Page 10 of Corin and the Courtier
Fuck it. It might put Aster on the spot, but he wanted to know, and so he asked.
Aster’s blush went from bright pink to deep scarlet, and Corin watched in fascination as it spread from his cheeks up his temples and to his hairline, like spilled ink. Or beet juice.
“I don’t—I mean, that is—you used to laugh when you were training. I was always rather afraid you were laughing at me,” he added with disarming honesty. “Although you probably didn’t notice me enough for that to be the case. Not that I would’ve blamed you. You never seemed to laugh when you were with—oh, shit, I mean at court.”
Damn it all to hell. No, Belinda hadn’t ever made him laugh, either. In hindsight, maybe their lack of anything resembling a shared sense of humor ought to have been a hint.
He wouldn’t be touching that with a ten-foot pole. But the rest of what Aster had said, all flustered and obviously ill at ease…
Corin had always been kind if possible but as blunt as necessary during training, because better a discouraged, offended young swordsman safely at home than an overconfident corpse left to rot on a battlefield.
But in the face of Aster’s worries about being the butt of the joke—or so insignificant that no one would even trouble to laugh at him—he couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth now. “You aren’t that bad,” he said.
Aster snorted a laugh and his eyes gleamed brilliant blue. Corin found himself smiling helplessly in response. “And you’re a terrible liar,” he replied. “I’m skilled enough to earn my spurs, and I can defend myself from the average brigand, but I’m never going to be a mighty warrior. Like you.”
Corin opened his mouth, fully intending to protest, but Aster held up a hand and actually—shushed him? Yes, that had been atchahkind of sound. Aimed athim. Sir Corin, the dragon knight. Unbelievable. He’d never been put so much in his place in his life, at least not by anyone who lived to tell the tale. Or by his Great-Aunt Hilda, who also made that sound, come to think of it.
Although it didn’t make him want to put his Great-Aunt Hilda in her place in turn, as it did with Aster.
What that place might be…better not to think about it in detail.
“Don’t bother,” Aster continued. “I’ve long since come to terms with it. And trying to reassure me doesn’t suit you, Corin. I used to listen as you dressed down those of the squires and bachelors you thought hadn’t tried their best. You never gave a word of praise that wasn’t earned. Although you did laugh, sometimes.”
His wistful tone struck a chord somewhere deep inside where Corin had thought he’d gone numb long ago. The dust and heat, the clang and clash of metal on metal, the shouts and laughter and occasional cry of pain, the shuffle of booted feet. Plunging his overheated head into a trough of water after and shaking the drops out of his hair, sharpening his sword by the fire in the barracks.
And laughing. Because he had, often enough.
The life he’d given up when it turned out to be hollow.
“I was never laughing at you,” he managed at last, his throat tight.You never gave a word of praise that wasn’t earned. That suggested, even to Corin’s not-so-sensitive understanding of other people’s feelings, a long-held desire to have earned some of those words. He dug deep into his memories, ignoring the sting of loss. “You were always quick on your feet. Not enough power in your stroke, and you simply didn’t have the strength to lift your arm fast enough to parry someone who did have enough power, with your sword or with your shield. But you could outmaneuver nearly anyone, given the chance.”
Aster’s eyes sparkled again. The firelight, or some magic from within? Belinda’s eyes had never held that much mischief. He leaned forward, a saucy little smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Teasing Corin, and heat shot straight down between his legs at the sight.
“So what you’re saying, Sir Corin, is that I ought to stay the hell out of a fight, but that I’m well-equipped to run away?”
The laugh that startled out of him distracted him somewhat from the very vivid image that’d popped into his mind of putting Aster on his knees and shoving that pretty smile open with his cock.
Fuck, he had to get it together. He’d been fine for nearly two years.Fine. And now…
“Ah, no,” he stammered, and then added, belatedly attempting to match Aster’s light tone, “Don’t put words in my mouth, if you please!”I’d like to put something inyourmouth. Fuck. “You simply don’t have the build for combat with a broadsword and shield. You ought to stick to the rapier.”
Aster’s smile dimmed, and he looked down at his lap, brushing off a few crumbs. Fidgeting, rather than cleaning up. His tunic was probably past help at this point and he had to know it.
“I left my rapier at home, though I do prefer it. I thought a heavier sword would be more practical in case I needed to use it to really defend myself. I suppose I’ll have to buy another someday. If I can afford to.”
Corin sat back, sucking in a deep breath to try to hide his revulsion. Everything in him protested the idea of Asterhavinghad to leave his favorite sword behind. Hissword. His right hand itched with the desire to wrap around the hilt of his own favorite broadsword, the massive blade that no human man could wield without pulling a muscle at best, and he clenched it into a fist around nothing.
And “if I can afford to.” If he could afford it! The spoiled third child of one of the wealthiest nobles in the kingdom, worrying about a future in which he might not be able to buy the necessities of life.
Corin knew, in the background sort of way one knew the sky was blue or that forests had trees, that most people wouldn’t consider a rapier a necessity of life. Most people needed every last copper farthing they could scrape together and every working hour of the day to provide themselves with pickled beets and brown bread.
But those were humans, not dragons.
What dragons valued most highly, they needed.
Corin valued swords very highly indeed.
He tried not to acknowledge the nagging thought in the back of his mind that his attachment to well-wrought blades of all kinds wasn’t the whole issue, here, and that generally speaking he’d have shrugged at the idea of some pampered courtier losing his fortune. After all, Corin did just fine here in his tumble-down tower with half-raw wild boar and a malfunctioning fireplace full of chipmunks, thank you very fucking much. If he could manage, so could anyone else. And if they couldn’t, too damn bad.
