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Sig and Corin were friends, and Corin wouldn’t give any really indecent or dishonorable man that title. Sig wasn’t bad looking at all, though no one compared to Corin. If Aster had to be with him—and no, he couldn’t even think about it after all. With any luck, Sig might not even want Aster in his bed. Perhaps they could be married and then ignore one another. If Aster waited for someone equally likely to come along, he could be waiting for a long time, far longer than he had to spare.

He lifted his chin and found the courage to look Corin in the eyes. “Maybe he won’t, but that’ll be something we’ll need to discuss,” he said, voice only wavering a little bit. “Because I think I ought to follow him down the mountain and tell him I’ve changed my mind.”

“The hell you will!” Corin took a prowling step forward, then another, fists clenched. Aster knew those fists would never be used against him, but it took everything he had in him to stand his ground, and even more not to fling himself into Corin’s arms and scream. “Fuck,” Corin muttered, closing his eyes, shaking his head, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out as a gust of smoke. “Fuck. Aster. Listen to me. Not Sig. Someone better will—”

“No, someone bloody well won’t,” Aster snapped, at the limit of his patience. His heart was breaking, shattering into tiny shards with every word they spoke. He had to get this over with. He wouldn’t have the strength to argue against what he wanted for long. “It should be him. You know him. Tell me he won’t hurt me, that he won’t treat me badly, and that’s all I need to know. I have to go, Corin,” and his voice cracked on the name. “You know I have to go.”

Corin blinked, his inner eyelids taking a moment to slide out of sight. When he opened his fists, his palms gleamed with—blood. Fuck, those were drops of blood ticking against the flagstones, and claws flashed at the tips of his fingers before they retracted and disappeared.

“That’s really what you want?” Corin said, voice thick. “You want to go with him. Marry him.”

No, of course not, and if Corin could ask him that, if he could even imagine that, then he couldn’t care that much about Aster after all. If he did, he’d know better. “I’m out of time,” Aster said. “I’ve been—delaying. But Sig’s better than the others who’ve come so far. I need to go,” he repeated, praying that if he held to that he’d go through with it.

“Go, then. Follow Sig to the village and fucking go. I need to—I’m not in control, Aster, I have to fly, and if you’re going, then it needs to be now.”

The air around Corin seemed to vibrate with his pent-up force, his voice dipping lower, his body almost entirely covered in scales. Terror and exhilaration warred inside Aster, nearly tearing him apart, a wild urge to change his mind and beg Corin to stay, to see what would happen. But Corin looked like he was in pain, barely poised between dragon and human. It would be cruel to drag this out.

“Goodbye,” he choked out, nearly doubling over with the agony of it.

Corin stared at him for an endless moment, smoke trailing from his nose and mouth, fists clenching again. And then he turned and practically ran out the door to the courtyard.

Aster raced after him. This would almost certainly be the last time he ever saw Corin. One more glimpse of his face, of his eyes. God, he couldn’t breathe, and his vision had gone so blurry he wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway—

He caught himself against the doorframe just in time to see Corin standing in the middle of the courtyard for an instant, still mostly human. And then wings sprouted from his shoulders faster than the eye could follow, his body lengthening and broadening and gleaming dark green, and an armored tail suddenly stretching across the courtyard—God, he was adragon, rightthere, big enough to almost fill the fucking courtyard that suddenly looked so small. That dragon had kissed him and fucked him and laughed with him and given him a fencing lesson, and he was Corin, and Aster loved him more than he could contain.

As Aster gaped at him, heart pounding and with a twisted knot of arousal and grief and longing in his belly, Corin-the-dragon launched himself into the air with seeming effortlessness despite his huge bulk, massive legs bunching and then all of him going straight up. The first flap of his wings nearly blew Aster off his feet. He caught himself on the wall with one hand, shading his eyes with the other so as to keep Corin in sight for as long as possible.

But he flew so very fast, like an arrow, becoming an eye-wateringly faint speck against the deep blue sky within seconds. And then he was gone. Aster walked out into the middle of the courtyard and tried for a better view, but Corin had truly disappeared.

Corin had flown down to the village twice while Aster had been here. Aster had been asleep both times, though.

Actually watching him fly away and leave him…even on the road here, cold and hungry and panicked, he hadn’t had this sense of absolute loss. Loneliness wrapped around him and crushed his ribs. He gazed up at the endless blue until his eyes burned, leaving him dizzy and blinking away bright shadows, struggling to get a full breath.

Corin had gone. When he returned, Aster would be gone. Would he miss him? Would he worry about Aster’s future, his safety? Or simply pour himself a glass of brandy and sit by the fire, shaking his head over the whole affair?

Aster would never know. He’d be on the road, soon to be jeered at and mocked by the whole court, dependent on Sig’s goodwill.

At least he’d be able to have his mother’s arms around him again, and with his head on her shoulder he could sob out his misery in private once he’d run the gauntlet of the court.

He’d never see Corin again.

He ached, in his head and his bones and his heart and soul. His feet felt like leaden lumps at the ends of his legs.

But he moved, one in front of the other, and went to pack his things, harness Etallon, and go.

ChapterTwenty-One

Corin launched into theairand circled high, high above, far out of range of a human’s eyesight.

Leaving him.

Aster was leaving him, now, packing his things and saddling his horse, riding away forever, and the pressure built and built…he let out a ferocious spout of flame, trying to drain the heat inside him, but it hardly made a dent.

Sig couldn’t marry Aster, claim him,takehim.

And yet someone had to, and Sig would be better than most. Aster had wanted reassurance that Sig wouldn’t hurt him; Corin could’ve given it freely if he’d been in his right mind, rather than enveloped in a pounding haze of furious red. Sig might be a hard-drinking scoundrel who’d risk his own ass on a throw of the dice, but he’d never risk anyone else’s. Aster would be safe with him, and if he said no, Sig would shrug and find his amusement elsewhere.

Aster might not want to say no. If Corin pleased him, Sig might too. They were somewhat of a type: big, broad-shouldered men of the sword, dark haired and rough.