Page 23 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

Rules

Noble

B y the time Noble looked up from the hot maw of his forge and the endless process of heat, hammer, quench, temper, alchemize, the lab was dark.

Lanterns cast orbs of sunset-orange throughout the gardens and alcoves, and beyond the glass-paneled roof, stars twinkled in a sea of indigo.

As usual, Noble was last in the lab—or so he thought, until he heard the soft shush of a page turning.

Wiping his filthy hands on a rag and his brow on his rolled-up shirtsleeve, Noble sauntered over to the reading area, where only one other researcher remained.

Hattie was curled up in an upholstered chair, her legs tucked underneath the blue cascade of her dress.

A thick journal was splayed across her lap, and she trailed her index finger along the pages as she read, oblivious to his presence.

The vertical line between her eyebrows was back, along with her customary head tilt.

More curls had sprung loose from her bun, her hair barely held together after hours of studying.

What Noble wouldn’t give to pull out the pins and sink his fingers into that softness, tug her head back and bring his mouth to hers.

For all their mutual pining over the years, they’d only ever kissed once, on a playful dare from Raina, when they were fourteen—a dry peck that had roused more feeling in his chest than any of the women he’d bedded in adulthood.

Hattie—all blue eyes and flushed cheeks—had licked her freckled bottom lip after their kiss, blurted out a quick gasp of a laugh.

To this day, Noble wondered what flavors she’d perceived with her magic. Whether she’d liked the taste of him.

Forcing the memory from his mind, Noble leaned casually against the archway of the alcove. “You’re here late.”

When Hattie looked up, she was bleary-eyed. A pleasant smile formed automatically—then vanished. “What time is it?”

He stole a quick glance at the sky. “An hour past sundown.”

“I forgot you could do that.”

Given his sensitivity to color and light, he had a knack for telling time after nightfall, simply by the hue of the dark. Unable to help himself, Noble lowered his stern veneer—just a little. “Does it still impress you like it used to?”

Hattie snorted. “Hardly.”

“I think it does.”

“It most certainly does not.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“And you’ve always been terribly annoying .”

A pause spread as their childish bickering subsided.

This was the first time they had any privacy since their fraught reunion in Waldron—but just because they were alone didn’t mean they were free of risk.

As Noble had learned from childhood, it was moments like this that held the most potential for disaster.

Not only because they could get caught being overly familiar, but because every time he was alone with her, his emotional fortitude eroded another inch.

It was easier to stay away.

“You’ve been reading a long time,” he remarked.

Her candle had melted into a messy pile in its dish; the weak, flickering flame gilded the side of her face in gold.

“There’s so much to absorb. It’s dizzying.” Hattie closed the journal and set it on a side table. “Are we the last ones here?”

“Yes. ”

The crease of her mouth twitched with an emotion that his eyes—keen as they were—couldn’t quite interpret.

Then she frowned. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Are you?”

“Furious, actually.”

“Oh, good.”

“ Ugh . No , Noble. You’re not allowed to enjoy my anger.”

“Why not?”

Hattie unfolded her legs and rose to her feet. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Phina would say otherwise.”

“Phina can’t know about us.”

On that point, he agreed. “I know.”

“This is so… vexing ,” Hattie grumbled. “I’m so angry you’re here.”

Noble bounced his eyebrows, teasing. “I know .”

She shook her head—begrudgingly amused, exasperated. An aching, boyish part of him wanted to hold onto this feeling—this pulse of nostalgia beating between them like a heart.

That boy is dead , Noble told himself. He had to be an adult about this.

Hattie clearly agreed. “How in the Fates are we supposed to work in a research lab together?” she asked, taking a step closer—close enough that he could smell her. Rosemary and citrus.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult,” he said, serious. “As far as Phina is concerned, we know each other from Waldron. Your bad-tipper comment easily explains our animosity.”

“But how are we supposed to…” Hattie trailed off, shaking her head again. “We could barely do it in Waldron.”

“We did fine in Waldron.”

“No thanks to me,” she said, voice wobbling.

That wasn’t like her. Normally, Hattie was all quips and sass with him—not near tears.

In Waldron, Hattie’s humor, confidence, and sense of belonging had been evident—proof that despite her hurried exit from Castle Wynhaim and forced estrangement from everyone who resided there, she was better off.

But now Noble wondered if those qualities were more akin to lilies on a lake, distracting from her murkier depths.

That night he watched the carriage take her away, he’d seen the panic plain on her face.

How frightening it must’ve been to travel to a strange territory, sleep in a stranger’s bed.

How incredibly strong she must’ve been to endure her husband’s abuse and find a way to escape.

How difficult it must’ve been to start over—all while harboring a massive secret, alone.

Was it possible that Hattie’s spitfire attitude was similar to the taciturn mask he wore, himself? Seeing the slight sheen in her eyes now, he wondered if he’d somehow missed the pain underneath her fury.

Noble took a tentative step closer, moving into her personal space.

He touched her arm, just beneath the ruffled edge of her short sleeve, and her skin was— Fates —it was smooth.

Soft. Chilled slightly from the evening breeze that trickled through the open windows in the garden.

A sigh slipped out of her pursed lips, tickling the hair on his chest, where his collar gaped.

When she looked into his eyes again, her gaze was heavy. “I’m not sure I can stand it, Noble.”

He let his hand drop. “Don’t let my being here ruin this for you. This is your dream.”

“And somehow you got to it first,” she said bitterly.

“Look. If I could leave—trust me—I would, but I’m too enmeshed.” He raked his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “We just need some ground rules.”

A humorless huff. “Because that’s what we need: more rules.”

He lifted his chin in a cocky tilt. “Would you prefer I ignore the rules already established?” he teased. “Would you prefer I…do the opposite?”

He meant to distract her from her somber mood. He expected her to chasten to or scoff at his suggestive comment, but apparently this new Hattie—Hattie the grown woman—was not as susceptible to Noble’s childish goading.

Her eyes narrowed with irritation. In direct defiance of her tears, she clasped her hands in front of her chest, taking on a sarcastic tone. “Oh, please , would you break the rules for me, Noble?” she begged mockingly. “Put me out of my twelve-year misery and throw caution to the wind, finally !”

Ever since he was a boy, he’d been made well aware of his lesser status and the forbidden-ness of the noble girl he fancied; he’d been forced into the responsibility of shirking her advances, allowing her to believe that when he teased her, there were no hidden meanings or veiled honesties.

But every flush and grumble on her part was proof that he wasn’t alone in his craving.

That she was just as hopeless to their connection as he was.

Her sarcasm, however…that stung .

But at least she was no longer crying.

“Whether we like it or not,” Noble said, no longer amused, “we’re about to spend countless hours trapped in his lab together.

I suggest we provide some structure to this lie we have to uphold.

You don’t want word getting back to your uncle, do you?

That his problem niece escaped from her cage in Poe-on-Wend?

” He invaded her personal space again. “The moment word gets out about who you are, we’re both—”

She held up a hand, halting his cruel speech.

Pivoting away from Noble, Hattie faced the row bookcases lining the wall.

She scratched her nails over her head, then—sighing exasperatedly—she tugged out the pins and let her lush locks spill down her back.

She continued scratching her scalp, shaking out her curls until they frizzed in a mass around her shoulders.

When she faced Noble again, she looked—

His throat bobbed, thick with arresting desire.

—she looked undone .

Oh, please, would you break the rules for me, Noble? Her mocking plea had teeth; the echo of it bit down, puncturing his mind. Remove the sarcasm, and that phrase was everything he’d ever wanted.

Hattie—a goddess with a gold halo—pinned him with a harsh glare. “Rule number one: we don’t converse.”

Noble swallowed again. Nodded.

“We don’t even look at each other. We each pretend the other doesn’t exist.”

“Fine,” he agreed tightly. “Good.”

“The only acceptable interactions are those required by research,” she continued. “For example, if I have a question about Gildium.”

“Makes sense.”

She folded her arms across her bodice. “I am not planning on having any questions about Gildium.”

“Of course not.”

“Rule number two,” Hattie said, beginning to pace. “We avoid overlap in the lab.”

“I work long days here, Hattie.”

“And I have class,” she said. “I’ll be here in the late afternoons and evenings. At least at first, according to Phina. When I arrive, you leave.”

That , he didn’t like. But she was only being practical.

Because it was no secret who Noble’s father was—where Noble had grown up—it was not uncommon for folks to ask if he’d still been living at the castle when the murder attempt happened.

If he knew the girl who’d been sent away.

If the rumors about her had been true. Minimizing contact with Hattie would also minimize the likelihood of someone learning that she was that girl.

“I’ll do my best,” he said, “but I won’t interrupt important work just to avoid you.”

“That’s fair,” Hattie conceded .

“Rule number three,” Noble said. “Court faces.”

Hattie stopped pacing.

Court faces had been Hattie’s aunt’s way of reminding Hattie, Noble, and Raina of their etiquette training.

Manners, please , she’d scold. Use your court faces!

Of course, her insistence always resulted in the trio pulling funny expressions—tongues out, eyes crossed, noses wrinkled—and breaking into giggles.

If the memory warmed Hattie, she didn’t show it. “Agreed.”

“Do you think you can manage that?” he challenged.

“Of course, I can.”

His frustration flared, words coming out unbidden. “You didn’t in Waldron.”

“I—excuse me?”

“You put all the burden on me.”

“Yeah, well, you deserved it,” Hattie replied tartly. “Besides, you love to be the martyr.”

Noble clenched his jaw hard enough to crumble stone. He might’ve had a knack for getting under Hattie’s skin, but where his quips needled, hers sliced to the bone.

“I agree to court faces,” she continued, “if you agree not to bring up the past—even in private. It’s too…” She didn’t finish her thought.

“Rule number four: no nostalgia,” Noble confirmed.

Hattie wavered. “Unless…” She worried her lip. “Unless it’s an emergency.”

“What constitutes an emergency?”

“Being found out,” Hattie supplied, “or threat of death?”

“Understood.”

“I think that about covers it for now.” She held out her hand. “Are we in agreement?”

Reluctantly, he took her hand in his. Her fingers were long and graceful—too delicate for his calloused palms—but he held on anyway, savoring the touch like it was the entire world he held.

Inside the blue rings of her irises, the black orbs of her pupils reflected the twinkling stars shining through the glass dome of the lab, an entire galaxy contained in her gaze.

For a moment, the Fates themselves seemed to cease breathing.

Unbidden, Noble’s attention sank to her mouth.

Her lips were a rich mauve that deepened toward the center, where the tissue was tender and beckoning.

Twelve dark freckles dotted her pout, perfect imperfections.

Sensing his stare, her tongue traced the same path as his vision, wetting the blooming bud of her bottom lip.

They were still tethered by their hands, arms bobbing slowly up and down with their handshake agreement, their silly attempt at control.

“I thought of another rule,” Hattie croaked, her fingers still enveloped in his. “No touching.”

“Rule number five,” he murmured. “No touching.”

Hattie’s gaze sank to their joined hands. “When do the rules start, exactly?” she asked thickly.

“I suppose as soon as we’ve finished shaking on it,” he replied.

“ Hm .” The left corner of her mouth pulled downward. It was an expression of resolve, but also something worse: Hattie dimmed . The change was minute, but he saw it. He hated it.

Noble thought again of her harrowing journey to this moment, guilt flooding him as he recalled all the ways he’d been cold to a woman who only ever deserved warmth. It might’ve been responsible of him to constantly push her away, but it was also cruel.

She deserved a brief moment of comfort. Maybe they both did. Maybe—before the warmth between them slipped behind winter clouds once again—they could spare one Fates-damned minute to simply bask .

When Hattie’s fingers stiffened in his grasp, about to pull free, Noble squeezed tighter—then tugged her directly into his arms, against his chest, a soft ooph escaping her lips as they collided in an embrace that was nine years in the making.