on the table with a loud clink. “Heads. I’m first.” He turned the board so he could use the light blue pieces.

A few of the courtiers seemed to lose interest and shuffled out since they’d lost and the game was over for them. The rest drew in to watch the last match.

“You’re our last hope, Aleric,” a lady said as if the fate of the Soleilian Kingdom rested on Aleric’s chess abilities.

Quite a few seemed to be hoping for Lord Gautier to win. A few called him Alexandre or Gautier, with or without the title. Jaime figured he’d watch the last game, so he slid out of the window seat and dared to inch closer without invading anyone’s personal space. A lord told Aleric that he’d better win because he’d bet a lot.

“I usually win,” said Aleric.

“Usually,” Lord Gautier repeated.

Aleric didn’t reply or look up at him. He stared at the board with a blank face as Lord Gautier made his first move rather quickly with a knight.

Like with the first match, Aleric took his time and finally moved a pawn forward one square. They could go two squares for their first move, so Jaime didn’t see why he’d wasted that. He’d never quite gotten chess beyond how the pieces could move because he’d only played a few times in his life.

Aleric repeated the same moves with other pawns. The game progressed slowly with him carefully thinking before moving his pieces short distances. His left bishop went diagonally to the left by one. The other went one square diagonally to the right. The knights ended up in the center in front of the King and Queen. Jaime didn’t see the point in basically rearranging his pieces and keeping them so close to home in a manner of speaking.

Aleric took a sip of his drink that he’d barely touched before switching the position of his king and rook. Jaime hadn’t even known that could be done. Nobody said anything against it, so it must have been an allowed defense move.

Lord Gautier didn’t rush either, but he was a little faster. After Aleric moved his center pawns again, someone said locking the center with a pawn chain was always good.

“You lost, so shut up,” said another.

“Shush,” said the Master Steward. “Let them think.”

Lord Gautier started taking even longer to the point where Jaime was finding it a bit boring. Chess would be more interesting if both players moved faster. He preferred cards because the player had a few, they couldn’t see what the other had, and luck was a factor. One might as well move and not spend ages agonizing over what to do.

With Aleric’s King tucked behind a nice defense, he seemed to be having an easier time of gaining space. He moved his other rook so both were right behind each other on the right side of the board. Lord Gautier thought for a few minutes before he moved his rook to cover the King in his corner, but he sat back with a defeated expression.

Aleric didn’t wait that time. He took the Knight blocking Lord Gautier’s king with his rook, and the King was trapped. To take that rook meant he had nowhere to go because the other could simply come forward.

“You win,” admitted Lord Gautier.

“I know.” Aleric took his glass, and talk burst out among the courtiers. Zacharie looked as though he’d swallowed a lemon when Lord Monet grasped his older son’s shoulder for a moment. A man gave up a coin purse to another with a pained expression, and the Master Steward approached with a bigger one to hand over.

“Here’s the pot.”

“Thanks.” Aleric pocketed it.

Lord Gautier held out his arm to clasp, and Aleric ignored it as he sipped his drink. Jaime made a faint noise of derision under his breath. He won and had to be such an ass? If he was that much of a snot, he likely wasn’t going to mellow too much. So much for that idea.

It was going to be a long year.