To be fair, it was probably Truss's fault.

Truss brought another satchel full of books back to the cottage -- he refused to call it 'home' even as everyone else did -- and he gave it, unvetted by the other two caretakers, to Hyacinthe. Within the satchel had been gifted books from Aunt Luxa.

Not Hyacinthe's aunt, of course.

Truss's aunt.

Luxa, being who she was, had slipped books in the satchel that probably shouldn't have been passed to the thirteen-year-old Hyacinthe. Or which would cause questions to surface, which would be difficult or uncomfortable to answer. Or both.

The history books brought enough uncomfortable questions forward, as it was.

But the books in the satchel were a new level of uncomfortable, to be asked about. Luxa, in her unerringly bad judgement, had included a selection of romance novels in the satchel. These were the first of the new books that Hyacinthe latched onto and read, because they were inherently different from the rest. And, to him, they were completely brand new.

Princesses and dashing nights, guardsmen and guardswomen, kings and peasant girls, princes and noble ladies. It always seemed to be the same story, repeated with marginally different characters and marginally different settings. But they made Hyacinthe curious.

--

Hyacinthe closed the last of the romance books. A shorter one that hadn't looked as promising as the others.

None of them had been all that special.

But this one had been the last.

Hyacinthe started back to the cottage, with the books in a bag slung over his shoulder. Every step brought a thought. He wasn't entirely sure what a kiss was. It didn't sound like the kisses that Loch and Liddy sometimes placed on his cheek. He wasn't sure what marriage entailed, or how children were produced, or what love was.

What was love?

That was the question that Truss received, when Hyacinthe dropped the sack of books beside the door, when he entered the cottage: "What is love, Truss?"

Truss startled. "What is... what?"

"Oh no," Liddy, from his place beside the fire, did something needlessly dramatic with his hands. Something Mary probably would have done. "Truss, what have you done, now?"

"What have I done?" Truss turned to scowl at Liddy.

"Well?" Liddy asked. He crossed his arms and waited.

Truss frowned and returned his attention to their charge, still standing in front of the open door, waiting for an answer. "Why are you asking something as ridiculous as that?"

"I read a book," Hyacinthe purposely trailed off. He knew Liddy. And he knew it wasn't hard to see the connection to what, exactly Truss "had done" that caused the questions.

"The books!" Liddy exclaimed.

"What about them?" Truss challenged.

"The books! We didn't check them! Tell me you didn't just and Hyacinthe the books from Aunt Luxa!" Liddy unfolded his arms to clasp his hands before himself. "Please tell me you didn't..." he looked Truss up and down, the defensive and rebellious stance he gave. "You gave him... Luxa's drivel with the other books, then." He deflated.

"It doesn't change the fact that I have a question," Hyacinthe spoke up. He wasn't exasperated. But, did he ever get exasperated?

"What is love," Loch echoed, from his spot lying on the sofa. Specifically, lying on his face, on the sofa. He seemed to have a throbbing behind his eyes, but he wouldn't drink the medicinal teas that Liddy offered. He never did. So, he was probably waiting the pain out.

"Yes, what is it?" Hyacinthe nodded.

"Well, I love you," Liddy offered.

It was disgustingly sticky-sweet, in the way a parent cooing over their child was. Truss wrinkled his nose.

Liddy scowled warningly back at Truss.

"Well... you don't love me the way the Sir Knight loved his Princess," Hyacinthe said. "You love me more like... more like..." he searched his mind for a more applicable example, for a book which could serve as an example. "Like a mother loves her son? Or a brother his sister?"

"His lack of socialization makes this more of a mystery than it should be," Truss observed wryly.

Loch and Liddy both sighed. There seemed to be previous information, there, which Hyacinthe was not privy to. But whatever this was, it had nothing to do with getting an answer to his question.

"What is love?" Hyacinthe repeated.

"You mean, romantic love?" Loch guessed, face still in the sofa's upholstered cushion.

"Yes. I think?"

"Romantic love..." Liddy turned back to the soup he had going over the dire. It smelled of a savoury vegetable stock. That almost made Hyacinthe sad. He liked the dessert soups that Liddy sometimes made, with melons and complimentary fruits.

"It's when you feel an attraction to someone," Truss said. He got another warning look from Liddy, but pressed on. "You see them, you see them as attractive, maybe you like their voice a lot. Maybe you feel that you'd rather sit with them for hours, doing nothing, than you would... want to reread your favourite books."

"What?" Hyacinthe put a hand to his collar bone in Liddy's favourite expression of surprise. "But I'd much rather read than sit idle..."

"Yes. When you love someone, romantically, some of the keys to noticing this are that you'd do things for or with them that you might not ordinarily consider. Or you think about them for inordinate amounts of time. Or you yearn to see or hear them whenever you are apart," Truss offered. "And you want to..." he looked over at Truss.

"Marry," Loch offered, from the sofa. "Have children, build a family. Get a dog? Is that what humans do?"

"Birds make better pets," Liddy said.

"Don't be absurd. A lynx, that's the only proper pet," Truss said.

"These all sound... very strange. Well, no. Some of it sounds normal enough. I can think about times I've felt them," Hyacinthe said.

"Mm, you're probably catching where platonic love -- that is -- friendly love is different from romantic love," Liddy nodded over the soup. "You'll feel a lot of these things for family and friends, no doubt. But sometimes, you'll start moving past the feelings you consider 'normal' for a person. And that's often moving in the direction of love."

"Would you lose a friend?" Hyacinthe asked.

"Oh, sometimes," Liddy said.

"It all depends on the manner of your friendship, and who your friend is," Truss said, a bit more darkly than Liddy.

"Then why would anyone... want to change their friendship?" Hyacinthe moved over to Truss and the table, sitting in the chair nearest the door. "Why would you take a chance at losing a friend?"

"For some, gaining a lover is worth it," Truss said.

"It's fulfilling, to have someone to love and who loves you," Liddy said.

"Some people can't help the pure magnitude of being in love without doing something with it or saying something about it," Loch said. He turned his face out of the cushion, squinting against the light of the cabin

"I'd rather have a friend," Hyacinthe sighed. "I don't think I want to read those books again... but, if it is all right, I think I might like to read more books like them. Once in a while. They are different, and I am curious about them."

Liddy pursed his lips. But Truss nodded. "You're old enough to make decisions about what you're reading, I think."

Hyacinthe lit up. "Thank you!"