Hyacinthe was a guy from eleventh century fantasy France. He had no idea what was 'cool' or not. All he knew was what he found attractive and on that list, intelligence was pretty high up there.

Since they were talking--even if he was keeping up a steady assault on her composure with his lips on her ear, cheek, and throat--he guided her into his room, shutting the door behind them. "Neither," he confirmed, giving her a wink before nibbling at her neck again. "I am the Prince of Travellers, but that doesn't make me a noble."

He thought his father might be a merchant of some kind, but he didn't know any more than that and not even that for certain.

"But my patron is a nobleman of some kind. And Siovalese as well, which means anything he can learn, he will. I learned Cruithne from his ward, Phedre, who was learning it herself and practiced with me."