Wind whipped through the grassy meadow, making the yellowing grass ripple like waves. Darith stared at the movement as he buckled his pants, trying to hold onto the pleasantness of the moment. The conversation coming would be distasteful, and the taste in his mouth was foul knowing he should have talked with her first.

He glanced to the sky as a shadow fell over him from one of the floating districts over the planet of Yahal. Sometimes he wished he could join them up there, reveling in the wickedness of technology and degenerate morals. He wouldn't be in this situation then-- it was only the nobles and the huge farming communities that lived on Yahal that took sex so seriously.

Gretta arranged her skirts and picked bits of grass from the small tight curls of her free hair. She was a remarkable creature, and Darith allowed himself a moment to admire the smooth molasses brown of her skin, especially where her bust met the white of her low collar.

Why did I believe she'd prove any longer lasting than the other village girls? They always ask too much.

Darith fingered a small clip of cash in his pocket, but, no. She hadn't done anything to imply she was one of those girls. Some of them secretly liked having cash tossed their way as a consolation prize. This girl's family wasn't poor, just lower-class.

"Next week?" Gretta asked.

"No. It's been lovely," he said.

"Lovely? I don't understand."

"I didn't take you for dim-witted." Darith turned and walked back to his car. The black vehicle was parked as to block them from view.

"Why?" came her breathy reply, at last.

Darith looked at her reflection in the tinted windows of the car. Tear-filled eyes stared up at him, not yet angry, but that would come next. As his mother always said, the truth liberates and heeding those hurt by it is a pointless endeavor.

"My father is the count. My wife isn't going to be some sweet-faced shop girl. You're not going to be the mother of my children. What is the point of continuing once you start bandying around words like love? I can't love you. Call that accountant you keep laughing about— he wants to hear your love confessions and earns enough to support you well. Haven't you wasted enough time chasing dreams?"

"Yer heartless, Darith Cortanis. Ye—"

"No, dear. Heartless would be continuing only to discard you, and some bastard child, when I found a woman I intended to marry. This is pragmatism."

Gretta threw a tuft of grass at him, the dirty roots brushed his calf.

"I never asked for more than you can give. Never," she shouted.

Darith rubbed his forehead, wondering if the money wasn't a good idea after all. He'd enjoyed this one. The tears rolling down her cheeks shown in her reflection in the car windows touched him where her words failed.

"But you would have. Would it be kindness to continue this a year or two until your other suitors are gone? How long before this affair gets out and you are considered sullied? Any other planet than Yahal you might be fine, but here? No decent man would have you. I'm too young to commit to a lifelong mistress, and you deserve a husband."

"Why start if..." her words choked off in a sob.

"Because you are lovely, and I'm ending it because you want love. Call me heartless if the words console you."

He'd thought Gretta had more common sense than this. Sometimes village girls understood intuitively what his attentions meant. He granted them some patronage, and they both enjoyed the dalliance. If they wanted a more liberated society, more options, then all they needed was a passport off of Yahal.

Darith opened the back door of the car and slid into the seat. He closed the door blocking out the sound of crying. The silence of the cab soothed the fresh pounding in his head. He tapped the glass dividing the front from the back to let the driver know he was ready to depart.

Where did this strange idea that she could win his undying affection come from? It spreads like a plague, it didn't used to be like this. When I was younger it was so simple.

"Too town, park at the outskirts. I don't want to fight with carriage traffic." Darith said through the speaker. The encounter with Gretta left him with a sensation of slime over his skin.

They sped down the smooth black pavement of the motor road, until at the edge of town the black merged with the packed dirt of the carriage path. Inside the city, there was not enough space for cars and carriages to have separate roadways.

The car slowed entering town, catching up with a carriage. Darith rubbed his temples to ease the ache. But at this speed someone could easily see into the car, so he dared not use his gift. Even for a count's son it was wise to contain his aptitude for energy-bending, or magic as the lower class called it.

Traffic wasn't likely to let up. Carriages always received preference on the road, since their occupants tended to be the rich. Darith didn't really want to be seen in a car in town anyhow. All the wealthy folk had cars, but using them for anything but long distance travel was looked down upon.

If I found a few black-market contacts, maybe in Brothel city where its legal, I could have a hover car and just fly over traffic jams. The idea of his parent's faces if he were to go past the import restrictions on such tech and be seen in a hover car lifted his mood.

"Park here." Darith pressed the button and on release he waited for the driver to pull up to the curb. The location was a good one, close by one of the pharmacies with a little 'herb' shop in the back. The illegal engineered smokeables would keep his driver busy while Darith ran his monthly errand.

The door swung open, and Darith stepped out onto the pavement. The walk wasn't far. Still he risked tugging at the energy on the air.

Tufts of grass sticking up from the cracks in the sidewalk withered, browning and wilting. He wove their energy in his fingers, which he stuck in his jacket pockets. This one spell he allowed himself in public, since its entire purpose was to remain unnoticed.

The energy curved around him, blurring his features and hovering around him like a voice whispering 'look away. There is nothing here worth your time.'

He didn't want his visit to the lower quarter getting back to his father. No, it was better if no one from the nobility ever witnessed his steps.

Darith brushed back his black hair, at nineteen Darith knew his place in the world. As a noble there were many advantages, but a handsome face offered its own set of advantages. The two together opened every door. There was nothing in the world Darith couldn't have. But could and should were not the same.

I will not be my father.

Darith picked up his pace with a glance to the now empty street. He turned off into a thin offshoot alley fit only for foot-traffic. The clutter of shops narrowed the passage making the entrance to the ally a flurry of color but past the vivid displays the area darkened. Lights in garish colors flashed from the sides of the buildings. Signs stating the types of sexual acts offered within.

Has Father ever seen this place? Actually stepped foot here? Seen where the flesh he buys comes from?

A pang of guilt followed the thought. Little Marim was there at the estate. All the more reason to hurry and get through his errand.

One task at a time.

The ally reeked of piss. Darith was alone but for the eyes behind the frosted glass windows, some shining wordless signs in neon. A few servants rushed by him to fetch what their masters wanted, enduring the stench of excrement and the undertone of drug-laced smoke so that the nobles they worked for could wait in a starched hotel room. The idea of purchasing a hotel room made Darith's gut tighten with anger.

All the proprietors and dealers of flesh knew him. No one stepped from the doors to try and entice him or catcalled. In one of the doorways, a drunk leaned moaning in his sleep. His pants were folded neatly in his lap. Darith averted his eyes, not wanting to recognize the man on the off chance he was from the nobility. He had little enough respect for his father's generation as it was.

Toward the end of the alley, Darith approached a tall brick building. They would wait until he walked up the stairs to open the door. Darith didn't ever enter the establishment. Just as he only came in daylight. There were rules. Rules helped. Once he reached the top, a boy slid out, opening the door only as much as needed for his thin body.

"Timmy," Darith said. It was not a name, more like a title. It represented boyhood to the patrons. If you asked for Timmy you knew what you got, someone between eight and thirteen.

* If you like the story, please go ahead and hit the fancy little star and let the world and me know you appreciate it :) Thank you all for reading. I'm getting a better response than I hoped! Constructive comments are always welcome or almost any other type of comment you wish to make. Your responses always make my day!  

*revised 3/26/2016 (and again, hopefully final!)