He spiraled up and up, beating his wings hard against the thinning air, gaining another thousand feet, pushing his body until even his dragon lungs labored and rasped. He twirled to his back to stare up at the sky, which had deepened from blue to navy at this altitude, with stars peeping through the nothingness. Diamonds scattered on plush velvet, cold and loveless.
It didn’t help, it didn’t help one fucking bit, and he spun down and plummeted, wings folded, scales heating from his speed, pulling himself out of the dive and swooping back up at last with another gout of flame and a flick of his tail.
Sig couldn’t bloody well dothat, now, could he? Of course, that might be a point in his favor. Fucking damn it.
Corin glided down just low enough to be out of human sight but to keep a clear view of the path from his tower to the village. Watching Aster ride away might make him sick, but he had to; someone else might be coming up the mountain to issue a challenge, and Corin had to make sure Aster made it safely to the village and found Sig first. Because that was what Aster wanted.
He wanted that. Not Corin.
Of course he valued his family’s well-being over Corin, but…
Fuck.
Corin took another circle. No one coming up for now…but there. There, one rider making his way down. Even if Corin’s vision hadn’t been able to pick out the finer details, to see the red-gold glint of the sun on Aster’s shining hair, Corin would’ve known him by that little hitch in his breath when Aster came into view.
As he watched, Aster turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Etallon faltered as if his rider had pulled the reins too tight.
And then Aster tipped his head back and looked up. Right at Corin, it felt like, although he knew he couldn’t possibly be seen against the glare of the sky. What would happen if he swooped down and transformed, tugged Aster off his horse and into his arms? Kissed him senseless. Threw him over his shoulder and carried him right back up the mountain?
Or skipped a step and scooped him up in his claws and took him far over the mountains and to another kingdom after all, somewhere they could live anonymously, without a single Cezanne or knight-adventurer or king or duke to trouble them.
Aster turned his attention back to the path and nudged Etallon into a trot. He didn’t look back again.
Corin flew over Aster until he reached the bottom of the path, taking one lower circle as they both approached the village. In front of the inn, he spotted a familiar figure sprawled on a bench, dark head tipped back against the wall and booted feet propped in front of him. Another circle, and Aster had ridden into the inn yard, dismounting and tossing his reins to a lad who ran out from the stable. Two men at the side of the yard set down whatever they were holding—tankards of ale, perhaps. They stepped forward, gesturing, and Corin didn’t need to hear anything to know they were saying something like,That’s him, that’s Lord Aster.
All of Corin’s muscles went tense, from his snout to the tip of his tail, and he flexed his claws and poised himself to shoot down to the ground like a thunderbolt.
But Sig had gotten to his feet and crossed the yard, placing himself—too fucking close, that was where. Right where Corin ought to be fucking standing, between Aster and anything bothering him.
There were more gestures, a few hands on sword hilts, a very clear pantomime from Sig ofHe’s mine, boys, back the fuck off or you’ll regret it.
Corin’s line in the play. Except that he’d walked off stage and left the role to his fucking understudy.
Aster stood still in the midst of it. Even at this distance Corin could see the slight hunch to his shoulders.
His unhappiness.
Fucking bloody fuck, but Corin needed to…
Except that he didn’t, because the two assholes sullenly backed off, and Aster and Sig spoke for a moment and then turned, together, and walked into the inn. Corin stared down until he almost saw double from the strain.
Aster didn’t look up and he didn’t look back. One last gleam of sunlight on his hair, and he was gone.
“We’ll travel by sea,” Sigsaid as he poured more ale. “Much faster that way, and we won’t run into anyone who wants to kill me and claim the reward for himself.”
He reminded Aster of Corin, a little. The same total confidence in his own judgment, the same broad shoulders and loose-limbed stride, the same easy, natural way of handling weapons and armor. A soldier, in short, and an intelligent and skilled one, even if Sig’s manners could be rough.
But no one else in the world, no matter how tall and handsome and brave and strong he appeared to everyone else, could possibly live up to Corin’s…everything. Sig was a pale shadow of the man Aster loved.
Not to mention that Sig referred to Aster and his marriage portion so casually and collectively as “the reward.” Aster meant nothing to him as a person, something that Sig’s total lack of malice or cruelty didn’t cover in the slightest.
Aster nodded, toying with his own cup, not even bothering to correct Sig’s dismissive language or to look up from the scarred surface of the taproom table. He wished the herald had stayed downstairs to keep the conversation going. But when Sig had asked him for his congratulations the fellow had sniffed haughtily, glared, and muttered something about going to pack his things. Aster still didn’t know his name.
Not that he cared.
Sig laughed, said something that sounded vaguely friendly and encouraging, possibly even sympathetic. Aster didn’t really pay attention, but he did attempt a smile. After all, he’d be marrying this man.
But that felt so distant, so hazy. Everything did: the taste of the ale, the chaotic noise of the taproom, people coming and going, the chair beneath him, the future, as if every one of his senses had gone simultaneously numb. He’d never have imagined that his vision and hearing and intellect were things capable of being numb…and yet.
