Chapter 51 (Patreon)

The amount of gold Annabelle had at her disposal disturbed Nox. She casually threw around money on mundane items Nox considered luxuries. Even though he needed clothes for one dinner, she purchased three silk shirts and matching tailored trousers. The young noblewoman also picked out two vests and evening coats. She ignored Nox’s protests and also bought black grack leather shoes with heavy, noisy heels—probably the same kind Edward and his cronies wore during the assault. Nox thought the shopping trip couldn’t get any worse until the shop assistant brought out new socks and underwear to wear with his new fineries.

The hundred gold Annabelle paid for the clothing alarmed Nox. He protested, believing the boutiques were cheating their clientele. Then she revealed the rune scripts and mana gems stitched into the hems, under collars, and hidden by the inner linings.

“They’re stain-proof and self-cleaning,” Annabelle explained. “So, the clumsy oafs in the laundry office won’t ruin your clothes. They charge a premium for anything that’s not uniform anyway. Everything is hydrophobic, and the coat won’t get you hot, even if it's summer. These enchantments are reserved mostly for the aristocracy’s traveling clothes and aides who need to appear their best but can’t afford many sets.”

“Why so many, though?” Nox asked. “It’s just one dinner.”

“If Father buys our charade, it won’t be the last gathering I’ll need you to attend. It’ll be good for Noxian Brews. You’ll also need decent clothes for business meetings and dinners.”

“So this is a business expense?”

Annabelle shrugged. “Call it what you will. It’s what we need to get Father off my back.”

Unfortunately, Annabelle wasn’t done after just clothes shopping. They had a quick late lunch before she dragged him to a gentleman’s hair parlor. She gave an attendant instructions without allowing Nox to get a word in, then told him to be ready for the sixth evening bell and left.

“The things we do for women, right?” Nox joked. The barber, hairdresser, or whatever he wished to be called, ignored him and went about his work.

A man and three women tended to Nox. All the hands touching him made him more than uncomfortable, but he held his tongue. One attendant washed his hair while another worked on his hands and feet. They cleaned his nails, scrubbed his calluses with an uncomfortably rough brush, and then dipped his extremities in a stinging solution. Meanwhile, the attendants mumbled about poor cuticle care and how all artisans were pigs.

Nox’s extremities remained in the uncomfortable solution while the third woman cut his hair. The stinging intensified into burning before all discomfort disappeared. They finally released his hands and feet when the male attendant attacked the overgrown stubble on his face. Fortunately, Nox’s facial hair grew slowly compared to men from his father’s homeland. He felt satisfied with a weekly shave.

First, the attendant soaped, scrubbed and washed his face. Then he lathered the beard with a scented concoction before gently getting rid of it with a straight razor. The blade glided over Nox’s skin. He barely felt the edge. The man repeated the process once before rewashing Nox’s face.

Finally, the attendants led Nox into a back room, stripped Nox, and immersed him in a bath of pink fluid. It had petals floating in it, and a lute played in some corner of the steam-filled room. One of the women applied a thick ointment to his face and finally left him alone to stew. Nox didn’t know what Annabelle had paid for the service and wondered if men truly put themselves through the annoying ordeal regularly. However, as he sat in the bath, all of his aches and pains disappeared. It felt as if Nox was melting and becoming one with the water. Nox felt more relaxed than he had in a long time until a fifth attendant stirred him.

The woman helped him dress in one of his new outfits. It featured a white silk shirt, midnight blue trousers, and a coat of a slightly darker shade. While a man tended to his hair, she returned with a cherry-blossom pink cravat tie.

“That’s not mine,” Nox said, leaning away when she tried to put it around his neck. The man drying and combing his hair forced him back into position.

“Misstress Oakheart commanded we make you presentable for her father. Noblemen of his stature never dine without neckwear. It’s either this or a bow tie. Which would you prefer?”

“This is fine.” Nox sighed and let her do her job. All the relaxation from the bath left Nox.

Noxian Brews wouldn’t exist without Annabelle. If not for her interruption, Edward and his goons would’ve successfully further damaged Nox’s mana circuits. His limbs were also intact, thanks to her. Annabelle wasn’t just a party member but also a dear friend. It didn’t matter that their relationship was only platonic.

Fulfilling his sexual needs was an easy task. Classes, brewing, and Nox’s ambitions kept him from wasting mental space on much else. After years of social isolation, he was used to dealing with rejection and compartmentalizing feelings. After all, Queen Mercer had removed Nox from her care at the tender age of six. Annabelle refusing to explore their feelings was but a pinprick compared to the experience. His eyes were already wandering.

Nox had planned to return to the apartment and drop off his belongings before meeting Annabelle for dinner. Much to his surprise, a carriage awaited him outside the parlor. The shopkeep sent a runner to carry his dirty and new clothes back to the apartment. He insisted on taking Ratra’s Bow, his flask, and pouch, but Nox firmly told him to back down. Even though it was a formal, non-combative affair, he refused to go anywhere unwarmed.

The carriage weaved through the narrow streets of the market ring and out of its gates into the next section of the city. It was much wider than the two inner sections and housed the city’s dignitaries, affluent businessmen, powerful delvers, and the continent’s nobility. Nox expected to dine at one of the many fine eateries lining the streets, but the vehicle stopped in front of a grand three-story mansion with a flower garden and a two-level fountain in the front. A guard in Oakheart colors opened the door for Nox, and a butler led him into the building.

The clock struck six just as Nox entered a library with a roaring fire, a piano, and a cushion-filled reading nook. The butler took Nox’s coat, had him sit, and offered him a drink.

“Something cold and citrusy, please,” Nox said. “I’m not fussy.”

“With a splash of gin or vermouth, Master Ratra?” The man asked.

“I’ll be fine without.”

The butler raised an eyebrow but complied. Nox received a fluted glass full of a carbonated, cloudy beverage before he was left alone. It was cold and tart—just as he liked it.

“You’d think my children would use this beautiful house and its skilled staff instead of using campus accommodation,” Lord Oakheart said, appearing just as Nox was starting to get comfortable. He entered through a hidden doorway behind the bookshelves. Nox stood, showing his respect to the nobleman, but Lord Oakheart gestured at him to sit down. “I had this place built just for them and staffed with people willing to hide my children’s secrets from me, but no. They’d rather live on campus so they can wake up a quarter of an hour before their classes start and stay close to their friends.”

“I’d say they wanted to pursue independence, but I doubt that’s possible with Woodson University’s tuition fees. Five hundred gold for four months of tuition is obnoxious.”

“It’s double for them.” The older man took a seat opposite Nox. “The best accommodation and food passes on campus don’t come cheap. Neither do the social connections that’ll shape their lives and future for the continent for the rest of their lifetime. So, I put up with it.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Nox said.

“You’re right. You wouldn’t. I looked you up, Nox Ratra.” Lord Oakheart leaned back in an armchair. He withdrew a rolled piece of parchment from inside his coat. “Disinherited and banished son of Queen Lydia Mercer. Journeyman alchemist, buying materials for promotion. Your legally and illegally sold products suggest you’re more than ready for the next rank. And you’re on some mad quest to destroy an archon dungeon.” He put on a pair of eyeglasses and studied the parchment more closely. “Sundarshahar. Right, you’re mad.”

“Your information broker might have missed a few things. Would you like me to fill you in?”

“Please enlighten me.”

Nox rolled up his sleeves, displaying his scars. “Sundarshahar gave me these and killed my father when I was six. My mother blamed me for his death and disinherited me not long after her second marriage. I’ve lived most of my life in social isolation with no one but my aunt, her family, and a childhood friend for company. My stepfather has tried to have me killed a dozen times, if not more. Recently, my stepbrother jumped me in the middle of the night in an attempt to cripple me further.”

“Alright, then. Given your background and social standing, what makes you think you’re deserving of my daughter?”

“I don’t beat her at her brother’s request,” Nox replied, smiling. However, he internally kicked himself for the stupid jibe. “Your daughter is free to speak her mind, and I ensure she’s always heard and her opinion is respected. You already know my ambitions. Annabelle also gets seven-and-a-half percent of Noxian Brew’s gross profits, which is well above the market rate for small-value investments. So you know I’m not after your family’s money.”

“And you think that’s enough?” Lord Oakheart’s expression didn’t change despite the subtle jibe at Victor and Roque and, by extension him.

“I don’t know. Enough is subjective. However, I honestly believe that someone who respects Annabelle for who she is instead of what she can do for my social standing or how much money her family has is a better match for her than her previous fiance.”

Nox and the older man studied each other. Both sipped their individual drinks, not breaking eye contact for seemingly an eternity.

“I’ll be honest, Nox, I don’t like you,” Lord Oakheart said. “Even though there is no evidence and my daughter says otherwise, I believe you’re responsible for my only son’s demise. You might not have killed him yourself, but your incompetence played a significant role. I, of course, can’t say anything about the matter without implicating my daughter. However, Annabelle hasn’t been this happy and content with life since her mother’s passing. I believe you’re responsible for that, too. Don’t mistake this as me welcoming you into the family, but I’ll play along for her sake now.”

“I suppose I can respect that. I’m rather fond of Annabelle, but my ambitions revolve around destroying Sundarshahar. The possibility of inheriting a noble house won’t change that. I don’t know what will happen if and when I complete my ambitions. If Annabelle and I do work out, she’ll be the one running the house. She is better suited to running a house and dealing with people than Victor would’ve been.”

“I’d prefer it if you don’t talk about my son, Nox Ratra. Why did you come to my house armed? Were you worried I’d attack you?”

“I doubt I’d be alive if the great House Oakheart meant me any harm,” Nox answered. “The recent assault made me wary. There wasn’t enough evidence for the university to take action against Edward, and I worry he’ll try again. He won’t catch me unprepared a second time.”

Fortunately, Annabelle didn’t keep them waiting for wrong. She joined them in the library, wearing a dark blue evening dress that matched Nox’s trousers. Someone appeared to have spent hours on her golden locks. They hung in elegant curls over her shoulders. White gold pins lined with rubies pinned them back so none obscured her face or ears. Both men stood as she entered the room. Annabelle kissed her father on the cheek before taking a seat next to Nox.

Her presence made the conversation lighter. The trio discussed Noxian Brews, the company’s products, and alchemy in general until dinner. Lord Oakheart’s cold demeanor softened around his daughter. He grew more casual and engaged in conversation regarding delving and the party. Nox sensed the man hated the idea of his daughter entering dungeons. Yet he indulged her, listening intently and never sounding discouraging. Then the butler arrived, announcing the carriage was ready, and the trio left for dinner.