“Well, I like that!” Bram said indignantly. “What crawled up your arse and died?”
This time, both Corin and Laen stopped dead in their tracks and looked at him as Claudette burst out laughing. Corin raised an eyebrow.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked with amusement and no little shock, as it had come from Bram. “But what did you just say?”
Bram grinned. “Ameena said it to me the other day. I thought it rather colourful, if extremely unladylike.”
“I like her,” Laen said, nodding, his expression thoughtful. “You, not so much.”
“You are really very unkind to me,” Bram said with a sad shake of his head.
They reached Océane’s room without further incident, though Corin could see that Bram was plotting some revenge that would likely annoy the hell out of Laen. He smiled inwardly; the thought that his father might not be around for much longer lay upon his heart like a heavy weight, but it was lightened a little by this, by the familiar banter, by too many shared stories and misadventures to count. These two would always be around when he needed them, just as they would for each other, despite their constant need to aggravate one another. It was just how things were, how they had always been, and that was reassuring.
“Well about time!” Océane snapped, sitting up in the large bed and looking extremely vexed. “Merde! You said you were just popping back to ask him to come visit me and you’ve been gone for hours!” Corin hesitated by the door, concerned to see Océane looking so tired and pale. Perhaps he ought not to have come, despite her wanting to see him.
“I’m sorry, Océane,” Laen apologised, rushing towards his wife and kissing her cheek. “It took longer than I expected. The king ... I mean, his father, Edard was unwell, Corin needed to visit him first,” he explained.
Corin suppressed a jolt as he realised that his father was no longer the king, he was. It was going to take a while to sink in.
“Oh!” Océane said, her face crumpling all at once. “Oh, Corin, I’m so sorry … oh … I’m such a bitch.” Her lip wobbled and Laen rushed forward to take her hand.
“Don’t be foolish,” Laen replied, his voice full of warmth as he sat on the bed beside her. “You’ve had a very stressful day and you’re worn out. We all understand.”
She gave him a tremulous smile and Corin chuckled at the dewy-eyed look on his friend’s face as he looked at his wife with adoration. “Thank you, Laen,” she said, sniffing. “I know I’m horrible to live with at the moment.”
He kissed her hand gently. “Never,” he said. “How can you think such a thing?” Océane sniffed and wiped her eyes, and then looked up to see Bram waiting to speak with her.
“Bram!” she exclaimed, delighted, brightening visibly at the sight of him. “How lovely to see you.” She held out her hands to him and he came forward, sending a victorious grin to Laen as he was forced to get out of the way so that Bram could kiss his wife.
“Océane, I swear you get more beautiful every time I see you,” he said, his eyes shining with sincerity. He held her hand and kissed it in a very courtly manner as Océane blushed with pleasure. Laen stepped forwards and loomed over him.
“That is quite enough.” Laen glowered at Bram, but before Océane could protest his jealousy, she caught sight of Corin for the first time. He had hung back, not wanting to be the centre of attention, but now Océane stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment.
“Corin?” she exclaimed as he came fully into view for the first time. He moved towards her, standing beside the bed as she caught her breath, staring at him in shock, her hand covering her heart as she sat up straighter. “My God, Corin, you really are the Bright King!”
Panic struck Corin’s heart as the words took him by surprise and flung him back to his confrontation with Nerthus. He reacted before his brain could catch up. “Don’t,” he shouted, his heart thudding in his chest so hard he felt sick with it. “Don’t ever call me that!” he shouted as Océane gasped in shock.
Laen surged to his feet, glaring at him as Corin clutched at the bedpost, the shock of his own reaction sinking in with horror. “Océane ...” he said, his voice low. “Please … I am so sorry. Forgive me, I beg you. I apologise most sincerely.”
“I’m sorry, Corin,” Océane said in a small voice as Laen continued to glower. “What did I say?”
Corin shook his head and knelt beside the bed, taking her hand with a smile. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I beg your pardon. I should never have reacted so.” He tried to smile, to make light of it, but Nerthus was laughing at his audacity for denying the truth, for pretending he could change the future. Damn her, he would do it, though. He had to.
“What is the problem?” Laen asked him, looking at him with concern now. “I’ve heard other people call you that, because of the way you …” He waved his hand at the magic that still surrounded Corin, lighting him up. “It’s just an old story,” he said, frowning.
Corin nodded, though he didn’t answer the question as a thought had just occurred to him. He looked at Océane with curiosity, wondering how on earth she could know it. “It is indeed. A very old Fae story. Tell me, Océane, where did you hear it?”
Océane frowned, plucking at the bed covers and looking suddenly cagey. “It was when I was very small, at the orphanage,” she said. Corin watched with interest as her frown deepened, as though she was struggling to remember. “A man used to come sometimes, a doctor, I think?” she said before looking up as her face cleared, and she smiled at Corin. “He used to tell us the most wonderful stories. He told me the story of the Bright King or …” She frowned again, rubbing at her temples as though she had a headache. “At least I think he did.” She looked up in surprise. “Do you know I had forgotten all about him, isn’t that strange?”
“Indeed?” Corin said with a frown, thinking it sounded very much like someone had used magic to suppress her memories. “Please, would you try and remember some more? What was his name? Do you remember anything else? Anything at all?”
They all watched her as she struggled to find the memories of her childhood. “I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to forget my childhood,” she admitted, reaching to take Laen’s hand. He had moved to sit on the other side of the bed beside her, his eyes showing all of the concern that Corin felt. “No, I don’t remember his name, only an impression of him. He was very kind,” she said, looking up with a smile. “I liked him very much.” She paused and Corin watched with alarm as the colour drained from her face in a rush. “Oh,” she gasped, reaching out and clasping Corin’s hand now. “It was him,” she exclaimed, fear in her eyes as she clutched at his hand. “I remember now. It was him who told me the story.”
“The story of The Bright King?” Laen asked, clearly concerned by her distress as she became ever more agitated.
“Yes,” she said, nodding at him but looking impatient as she turned back to Corin, the fear in her eyes making his own heart thud. “But not just that story.” She swallowed, holding Corin’s hand so tightly he wondered what on earth she would say next. “The Dark Prince,” she whispered, her voice full of wonder and apprehension. “He told me the story of the Dark Prince.”
Chapter 33
They had all been somewhat shaken by the revelation, but none more so than Océane herself. Corin had used his magic to help her to sleep, as her distress was disturbing the baby. Laen was sitting with her now, but he had asked Corin to wait for him in the adjoining room. He wanted to speak with him once he was sure Océane was settled.
Corin did as he was bid, and he and Claudette adjourned to the connecting room of the apartment. He watched Claudette carefully; she was staring out of the window, lost in thought, and he had a fair idea what she was thinking about. She looked pale and tired, and he hated himself for what he had put her through these past days.
“Ma belle?” He took her hand, fighting hard to keep his magic under control, and she looked up and smiled at him but he felt it didn’t reach her eyes. “Are
you quite well?”
She squeezed his hand and then let go of it, turning back to the window. “I’m fine, a little tired, that’s all.”
He felt his heart sink, knowing she wasn’t telling him the truth.
Corin stepped a little closer, his voice soft. “I would tell you anything you wish to know, Claudette. I want no secrets between us.”
She laughed, but there was a bitterness to it that he felt keenly. “But that’s the problem, Corin, I don’t want to know.” She looked up at him and there was such vulnerability in her eyes that he felt his heart ache. “I see them look at you, the way their eyes follow you, and I wonder how many of them have shared your bed. I think I can usually tell. There is smugness to their expressions that is very clear. I try not to see it because it doesn’t help. Wondering if they have or … knowing if they have.” She turned away from him, her arms wrapped around herself tighter still. “The witch looked smug as all hell, I wanted to slap her face so badly.” He watched as she stood a little taller, putting her chin up. “I didn’t, though. Not because she scares me, though she does,” she admitted, with a huff of frustration. “I didn’t because I am to be the queen, and I will play the game better than any of them.” She turned back to him, her beautiful eyes full of fear and fierce with determination. “I won’t let them take you from me,” she said, those eyes glittering now as her voice trembled. “Not without a fight, at least.”
“Ma belle!” Corin pulled her into his arms and felt his magic begin to coil around them. “You surely cannot believe I want anything to do with her?” he demanded, hurt that she could think such a thing of him.
She shook her head, though she didn’t look any happier for believing him. “No. I don’t think that,” she said, sounding resigned to what she clearly thought must be inevitable. “But maybe one day, there will be someone, someone who will tempt you away from me.”
“No!” he said, his anger making magic spark, crackling across his skin to hers as his emotions rose past his control. “There will be no other,” he said, holding her face within his hands and holding her gaze, praying she could see the truth in his eyes.
She hauled in a breath, swallowing as a tear overspilled and ran down her cheek. Corin grasped her chin, never looking away from her. “I want no one else. Do you hear me?” he said, hearing anger and frustration behind the words. He knew it was his own fault, his past was such that it was inevitable she would struggle to trust him, to believe in him. He would have to earn it, he knew that, but still it stung. “I want you. Only you, and I would kill anyone who tries to come between us.” Possession burned in his chest as he felt the need to illustrate the truth of his words. “I do not say that lightly, ma belle,” he warned her, his tone darker now. “I am not the only one who will face temptation here, you see. There are many pretty faces and artful tongues that will try and beguile you in my absence, so have a care who you befriend. You are a powerful woman now, and there will be those who will try to use you, who would try and come between us.”
She smiled at him, serene now in the face of his own jealousy. “Alors,” she said, her voice warm and soothing now. “Then they will find their efforts go unrewarded, for even a blind man could see I have eyes for no one but you.” Corin sighed and held her close.
“Are you cross with me?” he asked. Claudette laughed and shook her head.
“I was never cross with you, mon loup, only afraid of the future.”
“And now?” he asked, tightening his hold on her. “Are you still afraid?”
She smiled at him. “Yes, a little,” she admitted. “But if you tell me how much you love me, I might be able to get over it.”
He frowned at her. “Did I not just do that? How very remiss of me.” He traced the curve of her bottom lip with his finger tip, smiling as she shivered under his touch. “I would prefer to illustrate my feelings,” he whispered, giving a heavy sigh. “But you have no idea how hard it is for me not to take you right here and now, as it is.” He glanced at the door to Océane’s bedroom with frustration as he fought to keep his magic in check. “I do believe Laen would be a little put out, in the circumstances.”
She chuckled and leaned into him, brushing her lips against his and earning a deep sigh of longing in return. “I doubt it is the first time he has walked in on you,” she teased him.
He chuckled, stroking the line of her jaw. “That may be, but for the record … I love you, ma belle, with all of my heart and soul. You need never doubt it, but I promise to remind you very frequently.”
“That’s all I need, Corin, nothing else,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder and smoothing one hand over his chest. He closed his eyes, wishing they could just go to their room, but he could not leave Laen. He had seen the shock in his eyes, had felt the echo of it in his own. Who could have told Océane such stories and why? To what end? He was distracted by the feel of Claudette’s fingers slipping under the fine material of his shirt. He had dispensed with the cloak and all his finery the moment he was able, and now he shivered as her cool fingers traced over his chest. His skin felt hot, stretched too tight, and he allowed himself a moment to enjoy her touch as the magic began to rise between them despite his best efforts, already close to being beyond his control.
“You play a dangerous game, ma belle,” he murmured, keeping his breathing even and reminding himself that he had to wait.
Her breathing came fast against his neck as she replied. “You must know by now that I like to play with fire.”
The sound of a door opening made them pause, and they looked to see Laen walk in. Corin sighed. “Later,” he promised, brushing her lips with his own, and with a great effort of will, he stepped away from her.
“I am sorry to interrupt,” Laen said with a wry smile which could not hide his concern.
Corin shook his head, aware that his friend was desperate to speak with him. “Océane is asleep?”
“Yes, thank you for that.” Laen crossed the room to an elaborate, gilded cabinet, and poured himself a large drink from an overly ornate crystal decanter. Once again, Corin was struck with the longing to return to his own home; he was tired of gold and the tasteless opulence that screamed at him from every corner. Laen moved to put the stopper back in the decanter and then hesitated, looking at Corin.
“It’s alright,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want one.” Strangely, he found he meant it. He was having enough trouble contending with the excess of his powers without allowing his control to slip further. He dreaded to think what might happen.
“I’ll have one,” Claudette said, looking a little flushed and flustered as Corin hid a smile.
Laen poured another, though, to Corin’s relief, of a rather less powerful liquor than the two of them would have chosen. He crossed the room and handed it to her before returning his gaze to Corin, his eyes full of anxiety. “Do you have any idea who it could have been?” he asked, his voice low and so obviously disturbed by the revelation. “Who would tell her such stories, and why?” He paused, downing his drink in one large swallow before raising his eyes to Corin again. “What does it mean?” he demanded.
“I have no idea,” Corin admitted, reluctant to admit he was disturbed by her explanation, too. Laen did not know about the second copy of the book, after all. The story that told of a king with golden eyes, the king who burned. He shuddered, wondering what the rest of the book had said, and prayed Océane never remembered. He had told her to get rid of it. He prayed she had done as he’d asked. Corin looked up, frowning as he watched Claudette put a hand to her head as though she was in pain.
She looked up at him and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said, smiling at him with chagrin. “Would you both excuse me, I don’t feel very well. I don’t think that drink was such a good idea.” She got to her feet and Corin moved towards her.
“Let me help you,” he said, reaching out a hand to touch her.
She shook her head with a laugh. “There’s no need. My own fault,
I just need some rest, the last couple of days have been rather exhausting.” She kissed him, giving him a flirtatious look as magic immediately sparked between them. “I’ll see you soon,” she whispered.
Corin sighed with regret as she left, wishing he was going with her. The day seemed never ending.
“I’m sorry,” Laen said, his voice low. “I know you want to go with her.”
Corin smiled at him. “I do, of course, but I can hold out a little longer. Only for you, mind,” he added as he sat down again.
Laen grunted. “Believe me, I appreciate the sacrifice.” He raked his hand through his long blond hair and perched on the arm of a chair that creaked with alarm as it felt his weight settle on it. “The truth is ...” He hesitated and looked at Corin, who just shook his head with amusement.
“She loves you, you fool,” he said, understanding well enough what was playing on Laen’s mind. “No matter the circumstances of your meeting. If it was preordained by a man or by the gods, what does it matter? Does it change anything?”
He watched as Laen frowned for a moment and then shook his head. “No. No, of course not, you’re right, I’m being foolish.” His frown deepened, though, and there was fear in his eyes when he spoke again. “Do you think the gods had a hand in it, though?”
Corin shrugged and began to wish he had accepted the drink after all. “I don’t know,” he admitted, wishing he could stay as far away from the gods as possible. “But if they were, at least you had a happy outcome.” He looked away, his eyes downcast as memories of how the gods had toyed with him before rose in his chest, making his heart ache. “We are not always so fortunate,” he added, his voice low and full of regret. The son they had once tempted him with had been a lie, a way to make him dance to their tune. Discovering the truth of it hadn’t made the loss of the child any less, though. It had still felt like a bereavement. He got to his feet and moved to look out of the window. It was dark now, but the castle looked down upon the city below, and the lights of every dwelling were lit, bonfires burning out in the fields and the street lamps illuminating a city full of revellers as the people celebrated.
The Darkest Night Page 40