Page 12 of Corin and the Courtier
He wanted to accuse Corin of being horrifically unfair. Hypocritical, even. He’d run from Belinda’s betrayal just as Aster had run from Marellus’s.
Except that Marellus hadn’t done anything publicly. And Corin and Belinda’s engagement had been, supposedly—true love. Not a political match made to ally his family with one of the most powerful of the king’s favorites and at the same time end the simmering feud that’d existed between their houses for the last eighty years or so. He’d been assured by his father that it would be wonderful, and by his mother that he’d find contentment in marriage eventually just as she had. Since Aster had never managed to find more than mediocre pleasure with another person, giving Marellus a lackluster rogering couldn’t be much worse. And as he’d never expected to be happy the way married people outside of the nobility were supposed to be, he’d thought that he might as well marry someone who’d make everyone else happy.
And he’d hoped that if he kept gritting his teeth and repeating it, he’d believe it eventually.
But he also knew no one should have to live that way, no matter what interests were at stake for the Cezanne family.
And Corin ought to understand that. He, of all people, ought to understand, and it was so terribly unfair that he didn’t. Perhaps the crux of the matter was that Corin didn’t believe someone like Aster, who didn’t have beauty or charm or anything special about him, deserved anything better.
“Well?” Corin prompted impatiently. “Nothing to say?”
He had so much to say. How he’d gone downstairs to greet Marellus and his entourage after hearing what Pierre had told him, because he didn’t know what else to do. How Lord Dericort had lounged at Marellus’s side like a poisonous snake, all graceful long lines and glittering dark eyes fixed on Aster with obvious hatred and scorn. How Marellus had laughed at Dericort’s sly asides, leaning in to allow the man to whisper in his ear, and hadn’t favored Aster with so much as a smile. Marellus had been coldly, scrupulously polite—but barely.
And Aster’s parents had seemed perfectly happy with the meeting and with their guests’ behavior. They loved him dearly, though they showed it oddly sometimes. But they didn’t love each other and saw no reason why aristocratic spouses ought to do so. By giving him to Marellus they believed they were assuring him of wealth, a high place in society, the favor of the king. Everything they valued. As long as Marellus’s manners remained correct in public, they’d never believe Aster could be as unhappy as he claimed.
Surely Corin would understand why he’d had to go, why he couldn’t have confided in his family, if he explained all of that.
Instead, all he managed was, “I don’t—I don’t—it wasn’t only what he said, it was how he said it! He has nothing but contempt for me, Corin. I know it.”
Corin’s eyes closed for a moment and he blew out a long, deep breath. Two small tendrils of smoke escaped from his nostrils. His lips moved slightly.
Counting to ten. He’d reduced the mighty Sir Corin to counting to ten like a schoolmaster trying to keep his patience with an unruly student. Of course, your average schoolmaster wouldn’t breathe fire when his patience ran out.
When Corin opened his eyes again, he said, very slowly and evenly, “You didn’t hear him say it, Aster. Your valet did. Or did I misunderstand you?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Aster’s head felt light and floaty, dismay and frustration swimming in circles in his skull and putting him all off-balance. “Yes, it was my valet, but—”
“Your valet heard him. And then told you how he’d sounded. And from the hearsay of some eavesdropping servant, you constructed the need to run away from a betrothal that I’m guessing had been carefully negotiated by all parties and approved by the king? A betrothal you’d agreed to?”
Aster’s face went so hot it hurt, cheeks prickling and eyes burning. He clenched his hands on his thighs to try to quell the shaking in his limbs, but his fists trembled too.
All of that was true on the face of it, and yet…it ignored everything that really mattered. The way he’d felt when he’d returned to his own chambers and had a few minutes to think and to face the reality of what the marriage would mean. The shuddering horror that had come over him as he’d imagined his wedding night in visceral detail.
He had to think carefully and explain himself in a way that Corin wouldn’t disregard. Because he wasn’t an idiot, and he knew Pierre, and his own observations had only confirmed Pierre’s story.
Instead, all that came out—and in a sulky tone to boot—was, “I didn’t negotiate anything. They decided it all without me.” Corin stared at him silently, jaw set and one eyebrow raised, saying more without words than he could have with a whole tirade. Fucking hell. “It’s not because I didn’t have a say that I had to leave,” he went on, knowing he was only making it worse, but starting to trip over his words as they tumbled out of him. “It was—you weren’t there. You didn’t see them. Marellus hates me. It would’ve been a living hell. Corin, please. You have to believe me!”
After a beat, Corin’s face softened, and he said, “I believe you.” But he didn’t sound sincere, and Aster could practically feel his heart cracking in half. He’d lost his family with his little stunt, and none of his friends who wanted to keep their social standing would take him in. In other words, all of them. Corin was all he had.
Hell. Corin really was all he had.
And the man barely knew him despite how closely they’d almost been related, despised his whole family as far as Aster knew, and couldn’t even convincingly pretend that he thought Aster hadn’t played the fool.
Far worse, Corin’s doubt only fed his own. He’d wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake over and over again on the cold, hungry, homesick journey here.
This might all have been for nothing. He couldn’t believe that, he couldn’t. But…
Aster stared into the fire until his eyes hurt. At least then he could pretend it was from strain and not the stinging of unshed tears.
“But it doesn’t actually matter at all if I think the marriage was a bad idea or if you were right to want to get out of it,” Corin went on when the silence had stretched almost to the breaking point, making Aster jump. He looked back up and immediately wished he hadn’t. Corin’s frown hadn’t lessened at all. He still loomed in front of the flickering flames like a ferocious storybook dragon, the kind who used to eat annoying knights who turned up at the door uninvited. “It only matters that you gave your word.”
“But I—”
“Yourword, Aster. As a knight and a gentleman. Too many other people were involved. Your family. His. The king. If you weren’t going to marry him, no matter why, it was your responsibility to honorably end the betrothal. And that’s all there is to it.”
Aster raised one shaking hand and rubbed at his temples, trying to soothe the headache that had started pounding into life.
Corin’s voice rang in his ears.Your word, Aster. That’s all there is to it.
