“What were we talking about? Oh, the winter. Your home is very different from here, then. I don’t remember the last time I saw more than a dusting of snow. My family’s home is in northern Tournai, so sometimes we see a little.” He tried to imagine a snow-covered landscape lasting for months and couldn’t. He’d read of it in books, seen drawings, but he didn’t know how it would feel. “What’s it like?”
“Where I grew up?” Corentin looked both surprised and slightly wary, which seemed an odd reaction to an innocent question.
“Yes, tell me about the winter there. Tell me what you would do.”
Corentin settled more comfortably in his chair as the serving girl set the wine down on the table. He poured some for both of them, his smile softening when he turned back to Bastien. “Well, by now, it’s probably snowed.”
Over dinner, Corentin painted a picture of his home in winter. Of snow drifts and icicles and the bite of the cold wild. Bastien was captivated, drinking in the stories of being snowed in while the wind howled outside, of playing in snow drifts and having snowball fights. It was far from Bastien’s own experience, but Corentin pulled him into his tales. He began to see what students at his lectures must feel. If those lectures were half as engrossing, the students had to hang on Corentin’s every word.
As they ate the pear tart at the end of the meal, Corentin asked, “And here? What can I expect from the winter? You’ve already said I likely won’t see snow.”
“Not as you’ve described to me, no. Will you miss it?”
Corentin seemed to contemplate the question, or perhaps he was just savoring a bite of their excellent dessert. “Maybe. I’ve spent many winters away from home, but this will be the first I’ve spent so far south. I suppose I’ll have to keep myself busy.”
“I’m sure you’ll be occupied at the university. When they break for the Midwinter holiday, you’ll have the celebrations here in the city to fill your time.” He hadn’t attended any of them since Philip married Amory, and before that, prior to his parents’ deaths. “They’ve always been excellent, but I’ve heard that since the princes married at Midwinter a few years ago, they’ve become even larger as the city celebrates the anniversary of their marriage as well.”
“You’ve only heard? Haven’t you been here?” Corentin asked.
“I haven’t been in Jumelle over the holiday since they married. My obligations keep me at my family home.” Bastien glanced away for a moment, letting his gaze slide over the room. “I always enjoyed them when I was a child and then a university student. The fairs and entertainments. The food, especially the sweets. Even the ice and rain couldn’t dampen my enthusiasm to do everything when I was little.”
“So I take it I’ll be spending it in icy rain? Seems like a reason to stay warm inside to me.” Corentin’s voice deepened, taking on an intimate note, and his violet gaze, so utterly unique, was intense on Bastien. They weren’t touching, but it felt as if Corentin’s hands were on Bastien. He shivered again.
“It can be.” Bastien sipped his wine, hoping to wet his dry throat and cool his sudden warmth.
Corentin’s lips curved in a half smile. “I’ll have to persuade you to stay in the city for the winter then.”
He couldn’t, of course, but Corentin made the idea tempting in a way it hadn’t been from anyone else. He could almost picture them snuggled together while the cold rain poured down outside the windows, making the cobbles of the roads slick and travel miserable. “Perhaps I’ll let you try.”
The smile widened, and Bastien’s breath caught in his throat. “I’ll look forward to it,” Corentin said.
They finished their meal in a silence that simmered with something Bastien wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to examine, despite his flirtatious words. The way Corentin looked at him didn’t help, though it was a delicious feeling. The two sensations warred inside Bastien, but he didn’t complain when Corentin stepped close to his side as they left the eating house and took his arm again.
“I’ll walk with you,” Corentin said.
Outside it was misty but not raining. The street lamps glowed with the steady, soft white light that only magic could produce, diffused by the tiny water droplets hanging in the air. The effect was rather magical all by itself. Despite the chill, Bastien was in no hurry.
It didn’t seem Corentin was either, and they strolled along the street, meandering in the direction of Bastien’s house. At the back of his mind, a little voice whispered to him that he needed to hurry home, needed to make sure everything was right there, but he hushed it. He didn’t want to hurry home. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go home at all. If Corentin asked Bastien to go with him, he would find it difficult to refuse.
But Corentin didn’t ask. He did slide his hand down Bastien’s arm and twined their fingers as they turned down a short lane. A smile curved Bastien’s lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held hands with someone. Had he ever held hands with someone this way? As a lover, or potential lover anyway? Maybe long ago when he was very young and in the first giddy rush of infatuation, but that seemed a lifetime ago.
It was an unusual feeling now, to have a warm, strong hand holding his as they strolled the evening streets. But even as his mind tried to examine the sensations, to analyze, his body was leaning closer, his fingers closing more firmly around Corentin’s. And he had to admit it was a lovely feeling too. A sneaky thought appeared that perhaps it would be even more lovely if he had more experience with it, if it happened often enough to stop being odd and just be lovely.
They cut across a small, deserted square. Their footsteps were loud on the paving stones, the only other sound the peaceful burble of the fountain in the center. As they came up beside the fountain, Corentin stopped. Bastien took a couple steps before he realized and turned, their arms stretched between them, hands still linked. Corentin’s face was in shadow, and Bastien frowned.
“Corentin?”
Corentin gave Bastien’s hand a gentle tug, pulling him a step closer, and then another.
“Corentin, what—?”
He came up against the solid muscle of Corentin’s chest. He let out a little huff of air, and then Corentin’s lips were on his. Corentin could have yanked him close, could have crushed his lips to Bastien’s, but he didn’t. His mouth was gentle, seducing. Warm, smooth lips moving over Bastien’s, coaxing him to kiss back, to relax into it.
And Bastien gave in to their persuasion, let himself melt into Corentin’s larger frame. He slid his arms around Corentin, anchoring himself to his body. Corentin made a sound low in his throat and tightened his arms around Bastien, but the kiss remained slow and sweet, a warm slide into lazy pleasure. It spun out around him, and he lost track of time, lost track of everything except the kisses and Corentin’s body against his.
Finally, Corentin pulled his lips from Bastien’s but stayed close, leaning his forehead against Bastien’s and resting there. Disappointment unfurled within Bastien. He hadn’t wanted it to end, didn’t want to stop kissing Corentin. It had been too long since he felt anything like this, too long since he’d kissed like this. Or had he ever?
But little by little the world began to intrude as they stood and breathed together. Bastien noticed the chill of the mist again and remembered they were in the middle of a public square. The desire to stay close to Corentin warred with the urge to pull away because kissing in public wasn’t seemly in any way. As the conflict raged within him, he remained paralyzed in Corentin’s arms.
Then Corentin sighed, a little contented sound, and snuggled Bastien a fraction closer.
Something inside Bastien melted again. He let out a long breath and rested his head on Corentin’s shoulder, taking in the scent of rain and Corentin. Bastien couldn’t begin to guess how long they stayed that way, but he’d have been willing to stay longer, if the mist hadn’t begun to turn to rain.
Corentin’s quiet chuckle vibrated against Bastien’s chest. “I suppose we should go.”
“
I suppose.” His own reluctance surprised him, but he forced himself to step back from Corentin all the same, disentangling himself from his embrace so they could resume walking.
Only Corentin didn’t let him go far. He snuck an arm around Bastien’s waist, nestling him against his side as they began walking again. Bastien’s stride hitched briefly, and Corentin asked, “All right?”
Bastien nodded, despite the concerns swirling in his mind. “Yes.”
Their steps had more purpose now, but the rain remained light, and they didn’t race to reach shelter. The opposite really, as they paused often to steal kisses in the shadowy shelter of overhangs and archways and tree branches. Soft, fast kisses and little private smiles, the last of which came outside Bastien’s house. They lingered just slightly longer, as if Corentin wasn’t ready to let go of Bastien, or perhaps Bastien wasn’t ready to let go of him.
He couldn’t ask Corentin in though, not with his siblings there, especially his sister. It shocked him that he was even tempted to do so, quite tempted, and the shock froze him for an instant. But long enough for Corentin to take a step back and say, “Thank you for joining me for dinner. Good night.”
“Good night,” Bastien replied, but Corentin was turning even as he said the words and setting off down the street, back toward the university and his own home. Or the home he’d made in Jumelle, for however long he would stay.
Corentin reached the corner and turned, disappearing from sight, and Bastien’s paralysis broke. He let himself into the house quietly and removed his wet outerwear and shoes in the entry hall, handing them off to a maid who arrived just as he was about to drape his cloak over a chair. He thanked her absently and climbed the stairs, going directly to his rooms. Once the door to his bedchamber was closed firmly behind him, he stopped.
What had just happened?
Chapter Seven
THE WHOLE NIGHT seemed shrouded in something that separated it and pulled it from time, and possibly good sense. Walking through the city holding onto someone, stopping for kisses along the way? Had Bastien gone mad? Embarrassment and a small glimmer of horror flashed through him. There were other people on the streets, there had to have been, though he couldn’t recall seeing them after that first—brilliant—kiss. But they had to have been there, and he should have given a thought to his position and the necessity that some things remain private. He was the earl, the head of his family, one connected to the royal family of Tournai.
And still, he couldn’t seem to regret the evening with Corentin, couldn’t find any other feelings about kissing Corentin on the rainy streets of Jumelle except pleasure and the desire—longing, even—for more.
Only, next time they kissed, perhaps in private without rain or cold night air or observation by bystanders would be better.
He was actually thinking about a next time, wasn’t he? More than that, he was anticipating the next time. It was utter insanity. Between matters of family and business and the mystery surrounding his parents death, he had no time to waste on a frivolous affair.
But he wanted to. Oh, he wanted to so much.
Bastien shook his head at himself and went to his dressing room where he took off his clothes, tossing them over a chair. With little thought, he pulled on a soft pair of sleep pants and a shirt, covering them with his dressing gown against the slight chill. He had to make sure Ligeia had come home, and then he planned to retire to bed with a book. Shoving his feet into slippers, he let himself out of his rooms again, and nearly collided with Griffen in the corridor.
“Bastien. I didn’t realize you’d gotten home.”
“Just.” He hadn’t expected Griffen to be here either. His brother was far more likely to be out at some social event or with friends. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I decided to stay in tonight. Turned out I was alone here.” Griffen smiled, but Bastien could see the question in his eyes. He wasn’t about to explain to Griffen where he’d been.
“Has Ligeia come home?” he asked, hoping to divert Griffen’s focus.
“About an hour ago. Vrai escorted her.”
“Good.” Knowing she was home and had been escorted by someone he trusted eased his worry.
“She’s in her bedchamber. She seemed to enjoy herself with Meriall and Adora.” Griffen propped a shoulder against the wall as if settling in for a chat. “I’m glad she’s making friends with those two. Making friends at all, really. She’s alone too much.”
Annoyance and guilt waged a war within Bastien. It was his fault Ligeia was so isolated. There were no other girls her age at Ardesia. She worked with the horses and ran the household, and did both well, but she’d missed too much that she would have had if she’d grown up in Jumelle. He should have found a way for her to have it.
“It’s good that you’re staying in Jumelle longer,” Griffen continued. “I know it’s because of the letter, but I think it’s good for Ligeia too.”
“Yes,” Bastien admitted. “I think you’re right about that.”
She needed friends and social situations. She needed to be presented formally at court and to spend time at court social functions. Soon, Ligeia would want to marry, or he assumed she would, and he had made it more difficult than it should have been.
Griffen tilted his head to the side and looked at him. For their whole lives, others had remarked that the resemblance between them was startling, but Bastien had never thought it strange to have a face so close to his own staring back at him. Generally Griffen’s expression was nothing like Bastien’s, but when Griffen looked worried or concerned, as he did now, his brow furrowed in the same way.
“You know you don’t have to take on everything. You don’t have to be here all the time. Ligeia was fine, visiting with the sisters of a duke and the prince’s consort. In any case, I was here.”
“But I didn’t know that, did I?” Bastien pointed out.
“Maybe not. But the point still stands. You need something in your life that isn’t looking after us. Mathis and I are perfectly capable of looking after ourselves.”
He raised a brow.
“Don’t give me that look, Bastien. We are adults and get along fine on our own. There’s no need for you to nursemaid us.”
“I am not playing nursemaid to you. I’m looking after my family, especially Ligeia.”
Griffen sighed. “We don’t always need looking after. In any case, we’re all home safe and sound, so you can rest easy for tonight. Good night, Brother.”
“Good night, Griffen.” He let the conversation end, let his brother continue on his way without pushing his point, and went back inside his rooms, continuing straight through to the bedchamber. Griffen didn’t understand the weight of a title, the requisite care for family and lands and business. It pressed down on Bastien. But more shocking was that he’d forgotten it in the time he’d been with Corentin.
It was dangerous to set it all aside, and wrong. He couldn’t afford to forget about everything, but the feeling of freedom when he’d been with Corentin was seductive. He stripped out of his dressing gown and tossed it across the bench at the foot of the bed before climbing beneath the blankets. He picked up the book he’d left on the bedside table and opened it, but he didn’t really see the words on the page. His mind had already wandered back to the memory of kisses in the rain.
CORENTIN RESISTED THE urge to glance back at Bastien after leaving him. He wanted to, but he didn’t want Bastien to catch him at it. He relaxed a little once he turned a corner and let his long strides carry him back to the university, which wasn’t far. He flipped up his hood, though his hair was already damp, and hunched his shoulders against the suddenly raw air.
Had it been so chilly a few moments ago, or was he only now feeling it? He couldn’t deny being wrapped up in Bastien to the exclusion of all else. It had been a surprise…a lovely, pleasant surprise.
He wanted more.
More of the kisses, more than kisses, more time to linger and savor, more of everything w
ith Bastien. He’d almost asked Bastien if he could come in or if Bastien wanted to join him in his rooms. The impulse had been so very tempting since he hadn’t wanted the evening to end.
But as much as he wanted more, the evening had been rather perfect as it was. Their conversation flowed, smooth and easy, even if Corentin had to be careful not to give too much away about his home. Walking together, hands clasped and stopping often for kisses—when was the last time he’d done anything like it? And what did it matter? No other experience would be the same as this one, no other would feel the same.
He’d gotten himself into a mess, and so quickly too.
Corentin let himself into the rooming house and made for the stairs up to the third floor without encountering any of the other tenants. He’d stayed in the university guest house for a while when he arrived in Jumelle, but once he decided to stay more than a few weeks, rooms of his own seemed the best choice. He liked the university, and he wanted more information from Etan—he really hadn’t thought Etan knew anything about dragons and their Talents, but he’d wanted to make sure there was nothing for him to find. Of course, that decision had been made before Savarin found out about Corentin, and he wasn’t too certain of it anymore. But he didn’t see why he couldn’t stay and brazen it out, at least for a little while longer.
And, well, maybe everything would work out with Savarin knowing, but Corentin couldn’t help but be skeptical of that outcome. History had taught him to be wary.
He’d be lying if he said Bastien wasn’t suddenly a reason for him to prolong his stay in Jumelle. Which was absurd. A few kisses and conversation, in so short a time, shouldn’t have meant so much, but somehow they did. And Corentin very much wanted to explore it further.
He let himself into his rooms and, with only a thought, lit the candles on the small table and the mantle. Before he went any farther into the room, he took off his wet coat and hung it on a hook by the door. The candlelight illuminated the small space that served as both sitting and dining rooms. The little table, a couple of comfortable chairs, a sideboard, and a couch so small it barely deserved the name filled the cozy room.
The Dragon's Devotion (Chronicles of Tournai Book 5) Page 11