Page 11 of Corin and the Courtier
But Aster was now Corin’s concern.
No, dammit, hisproblem, not his concern, and he needed to keep that in the forefront of his mind.
Either way. If he meant to get Aster back home, into the lap of luxury, and the hell out of Corin’s hair as quickly as possible, then he needed information.
“I think it’s time you told me precisely what you’re running from,” he said. “And we’ll deal with the question of finding you a rapier next.”
ChapterFive
What was it Pierrehad said when he came running into Aster’s bedchamber, breathlessly overwrought and carrying his tale of Marellus’s conversation with his lover?It’s so vile, my lord, I can hardly bring myself to repeat it. Well. Pierre had been forced to say it aloud to the man it concerned, but now Aster would need to say it about himself.
He’d almost rather spend his wedding night the way Marellus had envisioned than tell Corin, of all people, what Marellus had said about him.
But Corin was waiting, and Aster had to look up from the disgusting mess he’d made of his clothing by eating like a wild animal and answer the damn question sooner rather than later.
When he did raise his eyes at last, his throat went dry, any words he’d started to formulate fleeing into the ether. Corin had his own eyes fixed on him, dark and gleaming and entirely intent. Aster had his full attention. And the weight of it left Aster breathless. How often had he half wished for it and half dreaded it? Any word from the king’s most illustrious knight, although most often critical, had been prized like gold by the young men at court. Aster hadn’t been any different.
In more social settings, Corin’s attention had always been riveted to Belinda—and no wonder. Her beauty and her charm snared everyone. Occasionally Corin had spared a word or two of greeting for her plain and dull younger brother before immediately returning to his fiancée.
As he ought to have, of course. The hidden depths of Aster’s disappointment didn’t make that feeling more rational, only more painful.
And now he’d had more of Corin’s words than he knew what to do with and couldn’t find any of his own. Corin had laughed. He hated to ruin what felt like a moment of genuine rapport with a serious discussion.
But he had to. Corin’s brows had started to draw together into an impatient frown.
“Do you know Lord Dericort?” he asked finally. “Marellus’s…closest friend.” To the rest of the world, anyway.
Corin’s frown deepened. “I’ve come across him once or twice.” His tone didn’t suggest he’d enjoyed those meetings much, which encouraged Aster a bit.
“My valet overheard them when they arrived at Cezanne.” Corin nodded. Aster drew a deep breath. He could tell this, he could. “Dericort complained about Marellus marrying me, he said that I, I was too plain for anyone to get it up when we—and that Marellus would need to put a bag over my head.” His voice broke, and he stared down at his fists where they sat clenched on his knees. He couldn’t possibly look at Corin’s face, and most likely see nothing but agreement there. “Marellus said no, because that’d block my view of the two of them taking their pleasure. That he wouldn’t betray Dericort with me. And kissed him.”
Corin didn’t speak. The fire crackled, the shutters banged.
At last Aster dared to look up. Oh, God. Corin’s expression showed exactly as much disgust as Aster had feared. He’d never recover from the humiliation of this, not in a thousand years.
“You said your valet saw this conversation? Heard them? Where? How trustworthy is this servant of yours?”
Aster blinked at him. That was not at all what he’d expected Corin to say—not that he’d been able to imagine anything at all without his brain shutting down.
“Pierre’s very loyal to me, and he’s not excitable at all,” Aster said. The opposite, in fact. Pierre tended to the placid, cultivating his slight rotundity with a great deal of quiet, contemplative snacking. “He wouldn’t lie to me. He—didn’t want to tell me. But he felt like he had to.”
“All right,” Corin said slowly. “Fine. Let’s assume for the moment he was telling the truth. What the fuck are you doing here? Lord Cezanne could’ve dealt with Dericort. Gotten him out of the way somehow, exiled or out of favor with the king. I know Marellus, he’s not sentimental, to say the least. He wouldn’t choose his lover over whatever reasons he had for marrying you in the first place.”
Aster swallowed hard, his throat painfully tight. “I didn’t tell my parents, but—”
“The fuck do you mean you didn’t tell them!” Corin’s voice snapped like a whip, recalling all the times he’d told off some unlucky squire for showing up to training hung over, or failing to check the straps on his armor properly. Aster fought the urge to shrink back in his seat as Corin leaned forward, eyes blazing. “Your betrothed doesn’t want you and has a lover. It’s an arranged fucking marriage, Aster! What did you expect? True love?”
The nasty twist of sarcasm Corin put on those words burrowed into Aster’s chest like a blade. Hedidwant to be loved. Didn’t everyone? Did he really deserve Corin’s contempt for thinking he ought to be treated with respect, at least? But of course…whatever reasons he had for marrying you in the first place. Corin couldn’t think of any, clearly. Perhaps he agreed with Marellus and Dericort after all.
“And so you ran away,” Corin went on implacably, “with nothing but your horse and your sword. Did you at least leave a fucking note, or are they dragging lakes and arresting anyone who’s ever looked at you sideways?”
Oh, God. Corin made Aster’s flight sound like such a childish overreaction. So unnecessary, so irresponsible and thoughtless.
“Of course I left a—a note,” he stammered. “On my dressing table. Telling them that I’d had to leave for personal reas—”
“You had to leave for personal reasons?” Corin hadn’t raised his voice much, but—oh, fucking hell, that puff of smoke had come from hismouth, not from the fire in the hearth. And limned as he was in flickering orange he looked more draconic than he ever had, the faintly metallic green undertone of his skin brought out in the light. “Personal reasons. You had to leave. You didn’t bloody well have to leave, Aster. You had to back out of the marriage if you couldn’t stand to live with a man who loved someone else. You had to refuse to go through with it and tell your parents why. Instead you didn’t even try to deal with the situation before you simply fled. What the fuck were you thinking?”
The power of Corin’s anger seemed to fill the room, a heavy pressure—that same sensation of walking into a thunderstorm that he’d had earlier in the bedroom. And it had the same effect, of making his mind shut down completely.
