When Bastien took his leave of the four men, Corentin paid more attention. What was he doing? The idea of following him seemed wrong, but all he really wanted was to meet the man. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced away from Bastien to find one of the men he’d been speaking with watching him. He wanted to look away, but he didn’t want to seem guilty either. So he nodded to the young man and received a smile brimming with mischief in return.
Corentin let out a quiet laugh and turned in the direction Bastien had gone as soon as the young man went back to his companions. It took him a moment to find Bastien, but he finally saw him talking to Etan and his husband. Perfect.
He made his way over, walking directly now that he could easily say he was going to speak with the happy couple—which he was. It just wasn’t his only purpose.
Etan saw him and smiled as he walked up to the little group. Corentin knew Etan’s happiness was caused by the man whose hand he held, but it was still breathtaking to feel the joy radiating from him.
“Corentin! Thank you for coming today.”
Corentin thought he saw Bastien startle a little before he turned and stepped to the side, likely an automatic reaction to allow Corentin into their little group. He smiled at Etan and Tristan. “I’m honored to be invited. My felicitations on your marriage.”
“Thank you, Master Corentin,” Tristan said with a smile as bright as his husband’s. “We hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Very much, thank you.” He glanced at Bastien out of the corner of his eye.
“Corentin, have you met Philip’s cousin Bastien?” Etan asked.
“I haven’t had the pleasure.” He hoped the little glow of satisfaction that bloomed inside him at the prospect of the introduction didn’t show.
Etan made the introductions in the formal way, and Corentin and Bastien responded in kind, but when Corentin took his hand briefly in his own, it seemed that a spark flashed between them. Bastien shivered slightly and dropped Corentin’s hand. He wasn’t certain he could keep his face from showing his thoughts at that point, but he tried.
Bastien’s eyes widened briefly before he turned back to Etan and asked if they were taking a wedding trip. The four of them passed the next few moments in pleasant, if bland, conversation. Corentin couldn’t stop thinking about getting Bastien alone; he wanted to talk with him, to see if what he believed to be behind the veneer of formality was really there.
His opportunity arrived not too much later when some other guests came to speak to the newly married couple. They stepped away, allowing the new well-wishers closer, but before Bastien could take his leave, Corentin said, “Would you care to get a breath of air with me? It’s a bit close in here. We could walk for a while.”
He stared at him for a moment, just blinking. “You want to go for a walk?”
“Yes.” Why did surprising Bastien give him so much pleasure?
“It’s a bit chilly out for a turn in the garden.”
“We can walk inside. It’s a big palace, and I’ve seen little of it.” He watched Bastien closely as he spoke and thought he saw flickers of interest behind the confusion and reluctance. “I’m sure there’s some of it we’re allowed to walk through.”
“Well, yes, of course, but I really shouldn’t leave my brothers and sister.”
“They won’t be all right for a little while on their own?” He couldn’t imagine why Bastien would need to watch his siblings so closely. “What are they doing now?”
Bastien glanced around the room. “They’re dancing.”
Corentin followed the direction of his gaze and found them. The sister and youngest brother danced together, and the brother who looked just like Bastien danced with a dark-haired young woman. “Surely they won’t come to harm dancing. Unless they’re extremely clumsy?”
“What? They’re not—that isn’t what I meant.”
Yes, somehow his confusion was endearing. Perhaps because Corentin got the feeling no one confused him this way often enough. “What did you mean?”
“That I can’t just leave. It would be rude.”
“You’ve already spoken to the happy couple. It isn’t rude to slip out for a few moments. Just for a breath of air.” He put every ounce of persuasion he could muster into his smile. Certainly, if Bastien said no, he would accept it despite disappointment. But Corentin didn’t think he would refuse. “You can show me some of the palace.”
Bastien hesitated for another moment, but then a hint of something almost reckless flitted over his face. “All right. But only for a few moments.”
Corentin nodded and gestured for him to lead the way. They made their way through the guests and managed to leave the room without being hailed by anyone, not surprising in Corentin’s case, but he would have thought it more of a feat for an earl. Out in the corridor, Bastien nodded toward the right. Corentin made no argument, just walked at his side, adjusting his pace to match the slightly shorter man’s. His purpose in suggesting the walk had been to spend some time with Bastien, but he hadn’t lied when he said he’d seen little of the palace, and it turned out Bastien knew interesting stories.
He told tales about the history of the palace as they wound through dim, empty corridors, their footsteps echoing on the marble floors. His low voice wrapped around Corentin, who was pleased to see some of the tension leave his companion as they talked and strolled.
It was undeniably a beautiful, impressive building, but Corentin was far more interested in Bastien. In the way he spoke and walked, in the way he gestured when he forgot himself. In every fleeting expression that crossed his handsome face.
They wandered to a stop in a long gallery filled with art. Corentin had seen little of it with his attention so fixed on his companion, but he looked up when Bastien gestured at a particular painting. “This one is Lord Flavian’s. I saw it for the first time last week.”
Corentin had seen another painting by Flavian, a stunning depiction of Tournai’s cat legends and the dragon legends the artist had no idea were based in fact. So he knew the duke’s husband had talent; it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise that this painting was so beautiful. It was a depiction of cliffs and sea and sky, the colors so vivid they seemed to reach for him and pull him in, making him believe he could step into the scene.
“It’s breathtaking.”
“Yes. I thought so as well.”
He looked to Bastien and found him staring up at the painting, something in his face softened as if the mask of the earl had fallen away, giving a glimpse of Bastien the man. Corentin wanted more than a glimpse.
What was he doing? He shouldn’t be starting anything, but logic had little to do with any of this.
“Bastien.”
The word was little more than a whisper, but Bastien turned to him all the same, faint surprise coloring his features. He parted his lips, but whatever he was about to say was lost when Corentin bent and touched his mouth to his in a gentle kiss.
Gentle, yes, but no less stunning for all that.
Bastien made a small sound in his throat, and Corentin feared he might pull away, but he only stepped in closer, bringing one hand up to clutch the front of Corentin’s jacket. Corentin put his hands lightly on Bastien’s hips and continued the caress of his lips over Bastien’s, coaxing reactions out of him with delight, and drowning in the sensations himself. When was the last time he’d indulged in such slow, sumptuous kisses? He wanted them all the time now, but only with this man. He wanted more as well, so much more. Despite the fire building slowly inside him, he didn’t push for more because these kisses were perfect.
As much as he wanted the kisses to last forever, it couldn’t happen. They finally separated enough to breathe and stayed there for a moment, gazing at each other. Bastien’s eyes were dark with threads of amber twining through them, the light making them sparkle. After a moment, Bastien’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a breath.
“I should go back. I’ve been gone too
long. I’ve enjoyed our walk.” Bastien looked as if he wanted to say more—or perhaps as if he’d said too much—but he only turned, slipping from Corentin’s hands, and walked away. Leaving Corentin to watch him go, wondering what he was thinking.
And when he could see Bastien again.
Chapter Four
BASTIEN WAS SHOWN into Philip and Amory’s private study the morning two days after the wedding. He’d been tempted to come the day after, had wanted very much to come first thing that morning, but the wedding festivities had gone well into the night—or morning, depending on how one looked at it. The princes hadn’t stayed the whole time, and neither had Bastien, Mathis, or Ligeia—he wasn’t sure when Griffen had gotten home—but it seemed wrong to barge in on Philip and Amory after so late a night.
Or perhaps he was making excuses. As much as he wanted the truth, he shied away from having to actually tell Philip there might have been more to his parents’ death.
Not that waiting an extra day made it a better time for such news. There wasn’t any time that would be better. But he couldn’t justify keeping the knowledge from Philip any longer. He probably should have told him long ago; it was only Bastien’s hope that he could save Philip some pain—the shocked hurt Bastien felt—that had kept him from informing Philip immediately.
As he stepped into the room, he knew without a doubt he should have told Philip earlier. Bastien bowed as Philip’s secretary left the room and closed the door, leaving him alone with Philip and Amory. The study was cozy—unlike the princes’ formal offices which were decorated to be impressive—and a cheerful little fire crackled in the marble fireplace, dispelling the rawness of the rainy autumn day. Amory’s desk was empty; he sat beside Philip at Philip’s desk in a chair dragged over. Papers were spread out around them, but they both looked up when Bastien entered the room.
“Good morning, Bastien,” Philip said. “Come in. We were surprised when we received your note. I’d have thought you’d be on your way home already.”
Bastien straightened from his bow and accepted Amory’s invitation to sit, taking the chair across from Philip’s desk. “Good morning, Your Highnesses. Normally I would be, but I have…business here in Jumelle.”
“So formal?” Philip said, the look in his eyes somewhere between mildly surprised and resigned. “Does what you’re here to discuss warrant it?”
“I—possibly, Your Highness.” The chance that the previous prince had been assassinated? “Quite possibly.”
Amory’s brow furrowed and concern flooded his eyes. “Why don’t you tell us, Bastien? Unless this is something you would prefer to discuss with Philip alone?”
“No, Your Highness, please stay.”
Bastien knew well that the bond between Philip and Amory had them telling each other everything, and by now, it seemed Amory was as involved in the governing of Tournai as Philip was. And…he thought Philip might want Amory here. Bastien rather wished he’d had someone to share the burden with, to go to in his shock.
Amory subsided back into his chair. “Is everything all right, Bastien?”
“Not really, Your Highness.” He took a breath. It was more difficult to say the words than he’d thought it would be, as if saying them aloud would make it real. Which was absurd because he’d already accepted that his parents might have been murdered—or he thought he had. He forced himself to say the words steadily, to not allow his voice to shake or stutter. “I received a letter at Ardesia—an anonymous note—which said the accident that killed our parents wasn’t an accident.”
For long moments, the crackle of the fire and the tap of rain drops against the glass of the window were the only sounds in the room. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so blunt, but he hadn’t been able to find different words, not for all his thinking about what he would say.
“You’re saying you received a note telling you that someone murdered our parents. That the shipwreck wasn’t actually an accident,” Philip said slowly. Amory watched him even as Bastien did, but the prince’s expression betrayed not a bit of what he was feeling.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“An anonymous note. Addressed to you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have it?” Philip asked.
“Yes. I have it here.” Bastien pulled the scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it across the desk. Philip accepted the note and sat back to read it. Amory leaned in closer, settling a hand on Philip’s thigh, and read over his shoulder. It didn’t take them long; it wasn’t a long note. But still Philip stared at the paper in his hands.
“And you received this note when?” Philip asked finally.
Bastien tried not to wince. “Before we came to Jumelle.”
“You’ve been in Jumelle for quite a while, and you still didn’t tell us.” Philip’s voice was flat, not angry, not emotional at all. Amory’s hand remained on Philip’s leg.
“I didn’t, Your Highness. I apologize. I didn’t want to bother you with it until I determined if it might have merit. But my attempts at investigation have gone nowhere.” Bastien paused. “I should have brought it to you immediately.”
“Yes, you should have,” Philip said, the words sharp. He took a breath, and his voice evened out again. “Do you believe the allegation has merit?”
“I don’t know, but I won’t be able to rest easy until I’ve found out.” He met Philip’s eyes squarely, which wasn’t entirely what a person should do toward the crown prince, but they were cousins, and they were talking about the assassination of their parents. His heart squeezed at the thought. “If it could be true, if it’s possible, I need to know.”
“As do I.” Philip sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I want to know what you’ve done so far, but we need help, and there’s no sense in your telling it more than once.”
Amory rang for the secretary, and he appeared promptly. “How may I help you, Your Highnesses?”
“Donatien, I need you to ask Duke Cathal and Captain Loriot to join us. Also send for Lord Marcus. Ask that he come as soon as possible,” Philip said.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Donatien bowed himself out of the room and closed the door, leaving them in silence.
The quiet was brooding, oppressive. But what could Bastien say? He couldn’t pretend they weren’t waiting for others to arrive so they could discuss the possibility that their parents had been murdered and who might have done it. Bastien couldn’t sit there and ask after Philip and Amory’s son, Julien, or make conversation that would be inane in the face of what he’d brought to their door, so he said nothing. Amory held Philip’s hand, and Bastien stared out the window at the gray morning.
The knock at the door made Bastien jump. Amory called out, “Come in.”
Cathal stepped inside and sketched a bow. When he straightened, his already serious expression clouded further. “What’s wrong?”
Philip motioned for him to close the door. “We’re waiting for Loriot and Marcus.”
“Something is really wrong, then.”
Cathal did as he was bid before he crossed the room and leaned against Amory’s desk. Amory hadn’t moved from Philip’s side, and Bastien wouldn’t expect him to, even with the imminent arrival of people outside their inner circle. Returning to his own desk might have kept up proper appearances, but that wasn’t the most important thing at this point. Bastien rather wished he had someone by his side too. Corentin’s intense violet eyes flashed into his mind, the memory of their stunning kiss following behind. He put the memory aside; it was ridiculous anyway—he and Corentin had one stolen moment together, which wasn’t in any way comparable to what Philip had with Amory.
“Something might be badly wrong,” Philip said. “Or it might not be quite as bad but still wrong.”
“That is cryptic.”
“I know, Cathal. I’m sorry, but it’s best to wait until Loriot and Marcus here.” The weariness in Philip’s voice was unmistakable. And it seemed Philip was aware of it too because it was gone
in the next words he spoke. “Another few moments, and you’ll know everything we do.”
“Of course.”
Cathal subsided against the desk, and silence fell again. Bastien caught sight of a questioning glance Cathal sent Amory but couldn’t decipher what response Amory made in his returned look.
Another knock didn’t startle Bastien as badly. Captain Loriot entered at Amory’s call, followed by a man that Bastien didn’t know. He was probably around forty, tall and fit with a scatter of gray at his temples, the rest of his thick hair rich chestnut. His clothing was of a restrained style and dark blue, but of excellent cut and quality.
Both men bowed. Philip gestured them to chairs, but Loriot chose not to sit. The other man, who Bastien learned from Philip’s greeting was the Lord Marcus they’d been waiting for, took the chair next to Bastien.
“I apologize for the delay in my arrival, Your Highness,” Loriot said. “We were on our way to the guard barracks when your messenger caught up with us.”
Philip waved the apology away. “It’s fine. At least you were together. We’d have had to wait longer if Marcus had to come up from the city. My cousin Bastien has brought us something troubling. Bastien, will you tell them what you told me?”
Bastien tried to hide his surprise at the command. He’d assumed Philip would want to inform Cathal, the guard captain, and Marcus himself. Despite the surprise, he clearly repeated what he’d told Philip, a bit more coherently than before as well. When he finished, the room was silent again.
The silence was beginning to get to him.
But he wasn’t going to let anyone else in the room see that.
“Do you have the note, Your Highness? May I see it?” Loriot asked finally and then accepted the paper that Philip passed across the desk to him. After Loriot read it, scrutinizing it far longer than necessary to read so few words, he handed it to Marcus who did the same. He even flipped it over and studied the blank back of the page.
The Dragon's Devotion (Chronicles of Tournai Book 5) Page 6
