Duke of Camellias

THIRTEEN

December came, and some of the camellias fell, while another species bloomed. They were red, like spilled blood, or a darker shade of pink, unlike the previous blush-like camellias with fuller petals. 

Blair had realized, more than ever, he was different. When the Duke got too close, he felt unable to move, too ashamed to look at him. Yet the moment Emmanuel's eyes fell on whatever periodical had caught his fancy, Blair couldn't look away from him. He was enchanted, from the way Emmanuel tossed back his curls, so long and silky, like a terrier's coat, to the way he pressed his lips together in dissatisfaction. He realized this, and it made him feel strange.

This can't be love, he thought, over and over. I'm simply infatuated with his beauty. Or I've been thinking of him as an elder brother—no, a role model, he decided.

They spent some time revising and adding to his childhood and adolescent years, and now they reached nearly sixty pages. Emmanuel had said the adult portion would probably take more than fifty and he need some time to organize his thoughts, so for the past week he spent time strolling about his garden or painting as Blair wrote short stories.

One morning during breakfast Emmanuel received a letter, and he grimaced.

"What's wrong?" Blair asked cautiously, hoping he wasn't overstepping his boundaries. "Who is it from?"

"Collins," Emmanuel whispered, and his heart fell at the name. Blair pretended to not care, but Emmanuel sensed the tension, and spoke despite the silence. "He asked if he could come and join us the two weeks until Christmas. The bothersome man." Emmanuel truly looked annoyed, and that comforted Blair, although it also quickly made him guilty.

"And may I ask what's your reply?"

"Let's see, we aren't doing anything special, so suppose I can let him. I do pity him, after all, as he's always with that nagging mother of his." He looked up at Blair. "Do you mind? We shall be going to an opera around then."

"Of course it's fine. The more, the merrier, right?"

The duke smiled, but it was crooked and listless. "You're right. I shouldn't have been so upset. I'm simply unused to guests—you know how I am with anyone besides you and Flemings."

"Talking about Flemings, he sure did enjoy the chocolates."

"Yes," Emmanuel chuckled. "What a surprise." In fact, all of the servants had, and Ethan and the maids had went up to Blair and Emmanuel themselves and thanked them in person, although Blair hadn't done anything.

Blair was put at ease seeing Emmanuel laugh. He was worried he would be on edge with Christopher coming over soon, but surely, everything was behind them. They had seen fine, after all, conversing at the tailor's.

"I've finished a short story, too," he said. "You asked for one last time, the night we drank."

"Oh, yes, I did." Emmanuel leaned forward, chin on his hands again, elbow on the table. "So, what is it?"

"It's a story about chocolates."

"Hmm. Let me read it."

"Sure." Blair went upstairs to grab the manuscript, as well as some others, and then went hurried downstairs to give it to Emmanuel. Emmanuel poured over it, eyes jumping from left to right, sliding with ease and speed.

The story was about a certain kingdom, which was the only place that produced chocolates. However, one day a fortune teller told the king and queen that their firstborn child would die from eating chocolate. In fear, the king and queen outlawed chocolate from their land, and for years, their firstborn, a princess, grew up in a land without chocolate.