Aldermere was not a magical place.

That's what Arya thought to herself as she fixed the ribbon she wrapped around her collar. Her reflection on the mirror blinked back at her—a woman she barely knew. She smiled and raised a hand in greeting and the reflection imitated her, just inverted. For once, her skin glowed with a quiet shine. Her eyes sparkled.

She...couldn't be excited, could she?

Aldermere was not a magical place.

It's where her persecutors flourish. It's a cage, a trap meant to lure the innocent in its embrace. She shouldn't forget how one mistake could land her into dangers unimaginable. People like her didn't belong here but, for some reason, they're all contained here. They couldn't leave. They couldn't live either. There's no magic in a place such as this.

Aldermere was not a magical place.

A horn honked from the streets outside. Arya dashed to the window, pushing back the drawn curtains a bit to reveal a burgundy carriage parked by the curb near the flat's front door. From her spot on the third floor, she saw the carriage's polished roof catch the mid-morning sunlight. It gleamed. The horse pulling it looked like it was raised in the poshest stables fit for a monarch. Arya knew next to nothing about breeding horses but she could distinguish a spoiled beast from one who wasn't.

Whoever Norren was, he's got the funds. That, or he's secretly a thief stripping people off their coin.

Arya stepped away from the window and checked her reflection again. Her corset was tighter than usual, her skirts straighter than necessary. She wore a muted color of blue, resembling a couch more than anything. Her hair was as always pinned up, leaving room for some strands to fall over her hairline to disguise her horns. The wide-brimmed hat she wore over her head covered most of her eyes which was what she preferred when going out. A single feather stuck out from a clump of ornamental flowers stitched to the band.

She sighed and gave herself a tight-lipped smile. Here goes nothing.

The door to her room opened and out stepped Cornelia, still clad in her sleeping robe. "Darling, who is that Upser parked in front of our flat? Do you—" she stopped, mid-yawn, to look Arya up and down. "Do I...do I want to know?"

Arya chuckled. "Depends," she joined her aunt by the doorway and threw her arms around the older woman's shoulders. "I'll see you after dinner. Don't wait up. I"ll be out all day."

Cornelia blinked when Arya pulled away but nodded. "Take care, darling," she said. "He seems well-off, ain't he?"

Arya snorted. "He's an Upser," her lips curled in a playful smile as she stepped past her aunt and trudged across the living room. She yanked the door to their flat before turning back to her aunt. "Shouldn't that explain everything?"

Before her aunt could reply, Arya shut the door. With sure steps, she rounded the corridor leading to the stairs' landing. When she emerged through the lobby of the complex, the first thing she saw was Norren looking down at the pocket watch chained to his belt.

From there, she gazed at how his ash brown hair fell over his eyes in smooth locks, framing his lean face. He was leaning against one corner of the cart, his leg crossed over the other by the ankles. Any time, he could fall over but he didn't seem to lose his balance.

Today, he wore a simple silver, knee-length coat over an off-white vest and white shirt. A dark tie fastened his collar shut, seemingly closing around his neck. His cane was again tucked under one arm as if he was too bothered to keep tapping it against the ground whenever he walked. Why was he always carrying one, anyway? It's not like he has difficulty walking.

Arya stepped off the curb and came closer. He didn't seem to notice her movement until her laced boots were a few inches off his polished, pointed shoes.

"Hi," Arya greeted.

Norren's head shot up. The pocket watch flew out of his hands, making him fumble to keep his hold of it. He peeled off the carriage's side and cleared his throat as he tucked his watch into the pocket of his striped trousers. "Hi," he said. He seemed to be looking everywhere but at her eyes. Good. Exactly what Arya wanted. "Shall we?"

Arya only nodded. Norren turned and opened the carriage door for her. As soon as she hustled her skirts inside and sat as daintily as she could, Norren climbed after her. Then, the door shut with a final click. Not a moment too soon, a whip cracked, the horse neighed, and the carriage edged out of the curb.

She watched how the carriage joined the sea of many others in the main boulevard of Aldermere. Silence reigned between them during the ride but Arya didn't mind. Ever so often, she would flick her gaze from the window and to Norren. She would catch him looking at her. Every time.

So, after the carriage burst past the tram rails and entered the busy heart of the capital city, she stopped watching the world outside just to stare back at Norren. There, inside the cramped airspace and the dim lighting of the carriage, she saw how his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. Openly. Trustingly. It's like he's got nothing to hide even when Arya has a thousand secrets. And his face didn't curl up in distaste when he entered Beironet. He had seen how different they were in class and in their social reach. Yet...

Yet he hadn't shirked away from her nor looked at her like she was lesser. Right there in the stillness of their little world in the midst of a startlingly busy one outside, he looked at her like an equal. Like a person instead of a random worker to expand the New Civils' economy.

He looked at her like she was human.

Maybe she was just tricking herself, thinking those things about him. Assuming those things about him. Maybe he was good at holding it all in just to salvage the day. Just to say he didn't waste a coin in paying off this luxurious carriage.

Arya's hand floated over the empty spot between them, her fingers caressing the seat's velvet surface. Oh, yeah. This one definitely cost a fortune. Norren wouldn't want to waste that, even if he had to pick up a pauper.

When the release's venue came up, a huge crowd was already there. Arya folded her hands over her lap, preparing herself for the exhaustion and strain the mass of people would be sure to bring her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Norren glance at her hands before turning to the clamor outside.

Then, he smiled. "Come on," he said when the carriage stopped a few blocks off the crowd, into a somewhat empty lane. "You'd have to walk from here. Sorry about that. The coach couldn't find a proper drop-off point with all those people."

"Which is a relief," Arya quipped. "I don't mind walking but I certainly mind people."

Norren pushed the door open and hopped out in one, elegant motion. Then, he extended his hand to Arya. "If you don't mind," he added. He was still cautious. Gods damn it.

Arya didn't, in fact, mind. She reached out and grasped Norren's hand with her own gloved hand. Unlike the trip to Barnholdt, this time, the gloves she wore fit her fingers snugly. What a difference it made.

The walk towards the venue was again filled with silence. Arya's gaze wandered from the elaborate curls of flowers and their colorful petals, the high trellises of mansion gates, and the seemingly pristine gardens inside each one.

"Do you live here?" Arya blurted just as they rounded a corner and came to the release site. She figured that if Norren brought her here, he must have known about this place somehow. From the distance, she could see a single post indicating the names of each street. "This place is beautiful. Unlike Beironet."

Norren clasped his hands behind him. His cane bounced against his leg as they walked. "Beironet has some hidden beauty to it too," he said. "I've never seen such an ordinary place look...haunting. The mix of muddy blues and stark red from the awnings and laundered sheets. Great imagery."

"An enthusiast, are you?" Arya smirked, keeping Norren in her periphery despite the fact that she just wanted to disregard the road and train all her attention to him.

Norren shrugged. "I dabble."

They came to the rim of the crowd, now thick enough to spread from the traces of double doors towards the fountain in the middle of the rotund. Arya stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck to try and see if the doors were opening some time soon. It stayed closed. Caroline Saunder must have written one hell of a tale this time around.

"You think it's going to soften any time soon?" Arya glanced at Norren to find he hadn't lost his smile. "The crowd, I mean."

Norren's eyes held a sparkle Arya couldn't place to either be mischief or wonder. "I've got a better idea," he said. "Forget the release. We're going book shopping. I know a great archive which has few patrons. You up for it?"

Was he so filthy rich he could "accidentally" buy a ticket to a release of a story of one of the most celebrated authors in New Civils only to throw it away for the sake of "book shopping"? Huh.

Arya found herself bobbing her head to his suggestion. "Let's go."

And that's how they ended up arguing about which alternate version of the Wayfair made more sense and how Norren insisted its leads, Jenner and Kaile, were the best couple of all time. Arya rolled her eyes at that last statement. He obviously hasn't read The Butterfly Knife or When the Wood Winds Call Me Home. The former made Arya bawl her eyes out in the middle of the night and the latter made her want to tear the book apart.

Norren laughed when she's talking about how the main character in The Butterfly Knife killed his own wife to save their children. "It's so messed up I can't believe the author went that route," she complained as they walked out of the book shop with Norren carrying at least two bags of books—one for him and one for Arya. As a treat, he offered to pay for it. Of course, Arya insisted on paying for at least one book, so in the end, Norren had only bought her two. One was a thriller called Janes Joan of the Oriene, and the other, a magical tale called Blood Witch.

"I agree with you on that," Norren said in reply to her complaints. "I thought it was a dark end, too. I would have cried if I didn't have an important meeting the next day."

At that, Arya burst out laughing. She didn't know why, but something about Norren made her feel safe doing that. Then, it occurred to her that he had read almost all of the tales she did, including Fowl Morning Song, which was one of the hardest stories to grasp. Not a lot of people liked it for its meandering narrative, its choppy dialogue, and non-linear plot but Arya loved every bit of it. Poignant and still contained a lot of themes, symbolisms, and messages that she was still uncovering even now.

"That thing about the pigeon," Norren was saying about it when their topic steered away from The Butterfly Knife to Fowl Morning Song. "I still didn't know what it means and why Geranda has to catch it."

"I'm thinking it would be more of Geranda trying to tie down her problems but she couldn't because there's so many of them?" Arya tapped her chin, the busy streets and the honk of the carriages fading to a slight buzz in her ears. "They seemed to multiply too fast as well. So...the pigeons may be signifying man's endless pursuit of control?"

To his credit, Norren nodded along. "Yeah, that could work," he said. Before Arya could barrel forward, he took hold of her elbow and pulled her into an alley that crept up out of nowhere. There, she let herself be led towards an inviting cafe sandwiched by two different haberdashery. Still, even amidst the sharp smell of detergent and soap, the aroma of coffee and chocolate succeeded over it as soon as she and Norren stepped in its vicinity.

"What are we doing here?" Arya cocked her head to one side as Norren pushed the door open with a brilliant ding.

Norren winked at her. "Saying hi to a friend."

Arya raised her eyebrows but followed Norren inside. The interior was just like any other cafes around but it was the soft crackle of string music playing through a gramophone that set it apart. They approached the counter where a man wearing a tight vest and white shirt stood behind, wiping the surface.

"Beaumont, long time," Norren called.

The man looked up and recognition lit up in his face. "Sterling, my man! Welcome back!" he said. "You finally got some time to waste, huh?"

Arya perched on the high stool so she could be level with the countertop. What the man, Beaumont, called Norren...

Sterling. Was that his family name? Must be. Beaumont must not be the guy's first name either. A small smile played in Arya's lps. Norren Sterling, huh? Cute name.

"And who's the lady?" Beaumont's voice speared through Arya's thoughts.

Norren turned to her with a smile. "Oh, she's getting a tour of book shops in Aldermere," he said. "She's a beebly as well."

At that, Arya snorted, earning both of the men's attention. "I'm sorry," she waved her hand in front of her face to attempt to dissuade her laugh to go away. It didn't listen. "What did you call me? A beebly?"

"He means bibliophile. Someone who loves books," Beaumont said, rolling his eyes at Norren. Then, he extended his hand towards Arya. "I'm Xavier."

"Arya," she said as she shook his hand.

"Forgive my friend who has to make up weird things to call people," Xavier shifted his weight from one foot to another and before Norren could protest, he barreled on. "What can I get the beautiful lady today?"

"Your most delicious dessert," Arya said before jerking her chin at Norren. "And he's paying."

Xavier's laugh echoed in loud blares across the shop. It's a miracle the other people sitting quietly on their tables haven't looked up from their food yet. "I love that," he said. "Yeah, I'll get you your dessert."

And with that, he turned and began rummaging around tools and strange machines with cranks and levers in his quest to process Arya's order. She was left to study Xavier from the back, noting his shoulder-length brown hair was somewhere between black and the darkest shade of chocolate and how his beard covered most of his tanned face. He was built much like Norren—not too muscular but not too scrawny either. Lean. That's the word Arya was looking for.

Somehow, like Norren during the first time she met him, a sense of familiarity settled in Arya's gut. It's like she had met Xavier before but couldn't place where. Or how. It's nigh impossible for her to figure that out since, one—she and Norren, and by extension, his friends, grew up in two different worlds, social classes away. Two—she didn't recall meeting a Xavier Beaumont in all her life.

A coincidence. That's all there was to it.

Night had already fallen when she and Norren rounded the corner that would take her Beironet. None of them bothered to ask each other if hailing a carriage was the best option. Both of them had been so absorbed in their talk about all of Caroline Saunder's fictiontales that they hadn't realized it until Arya could make out her flat from the distance.

"Oh, there's my stop," Arya said with a grin that hasn't left her lips since thirty minutes ago. Something Norren said about the main character from Morgenlied being an asswipe still cracked her up. "You don't need to accompany me there. I can get by on my own."

Norren shook his head. "I'll take you there," he said.

And take her there, he did. Almost like a snap, Arya was stepping into the small set of steps leading to the front door of the complex with Norren climbing up after her. She turned to him, raising her shoulders in a half-shrug. "So, I'm here," she said.

Norren didn't move from his spot. "Yeah," was all he added.

Arya inclined her head to one side. From the awning protecting the door and the stairs, she caught a glimpse of the bright moon shining over the city. Had she just spent hours walking on the streets with Norren? Wow. "Thanks for today," she said. "I enjoyed it. Lots. It was great knowing you."

Norren smiled. "I'm glad," he said. "I should go."

Arya nodded. "Yeah," was all she said.

Then, before she could react, Norren stepped forward, took her hand in his, and lowered his face to it. Heat clambered up to her neck and cheeks as his lips caressed the back of her hand in a smooth touch. Even through the gloves, she could feel how soft they were.

In a flash, Norren let go of her hand and was stepping back. He tipped his head at her and was gone from her periphery before she could process what just happened.

Arya stood there, her limbs quite stuck in place. It was a cold night, too, with stray breezes ruffling the grass blades and flowers scattered around. She raised her hand to her face, her mind replaying how Norren kissed the back of her hand like it was the most natural thing to do.

Without her permission, a lazy smile spread on her lips. She stared after the direction Norren had gone but all she found were darkness and blobs of shadows moving around so late into the night. Then, she gazed up at the moon once more.

Aldermere was not a magical place, but tonight, she'd gladly believe it was.