6. IN WHICH ASTERION IS NERVOUS, FRIENDS ARE INDISPENSABLE AND CORA IS RESPLENDENT

Chapter six

T he next day was so busy that Asterion shouldn’t have had time to think about Cora. The problem was, he’d done nothing but think about her for months. Hell, the only way he’d been able to motivate himself to do all the crazy holiday shenanigans was to think about how happy they’d make her. And after seeing her the night before? His mind was abuzz with the possibilities of her. He’d surprised her, he knew it, and it had all been worth it.

Standing in the grand ballroom though, twisting his hands, he began to get nervous. What if she hated the dress? What if she realized how little he actually knew about her? What if the crowd was too much and she saw his urging to attend as a failure to understand what she would want. He knew that she’d not be excited about the crowd, but he’d hoped… well, that somehow she’d understand how much it meant to him. Somehow… without him actually telling her that.

Running a hand through his hair, he turned in a circle. Gods, he was so stupid. Of course she had no idea, he’d been so stunned by their kiss that he had barely remembered to ask her, let alone give her the dress he’d had specially made. His parents had been thrilled about his interest when he’d written, and his father had responded with a four page letter on proper courting. Obviously not all of the tactics would work with Cora, he couldn’t kidnap and lock her in a maze of his making, in order to show her his prowess, but some had seemed worthy. Now, though? Standing in a crowded room, sweating through his one shouldered chiton? He was convinced he’d mucked things up somehow.

As ridiculous as it seemed, the fabrics he’d used were white, forest green and gold, specially chosen to suit the season, but also to best highlight Cora’s beauty. He’d worried that the ball would be a step too far, but he wanted a partner, someone who would take his own work into account. He’d placed the circular tables around the edges of the room where the lights were lower in case she needed a quiet place to sit. His head whipped around the large building, ensuring that the crystals were all set to the correct hue and light levels, that none of the swags of fabric had fallen, and that none of the fresh flowers had wilted in the last five minutes.

He staggered when a large hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Nervous, ‘Sterion?” Torsten was a large orc man, dressed in traditional orcish clothing, including a flat hat, known elsewhere as a beret, but he was certain they had their own name for it. 1

Asterion coughed after the slap had knocked a bit of air from his lungs. “A bit,” he admitted.

“Aw, leave him alone, Tor. It’s normal, especially when the girl said she’d not be coming,” Torsten’s small wife, Catrin, chided him. The couple had had him over to dinner several times and, after finding out about his feelings for Cora, had been a great help in locating her presents. Around their feet, their two eldest children jumped up and down to get his attention.

“Asterion, look, Halsten and I match and Tilly–” Ursule, their daughter, looked around for someone.

“Their cousin is in town, and she’s very excited,” Catrin whispered. “Tilly is at home with the sitter tonight, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“Ah, well, you both look very smart!” And they did. The girl wore a long red skirt, in the orcish fashion, with thick black bands at the bottom, and her brother was a color coordinating version of their father. “No little one today, then?”

“Bjorn is much too young for a ball,” the boy, Halsten explained. “Suley and I are mature, but he would just make a scene.”

“I still made them outfits though!” Ursule piped back up, spirits apparently lifted. “They looked sooooo cute!”

A large man, who shared some features–other than the white hair and pale skin–with Catrin, walked up with a shorter woman on his arm. She wore a long, flowing dress that had large, puffy sleeves in a bright peach that offset her warm skin and deep brown hair.

“I believe you’ve exchanged letters with my sister-in-law, Sirin?” Catrin said, with a hand toward the woman.

Asterion started, instantly excited. “Oh yes, Sirin, it is so lovely to meet you! Thank you so much for all your help!” He grasped her hand, shaking it up and down.

“Of course! I am always happy to help please another scholar! Did she like them? Will we get to meet her?”

“I think she did… she seemed to at least, though I’m unsure if she’ll be able to come tonight. I think the crowd might be–”

Young Ursule’s exaggerated gasp interrupted him and they all turned to follow her gaze.

There, descending the stairs, was the woman of his dreams. Cora took the stairs slowly, her face apprehensive as she scanned the crowd. The gold pearls of her gown sparkled in the light, and Asterion’s breath caught at the sight of her. He’d spent a good deal of time negotiating with her modiste on just the right style, and looking at her, she was every inch a goddess descending to earth. She’d done her hair up in twists with delicate combs and something that caught the light of the ballroom.

When her gaze swept to him, and then she smiled? Asterion’s breath was stolen and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. She was a vision. A vision that was apparently happy to see him. As if feeling the many eyes she’d drawn, Cora hurried down the steps. She scurried over to him, eyes frantic though she smiled and nodded her head, avoiding conversation until she grasped his arm.

Her heart beat was a tattoo against his arm, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen as lovely a look on anyone’s face as the relief that washed over hers as she grasped him. With her other hand, she pressed her hand to her cheek, which had flushed a becoming shade of pink.

There was some primal thing inside him which seeing her in clothing he’d given her satisfied. The deep red, he was pleased to see, offset the veining in her skin so that the gold shone. The golden pearls in intricate patterns of embroidery, recalled the complex natural geometries of the shells she so loved. The upper edge of the dress mimicked a seashell, scalloped along the tops of her breasts with tucks of folds that gathered to a point at her waist .

“Oh Cora!” little Ursule exclaimed. “I wanted you to see my dress, but look at yours! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful!”

“Nor have I,” Asterion said, looking down at the woman who had stolen his heart.

“I have! Just look at this cavern, Asterion, it’s —well, just gorgeous!” Cora blinked, sputtering as if perhaps overwhelmed, but Cat and Torstens saved him, making introductions to their family. Cora nodded and said her hellos, all the while clinging to his arm like a lifeline. She had pretty manners, his mate, and as he scanned the room, he noticed a good many people admiring her.

Mate . He’d not yet allowed himself to think of her that way, not until he’d affixed his ring around her middle.

The thought of it, dangling between her legs, between stockinged thighs that he had wrapped in the softest gossamer silk. His mouth watered at the thought, of her wrapping those stocking clad thighs around his head, of peeling them off her to reveal her smooth, cool calves and ankles. It was no wonder her skin reflected the marble from which she'd been formed, she was as perfect as a statue. A testament, a celebration of virility and grace.

The warmth of Cora’s hand left his arm and she drifted toward Sirin, hands waving as the other woman nodded. 2 Berne, Sirin’s partner, caught his eye and winked. “Birds of a feather, ey?”

“I suppose so, yes,” Asterion was enraptured, as he always was, when she grew excited. Her face lit up and her lips moved as if she could hardly contain them. They migrated to the side of the room when the dancing began, and Berne and Asterion took turns fetching their ladies’ drinks, but it seemed they were content to talk about their passions for the whole night. Asterion would have felt neglected, if it weren’t for the many small touches that Cora made, as if attempting to reassure herself he was still there. They were subtle things, a hand on his arm, leaning back into his chest, but each one sent a message. I am comfortable because you are here , they said. After a good six dances or so, Asterion decided it was his time. Berne nodded over his wife’s shoulder as Asterion tapped on Cora’s.

“Hmm?” she asked, immediately turning to him as if part of her attention had been focused on him the entire time.

“I wonder, might I have this dance?”

Cora shivered and nodded. It was a waltz, so it was one of the easier dances, and Asterion was certain that even if she didn’t know it, he could simply lift her up and no one would need know.

Asterion wrapped his arms around Cora, and his heart warmed at the way she leaned into him, like she was deriving strength from his presence. Her hands shook, nonetheless, her eyes frantically darting around the room.

“Eyes here, sugar plum,” he said, tipping her chin up to him. “Ignore everyone else. It’s just you and me here. None of them matter. This moment is for us.”

The music started up, the strings of the orchestra filling the room and buoying Asterion along. Cora seemed flustered as she followed–maybe she really didn’t have much dance experience–but he was able to get them started on the right foot regardless.

Her eyes never left him, and in moments, the world had shrunk for him, too. The crowd was nothing but a blur behind her as they twirled across the floor. The lighting, which he’d spent hours choosing and getting just so, no longer mattered except how it caught on the gold of her hair and the pearls on her dress.

1. Orcs call these hats txapelle, which can be difficult for outsiders to say, but the cap is extremely meaningful to them. As best we can tell, it is an element of Orcish culture unsullied by Pathian influence, and as such, became a symbol of their fight for freedom that they could wear even under the Empire’s noses.

2. At times, it is odd to write about oneself as if from an outsider’s perspective, but I have also found, in my years of doing so, that it can be incredibly enlightening. Had I never written these books, for example, I might never know how meaningful our conversation was to Cora.