Chapter Text
There was a pervasive ancient stigma throughout the kingdom of Ardhalis that the rich had to distinguish themselves from the poor in every way. They did not speak in the rough and indelicate tone of the south shore. They did not hunch their backs or slouch like those in the slums. They indulged in expenses and delights that the lower class could only dream of.
That, and they did not get to choose who they loved as the lower classes did. Love was an asset to the elite – a bond to forge alliances between rich families and to create heirs that succeeded the family, continuing on their noble heritage. Tristan never knew these relationships to be truly happy. He had seen his mother in the garden too much after she spent time with her husband, staring off into the distance. Sometimes, he even caught his mother smoking. Nobility did not smoke like the factory workers in the city.
He had learned enough history to know that things had improved over time. Women were allowed to work and had autonomy from their husbands. It was legal for married couples to separate. What intrigued Tristan the most was that it was no longer a punishable offence for anyone, regardless of gender, to be in love and to marry.
That was, in the eyes of the law.
In the eyes of his father and the rest of the elite, things were not quite so nuanced.
The Sinclairs did not hail from the city proper, rather a country estate from a neighbouring county. Tristan had been to the city only a few times throughout his youth. There was a disdain that Vincent, his father, held for the city. It was too close to both the lower classes of the south shore and the higher classes that overshadowed his own importance. Tristan would hear him muttering discontentedly at the breakfast table about something from the newspaper and how much ‘nonsense’ came from the city.
Ardhalis was known as a city of sorrow. It made sense, with how most of its inhabitants lived in poverty and the rest were discontent, snobbish nobles. It was bleak and grim from the alleyways of Greychapel to the towering spires of the castle. Each building seemed like a gothic gravestone paying tribute to a conflict from long ago, built on top of sprawling expanses of ruins and catacombs.
So why would Tristan Sinclair turn his back on a secure and successful career that his family had laid out for him and instead move to a city so miserable? Well, much like his brother, he did not see the sorrow of the city as a deterrent but rather a challenge. Both of them wanted to see if they could make the city a happier place by helping those in need. Alexander chose to do it through the long and arduous process of studying to be a lawyer. Tristan, on the other hand, would join the police academy. He had attended some training camps in his youth, a few with his brother, to ‘learn how to serve his country’ as his father had told him. Alexander was not only disobedient towards his father but considered himself more of an academic to continue with the physically demanding activities as Tristan had. Then again, Vincent also found Tristan’s interest in the boy scouts and training camps to exceed their initial purpose and slowly kept his youngest son from continuing on that path for too long.
That, and, well, although Alexander was charming to many women and there was no doubt that he would find someone to settle down with, Vincent was beginning to entertain the idea of Tristan securing the Sinclair’s legacy by marrying a lady of reasonable status. “You never know what that rebellious brother of yours is going to do,” Vincent had told him. “He could get himself killed or marry a dried-up spinster. Gods, considering what books I’ve found him reading, he could even be homosexual. Someone has to continue the family’s lineage, and I have my doubts it would be him.”
Tristan did not dare mention that the literature Alexander had been in trouble for possessing had been smuggled into the house by the older brother for Tristan, to help him understand where he stood in matters of sexuality. Alexander had taken the blame for it, as usual, because his father already knew he tended to be a troublemaker. He had shielded his younger brother from so much shame and stigma that Tristan hardly knew the extent of it. He found out about arguments of Alexander standing up to his father for him years after the fact, and he was always eternally grateful for such a good brother.
Being forced into marriage was the last straw for Tristan. So, he followed his brother’s footsteps to the city. The drive towards the city was slow and peaceful. Thick clouds would laze by and intermittently drizzle over the landscape of Ardhalis, over the verdant plains to the south-east and the distant city. The breakthroughs of sun shone on the tall clock tower to the north-east and the seaside castle. Tristan was driven from the west, past where the construction of the railway from the western coal mines was, where workers straggled along an incomplete track and toiled away in the summer heat, which the rain provided respite from. That flat land became hills, then mountains. It took the crest of one incline for the city to suddenly be upon them.
Ardhalis, the city of sorrow, soon to be a city of joy.
/////
The grand spectacle of the city faded away once buildings loomed high above the car and it became a maze that the driver somehow managed to navigate. As they progressed into the city, the meagre dwellings of the lower class transformed into the uniform townhouses of the middle class that only became fancier and fancier until grand manors and estates were upon them.
Alexander lived in the same district as the college, in a high-end townhouse. Vincent did not settle for his son to live anywhere lesser although Alexander always hated acting above anyone else. It was a three-storey terraced house with outer walls made of red brick. It was a quaint dwelling, with the city’s typical purple hyacinths growing from a window’s planter box along with daisies and other cheerful blossoms that thrived in the summer heat. The house had plenty of space for other guests and residents, as well as a space for a maid to take care of common chores while Alexander studied.
Tristan gathered his things with the help of the driver and ascended the steps outside to the door to knock. There was a little delay before the door gave way to the familiar face of his dear brother.
“Tristan!” Alexander greeted, clapping his hands firmly on his brother’s shoulders in greeting. “Oh, I’m jealous! Look at your beard!” He pinched his Tristan’s cheeks, not in the light, teasing way of mothers and aunts, but in a way that stretched his face out uncomfortably. Tristan slapped Alexander’s hands out of the way.
“It’ll be going when I start at the academy. Most of it, anyways.” Tristan told him, rubbing consciously at his chin as he stepped into the entranceway and living room of the house. Despite his brother’s reckless personality, it was surprisingly clean.
“Allow me the honour to shave it at least,” Alexander pleaded.
“Get your own beard,” Tristan shot back, knowing full well that whatever genes he had were certainly not in Alexander. He left his things at the front for the driver and maid to sort out. Alexander sat down in one of the chairs at the dining table and signalled for Tristan to sit as well. There was a little afternoon tea spread of biscuits and scones that the two brothers helped themselves to.
“I’ll take it father has not been too reasonable as of late for you to start academy training mid-year,” Alexander commented. He was always rather keen-witted to pick up on things such as this. They had a little correspondence through letters, but they both knew it far from told the full story.
“It’s the same stuff he said before you left. He said that given your penchant for rule breaking, you are bound to have an ‘unacceptable taste’ in any future spouse. So he’s been thinking I might be a bit more well-behaved.”
“Tris, I would die three times over if you ever married a woman.” The redhead gestured towards him with a cinnamon scroll. “Don’t let him get to you. Just do your best at the academy and he should know to leave you alone. Maybe by then it’ll get through to him that I’m not as down-and-out as he thinks.”
“Well, we have been impressed by your academic successes. I’m proud of you, and mother is too.” Alexander smiled at the mention of his mother. “I think I would be right to assume you’re doing well for yourself here.”
“I’ve never been better. Fresh country air is one thing but sharing a table at a pub with good people is another entirely. For a city of sorrows, there’s surely some hope sparking around here. Either that, or we’re just delusional college students.”
“I guess I’ll be the judge of that…” Tristan suddenly remembered a small of a conversation they’d had and added, “…or the jury, I suppose.”
Although Tristan kept his expression neutral aside from the humour at the joke, Alexander prodded a finger at the doubt stewing on his face. “Don’t give me that face.”
“I’m not-”
“They’re honest people. Quite influential, too. Tell you what, there’s a masquerade ball at the Hawkes’ estate this month that some friends of mine have been invited to. The invitation is extended to any members of my family who would be willing to attend. If I don’t introduce you to any of my friends before the ball, that will be where you meet them. I can… introduce you to Rachel if I don’t before then. She and I are dating.”
“Oh, you mentioned her. She sounds lovely,” Tristan said.
“To hell with father criticising my ‘unacceptable taste’,” Alexander grumbled with a roll of his eyes as he angrily crammed another scone into his mouth.
Tristan couldn’t help but admire his brother’s attitude. He didn’t let anyone walk over him and yet he was stubborn in the most compassionate way. It was the makings of a good lawyer, surely. “Thank you, by the way, Alex, for letting me stay with you. That, and all the times you stood up to father…”
“It’s no problem, Tristan. The last thing I want is to see you unhappy, or to see you mindlessly following everything father says. I’m always here to help you out however I can.”
It was with those words that Tristan felt a sense of security wash over him. In this house, he was supported, and he could be himself without judgement.
/////
Alexander was a very interesting influence on his life, Dakan had come to find. The first time he had met him, he was giving a lecture to a tree in the university’s courtyard about some bullshit laws he’d discovered in the depths of the textbooks he’d read. Dakan was content on passing him, leaving him to his madness, but as he listened, he heard some genuine competence in this strange man’s ranting.
“The case of Rivers v The Ardhalis High Court clearly shows the royal court is biased! Just because Rivers was a man of lower social standing, he was sentenced to a year in prison for defamation and treason! Meanwhile in the case of Johnson v The Ardhalis High Court, the exact same phrase was used against the king, but because this was a person of old nobility who was in the Aevasthers’ good graces, they got a slap on the wrist with a measly two-hundred pound fine! No wonder Greychapel is such a slum! Where is the justice in this city?”
“You’re incorrect. Johnson did not get a lighter sentence because the king was forgiving towards him. He received a lighter sentence because he was colluding with an individual of the royal court who convinced his majesty that the statement was not made intentionally, nor intended to be directed towards the king. You are correct that the divide in the classes is the reason for these cases receiving skewed sentences, but more particularly, it is about who has influence and who knows who. The main issue is that there is no-one to advocate for the lower classes and thus the higher classes are more and more wilfully ignorant to them.”
“I like the way you talk, friend,” the redhead remarked, then approached and offered a hand to shake. “I’m Alexander Sinclair. I study law.”
“Dakan Rhysmel. Politics.”
“Rhysmel… I feel like I’ve heard your name somewhere, but I don’t know where. I just moved to the city, you see. Tough studying politics, mind you.”
“Ah, well, I’m not one to think of myself as needlessly important as Johnson did. Just interested in how the world works, I suppose. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sinclair.”
Alexander had inevitably, after much talking and much verbal probing at Dakan, found out the circumstances which Dakan came from. He had been very modest when he first told Alexander about his place in society, and that he spent most his time in the castle. For most of his life, Dakan had been rather reserved, skilled at building facades and yet hardly able to break them back down. No matter how discontent he was, he stayed impassive, reticent. He did not speak out of line, merely observed and mulled over the opinions of others and pulled small truths from the mess of conflict stirring in the higher classes.
It was Sinclair who made him break out of that shell. There was something admirable about Alexander’s boldness, and how the most sense seemed to come from someone so senseless. He was not afraid to speak out of line or be brutally honest. Though Dakan was always busy either attending to his duties in the castle or studying at the college, he always enjoyed the brief moments of sharing a drink with his friend or going to the small dinner parties Alexander hosted.
Given the parties were hosted on the bottom floor of Alexander’s house, there weren’t too many people there, but for what they lacked in numbers they made up for by being excellent company. A perfect gathering to eat, drink and chat away the night about the endless details of law, politics and any other subject that seemed to pop up.
Tonight, however, things were a little different. There was someone new.
He had been running a little late getting to the house. A quick toast was being given by Alexander as he arrived – Rachel let him in as she was a little distance from the main event. She held a camera in her hands, stashing away a photo she had just taken of everyone crowded around the table. Alexander stood at the head of the table a glass of wine in one hand and an arm resting on a man Dakan had never seen before. Instantly, his mind made connections. Alexander had mentioned something about this being a welcome party for his younger brother coming to stay in Ardhalis. So, this was Alexander’s little brother. He had such a soft and gentle smile, even when he was being tormented by Alexander shaking him around like a cyclone stirring a sapling.
“As some of you may or may not know, this is my little brother Tristan. He’s studying at the police academy in town so if any of you get any funny ideas, he knows how to use a gun. Also, I’m his lawyer so if you have anything to say about him, that’s defamation.”
“None of us were planning on saying anything about him, but now you’re just inviting someone to challenge you,” Rachel sallied back.
“Can we perhaps not make this house a courthouse?” Tristan chuckled quietly, a gentle dissuasive plea to be spared from what he was sure was the start of one of Alexander’s impassioned monologues.
Alexander either didn’t hear him or ignored him. “Only I’m allowed to insult him, Rachel, darling. Say anything about his sweet soul and we’re forming a jury.”
“I must know, is it defamation to say he’s quite the handsome fellow?” Dakan asked across the room in what was far from a quiet tone.
There were a few eyes that looked at him, Tristan being the most perplexed. Most of the other guests just knew that many out-of-pocket things were said when Alexander was the host. Most of them, including Tristan himself, considered it simply a flattering observation, perhaps a way to say that he was ‘charming to the ladies’. It surely didn’t mean anything more than that, or perhaps Tristan had internalised some of his father’s nonsense.
“Dakan!” Alexander exclaimed, approaching his friend with a token grin of his. “Glad to see you could make it out of the castle. I almost considered finding a knight in shining armour to save you.”
“Oh, you know. Duty calls and all that. I’m afraid I cannot stay long,” Dakan told him.
“I’m surprised you even made it at all.” Alexander seemed to know that Tristan was approaching curiously from behind, as if he had a sixth sense and wrangled him into the conversation by the shoulders. “This, Tristan, is my good friend Dakan Rhysmel. Actually, is it Sir Dakan Rhysmel now?”
Dakan waved a hand dismissively, “Doesn’t matter. Pleased to finally meet you, Tristan. Alexander told me a lot about you. Couldn’t find a way to get him to shut up, actually.”
“Please let me know if you do. I’m convinced only death will still his tongue,” Tristan said, shrugging Alexander’s arms off him.
“I’m still here!” Alexander exclaimed offendedly. Rachel, observing her boyfriend nearby, rolled her eyes and pulled him away from the conversation.
“I can shut him up,” she told them as she dragged him away.
“Um… how… exactly?” Alexander asked, face so suddenly red that it was making his hair look dull.
“Food, dear.”
Dakan and Tristan exchanged glances, amused by the encounter. Rachel was a very sweet and cheerful person, but when she was serious, she was serious. She could be scary if she wanted to be and neither of them would have wanted to swap places with Alexander.
The humour in their eyes gave way to intrigue as their eyes met. Dakan realised that calling Tristan handsome may have held more truth to it than he initially thought. In some way, he reminded Dakan of the bronze hues of a steadfast oak tree, firmly rooted in resplendent soils with a humble canopy that shone with the sun’s light. Even more so, Dakan found it was the personality he had seen of him so far that shone the brightest. His eyes, his face, they were steeped in optimism and ambition. He seemed so unfalteringly genuine unlike the rest of the godforsaken city Dakan lived in.
“So,” Dakan finally said, realising he may have been staring for too long, “how are you finding Ardhalis?”
“Well, I’ve heard the saying go around about Ardhalis being a city of sorrow and all but… I’ve never felt less miserable. Of course, training drills are quite gruelling but that’s beside the point. It’s wonderful from what I’ve seen.”
“I’m glad you find it enjoyable. Although there certainly is never a dull moment with Alexander around.”
Both of them made a fleeting look over at Rachel with a portion of potato salad on her plate, spoon-feeding it to Alexander. It was hard to tell if her disposition was affectionate or passive-aggressive, but Alexander looked mildly terrified either way. “Absolutely not. By the way, he’s extended his invitation for the Hawkes’ masquerade ball to me and Rachel. I can imagine someone of your esteem is invited as well, no? Will you be attending?”
“Oh, I… I’m afraid not.”
“Such a shame, I won’t have a dance partner,” Tristan exasperated dramatically. Dakan found it hard to tell if he was joking or not. He was much more well-mannered than Alexander, but there was no doubt the two were brothers with how they acted.
Both of them talked a little more, mostly about how Tristan was enjoying the city in the few weeks so far, and what his academy training entailed. He steered the conversation away from himself wherever possible, too focused on understanding this newcomer to Ardhalis.
He was so caught up in conversation that he didn’t realise how much time had passed.
“Oh, the time!” Dakan exclaimed, making his way to the front door and to the coat rack. “Terribly sorry, Tristan, I have to go. Give my thanks to your brother for me.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t.”
Dakan flung on his coat and nodded towards Tristan. “I’m glad to have finally met you. Until next time.”
“Until next time, handsome,” Tristan said in return with a grin.
Dakan was glad Tristan couldn’t see the colour of his cheeks as he left the door.
He told himself Tristan was just returning the complement.
He told himself he was just joking.
But Dakan’s heart, fluttering in his chest, felt it was something more than that.
/////
“You and Rhysmel seemed to hit it off quite well last night. What do you make of him?” Alexander asked the next morning, drinking a big glass of water to stave off the mild hangover he’d earned from the previous night. Tristan, still a little uncertain of his place in Alexander’s congregation of friends, went to bed early and avoided the later drinking.
“I’m not sure. He’s nice, but we didn’t end up talking much about him,” Tristan responded. “Can you tell me more about him?”
“Typical of him. Look, Dakan has a place lined up in the royal court once he completes his education. Lucky bastard. I don’t really know how he managed to earn such high favour from the prince. Probably seduced him, the charming devil.”
“Seduced him?” Tristan repeated, instantly intrigued.
“Rhysmel has a… way about him.”
Tristan understood what he meant. “A way which father might disagree, I’ll take it?”
“Exactly,” Alexander said, swirling the water in his glass with a smile on his face. “Which is why, on top of many other reasons, Dakan is a dear friend of mine.”
The younger brother scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re in a horse’s race to get disowned, Alex.”
“A race implies at least another competitor. Do you think you can beat me?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Well, the magic of masquerade is that no-one knows who you are.”