Philip and Amory settled onto their thrones, positioned at the front of the room but away from the area in which Etan and Tristan would be married. The arrangement was in keeping with their position and the traditional placement, but also left them in the background of an event they refused to make about them. Philip lifted Amory’s hand to his lips, brushing a kiss over his fingers, and Amory smiled a soft, sweet smile meant only for Philip despite all who witnessed.
They were beautiful together, and, for Bastien, utterly painful to watch.
Philip must have given some signal because the doors at the back of the room opened again, and the ceremony began. Etan and Tristan walked into the room side by side, one dark-haired and one golden blond, in defiance of tradition that would have them walk separately. Arm in arm, they came down the long aisle of the room, smiling at their friends and family but mostly at each other. They wore the traditional wedding clothes of Tournai, the style all men wore on their wedding day, theirs in white silk with the embroidered leaves and vines twining around hems and cuffs done in white and silver. The clothing fit both men perfectly, of course, and was likely made by the best tailor in Jumelle.
But the splendor of their clothing couldn’t hold a candle to the emotion it was obvious they felt. If Bastien had thought Philip and Amory’s joy was apparent, that of Etan and Tristan was practically a tangible thing. They seemed to glow with it; the power of it could probably light the room better than the crystal chandeliers suspended above their heads.
For just a moment, Bastien let himself wonder what it would feel like to have that for himself.
The ceremony was a bit of a blur after Bastien’s imagination took over, showing him a picture of himself saying vows to someone he loved that much. He wondered if it was something he would ever have. Etan and Tristan joined hands and spoke their vows to each other, their voices filled with intense emotion. Bastien was sure everyone could hear it, had to hear it and be affected by it, as he was, though he was surprised to see Griffen’s eyes were damp as he watched the pair exchange rings.
With the vows made, Etan and Tristan, followed by their witnesses, went to the book laid out on an ornate table at the side of the dais. The old leather book held the record of every royal marriage going back for generations—and other volumes, shelved in the palace’s archives, recorded those that had come before, chronicling the history of the royal family. He’d seen Philip and Amory sign it at their marriage, and Cathal and Flavian would have as well when they wed. Etan and Tristan affixed their signatures in the book and then passed the pen to Cathal, who had been Etan’s witness. Bastien had been surprised to hear that. Though Cathal was Etan’s oldest brother, they hadn’t been as close as Etan had to his other brother, Vrai, when they were growing up. Something had changed, if Etan’s choice and the way he and Cathal behaved toward one another were any indication. After signing his name, Cathal passed the pen in turn to Tristan’s witness, his brother Maxen. Bastien had never met Maxen and knew only that he had a position working with Tristan in their family’s shipping company. His hair was a darker shade of blond than his brother’s, but his eyes were the same bright blue, and they sparkled as he bent to sign.
As soon as Maxen lifted the pen from the page, a golden shimmer began to emanate from the book. The room seemed to take a collective breath as the shimmer grew, turning into a glow of light that bathed Etan and Tristan. It flared, just to the edge of too bright, but then faded back to a shimmer and slowly away to nothing. Everyone was silent, in awe of the magic that sealed the union. A tear rolled down Ligeia’s cheek, and Bastien handed her his handkerchief, though he had to blink back tears of his own.
After a moment, Etan and Tristan turned and went to the thrones. They made their bows, something Bastien knew Philip and Amory likely thought unnecessary, but was another tradition that couldn’t be avoided. And after the beauty of the last moment tradition had brought them, Bastien couldn’t see how a bow would be much of an annoyance. Etan and Tristan straightened at Philip’s signal. Philip and Amory then spoke to the newly wedded couple, too quietly for anyone except the four of them to hear. Whatever Philip and Amory said was meant only for the four men, connected by bonds of family, friendship, and now marriage.
Etan and Tristan turned back to the assembled guests. Tristan’s smile was bright, and he pulled Etan into a kiss that was slightly more than propriety called for but seemed like a perfect expression of their love—of them. Bastien had only met Tristan briefly, but from all he’d heard, such a kiss would fit with the man’s natural exuberance. When Etan and Tristan separated, Etan’s eyes were sparkling, even if his cheeks were a little pink and his smile a touch shy.
Etan and Tristan bowed once more to Philip and Amory before leaving the room. If Bastien were them, he’d try to sneak off to some hidden corner for a few quiet moments before the celebrations began. He’d want some private time with the person he loved. He put the thought aside and stood with everyone else as Philip and Amory rose. The assembled guests bowed or curtsied as the royal couple exited the room. After they had gone, a low murmur of conversation began to build.
Ligeia smiled up at Bastien. “Etan looked happy.”
“Yes, he did.” It was quite obvious Etan loved Tristan, and Bastien was happy that he could marry as he chose. Etan was a third son and would never have to worry about inheriting a title or providing for the continuation of a family line. Of course Cathal had inherited the dukedom, and he still married as he chose, something that had shocked Bastien. “Very happy.”
He took Ligeia’s arm when it was time for them to move to the dining hall. They’d make their way to a ballroom for dancing afterward. The dining room was lit with a blaze of glass chandeliers and sconces, and each of the tables was set with crystal and silver that sparkled and reflected the light. More flowers decorated this room in large centerpieces on the tables and in swags hanging on the walls. Bastien wondered if they’d used every hothouse flower in the city. The effect was undeniably stunning.
“It’s so pretty,” Ligeia said, echoing his thought.
He pulled out her chair, seating her at the table, and then took a seat next to her. She wasn’t often or easily moved by the pretty and the frivolous, but he wasn’t surprised she was today. Something about Etan and Tristan’s wedding day was a bit magical, pulling everyone into the glow of happiness that seemed to encompass the couple.
Etan and Tristan didn’t stop smiling once through the many courses of the long dinner. They sat with Philip and Amory, along with Cathal and Flavian, Maxen, and Elodie. Tristan’s laughter rang out, clear as a bell, over the hum of conversation and the quiet music played by the musicians, an utterly carefree expression of joy. People drifted over to them in the breaks between courses, less it seemed for the princes’ attention than to convey well wishes to Etan and Tristan, and perhaps to bask in that joy for a few moments, as if it might transfer itself to them.
Bastien wondered himself, felt that pull.
He frowned as he watched Griffen chatting with Etan and Tristan. Griffen was smiling too, but something was off. He said as much to Ligeia.
She glanced at Griffen and then back to Bastien, her brow furrowed. “I think he’s feeling a bit…wistful.”
“Wistful?”
She shrugged. “Yes. Two of his good friends just married each other. They love each other and are quite plainly deliriously happy. I think he’s a bit sad that he doesn’t have that.”
Surprise stole Bastien’s voice for a moment. “Griffen? You don’t know all he gets up to. I don’t think he’s ever going to settle down.”
“I know more than you think,” she said with a half smile. “And I don’t think you should be so quick to judge Griffen.”
“I’m not judging, nor am I being quick about anything,” he protested. Bastien knew Griffen, his laid-back attitude and his casual affairs.
“Hmm. I don’t think you know Griffen as well as you think you do.” Ligeia turned to Mathis then, leaning over G
riffen’s empty chair to talk to him.
Left with her words echoing in his head, Bastien absorbed himself in watching the room. He knew his own brother; he knew Griffen’s behavior. He’d often wished Griffen would calm down, and he’d tried to guide him after their father’s death, tried to keep him from falling into trouble. Bastien stifled a sigh and focused on the rest of the diners. The long tables were full of people, some he recognized and some he didn’t.
Etan’s mother, sisters, and other brother Vrai were at a table across from Bastien’s and near to where Etan sat with the princes. Isaline’s husband sat with them as well; Bastien hadn’t attended the wedding of Etan’s eldest sister a few years ago, but he knew the man from his own days at university. The other people seated near them came as something of a surprise. If he wasn’t mistaken, they were Philip’s aunt Edine, the younger of his father’s two sisters, and her three sons, all younger than Bastien. He couldn’t remember how many girls had followed the sons, and he didn’t see them, nor Princess Edine’s husband. He’d been appointed Tournai’s ambassador to the kingdom of Teilo many years ago, though some still thought Philip’s aunt had married beneath herself as he wasn’t of royal blood. Bastien was a bit surprised they’d made the long trip for the wedding, especially with colder weather setting in the north.
Philip’s other aunt, the older of his father’s two sisters, and her family weren’t present, but Bastien would have been shocked to see her. She’d married into the royal family of Elleri, the kingdom on their eastern border, and had only returned with her husband and family for Philip’s wedding, as far as Bastien knew. But that had been more a state visit, in which she and her husband had represented Elleri, than a family visit. The wedding of a younger nephew not in direct line to the throne wouldn’t warrant such a visit.
As Ligeia continued her conversation with Mathis, Bastien let his gaze wander over those he didn’t recognize. He assumed some were Tristan’s friends and family—a few he picked out as potential siblings because of the strong resemblance—but Tristan came from a merchant family, so Bastien wouldn’t have met any of them previously. Some of the other faces Bastien didn’t recognize were probably Etan’s friends from the university. Etan was a scholar at heart and still remained devoted to his studies and work there, lecturing at the university when he could.
He let his gaze pass over the crowd, not really focusing on anyone in particular. Until he was arrested by a pair of intense violet eyes. Bastien’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he couldn’t look away.
Chapter Three
CORENTIN WONDERED FOR the hundredth time why he was attending Etan’s wedding. He liked Etan, very much actually, and enjoyed their discussions—even if the impetus of their association on his part had been to ascertain whether anyone had learned of his people’s secret—but he hadn’t thought them close enough to be invited to his wedding. He’d been shocked to receive the invitation and couldn’t see a way to refuse. It would be an insult to turn it down for anything except the most dire circumstances, and foolhardy too, especially as he was trying not to make himself conspicuous. Besides, part of him didn’t want to refuse. He wanted to help celebrate Etan’s marriage, the anticipation of which had Etan steadily, quietly happy.
But Corentin had hovered between indecision and uncertainty. In the weeks that followed Savarin confronting him, nothing had happened. Savarin hadn’t returned to interrogate him again, nor had the royal guard arrived to drag him away for questioning. It didn’t seem that Savarin had told anyone—or, at least, he hadn’t told Etan. Corentin doubted Etan could have hidden his scholarly zeal or his excitement at his theories being proven.
Corentin considered telling him himself, considered that perhaps they knew each other well enough for him to trust Etan not to come after him or any of the others. But Corentin couldn’t be sure what he would do, especially knowing his loyalty to the prince. Even without divulging his secret to Etan, he was ready for the guards to grab him as soon as he stepped onto palace grounds—Corentin was so convinced it would happen that he wasn’t sure what to do when it didn’t.
So he watched Etan marry the man who was, quite obviously, the love of his life.
The emotion written all over Etan and Tristan’s faces while they exchanged their vows made Corentin ache. Someday, he would go home and find someone to be with, someone he could love and be honest with. He couldn’t hide his dragon Talent from someone he loved, and he couldn’t imagine trusting someone enough to risk telling them. At home, where everyone already knew of their existence, he could fall in love and have a wedding of his own.
Perhaps someday should be sooner than he’d planned. Savarin knew what he was, but that didn’t mean Corentin couldn’t leave. In fact, he could do just that—disappear with no warning and no chance of anyone following. Especially if he traveled at night and took to the air. Even if Savarin chose to raise the alarm, Corentin could be well away. No one knew where he’d come from; he’d made sure his travels weren’t easily traceable, and home wasn’t on any map. So, yes, perhaps it was time to give up here and go home.
He pondered the idea as he followed the other wedding guests into the large dining hall. It had been years since he’d seen home; maybe that was why the thought of it made him ache with longing for the snow-capped mountains and crisp air. He couldn’t let himself brood on it, though, not with so many people around. Best to think of something else. The differences in the wedding customs and ceremonies between Tournai and his home, Ivria, were enough to keep him occupied and marginally distracted. Aside from the exchange of rings, much was different, which wasn’t entirely surprising. His home was far from Tournai, and its customs were a seamless blend of those from the many places his people had dwelled before fleeing to make a place for themselves.
Corentin found himself seated with others from the university who he gathered were Etan’s friends. He thought he vaguely recognized the woman who introduced herself as Vita—she was striking enough that he would remember—but the others were strangers to him. Tournai’s university was not so small for it to be surprising that he hadn’t met these people before. They were a gregarious bunch, all smiles and laughter and talking over each other even in the palace, making their corner of the table a lively one.
It should have been overwhelming, but it was actually pleasant in a way. It reminded him of the more boisterous parties of his home, where even the noble houses were less decorous in their celebrations. He didn’t know these people at all, but he liked being surrounded by their laughter as they told slightly racy stories. He let his gaze slide around the dining hall, over the guests crowding the tables. It might not be as raucous as a party among his people could be, but the atmosphere was light, the happiness of the newly wedded couple spilling over to their guests.
The guests were numerous, and everyone was dressed in their finest—satins and silks, lace and velvet, all in the latest Tournai fashions. Corentin had even had something made up for the event. He owned formal clothes that would have served, but all of them were in the style of his home, or something he’d picked up in his travels. While he liked the eclectic style he normally wore, the wedding of a royal cousin seemed a good excuse for something new, and he might as well be fashionably turned out in the style of his current residence.
He liked the rich, rust red velvet of his jacket with its detailed botanical embroidery, and the way it highlighted his shoulders and waist. He wasn’t overly vain, but he did prefer to look his best, and he liked when his clothes were cut to his advantage. Tournai’s royal family seemed to feel the same. He studied the men and woman who sat at the princes’ table. All were dressed impeccably in well-tailored clothing and shades that made the most of their coloring. They were a dazzling group; the men of the royal family all shared thick dark hair and classically handsome features, features that were similar but softened on the face of Princess Elodie. Prince Amory, Lord Flavian, and Lord Etan’s husband, Tristan, stood out among the others. Tristan was
bright, all sparkling blue eyes and shining gold hair. Prince Amory and Lord Flavian were no less so with their hair in vivid shades of red, and they were both rather lovely.
Corentin let his gaze slide from them to those seated at the tables nearby. Other family members for the most part, it would seem, from the resemblance to either Etan or his husband. Then his gaze stalled on one particular man.
The man was stunning, his features chiseled, his skin glowing in a way that only came from much time spent outdoors, and his thick bronze hair fell in neat waves around his face. From what Corentin could see of his clothes, they were of good quality but a bit sober, not as daring or fashionable as many of the ensembles worn that evening. The rich, warm brown wasn’t a poor color for him, though. He sat next to a young woman, who might have been wife or sister or some other relation, but she leaned away from him to talk to someone else, and he seemed to be doing much as Corentin was, studying the room.
Suddenly, the other man’s gaze collided with Corentin’s, and everything seemed to freeze for a moment as the connection held. Corentin couldn’t make out the color of his eyes from the distance—something dark, he thought. But he could see them go wide, a bit startled, and Corentin smiled, slow and sure. He had no idea why this man had captured his interest in one look, but he dearly wanted to find out if longer exposure would bear it out, perhaps deepen it.
He gave himself a stern mental shake. What was he doing, thinking of starting an affair with anyone? He had to leave, not become more deeply enmeshed in Tournai and its people.
But…there was no harm in looking, was there? Even a bit of flirting, perhaps? He found something compelling about the man staring at him with shock in his eyes, and unless he proved utterly uninteresting to talk to, Corentin rather wanted to find out more. Maybe even see what those full lips tasted like.
The Dragon's Devotion (Chronicles of Tournai Book 5) Page 4