9:24 Dragon, Autumn
The invitation came as promised, but not the next day. In Corbinian-time, tomorrow meant next week. Truthfully, she hadn't expected him to fawn over her; it just wasn't like him. In fact, if he had started fawning over her, she would have suspected something truly was off, like he was possessed or maybe hypnotized.
After dinner, as usual, she was gathered with her parents in the study, a book firmly planted in her hands, her mother sitting at her writing desk and her father wandering the length of the room, removing a book, reading a page, turning the page, putting the book back, ad infinitum. Tonight's book was The History of the Chantry, Chapter 1.
In those days, even after the devastation of the first Blight, the Imperium stretched across the known world. Fringed with barbarian tribes, the Imperium was well prepared for invasions and attacks from without. Fitting, then, that the story of its downfall begins from within.
As all downfalls do, her father had warned her. As if he was implying something, perhaps about herself or Innley, but more than likely he was implying empires and nations.
There were many lessons to be learned from the Blights, four in all. Namely, that family and friends and community are probably the most important thing any human can have. All the stories were fraught with despair and the wreckage leftover after the death of communal spirit, and only salvaged when the people come together to defeat something grand, like tyranny or the Archdemon. To Samantha, all the Blights were simply metaphor for the nature of struggle. And the Grey Wardens were metaphor for the champion within all of us. Her father had always been pleased with those answers, and truthfully, she always loved the stories. But the one thing she never mentioned to her father was that almost universally, the stories involved love. The quintessential human emotion that drove the furthering of existence, whether it was to make babies or to save each other, it was always about love and Samantha liked that, though she would never admit to it out loud. Not even to her mother, who would celebrate such ideals. Something about pleasing her mother was unappealing to Samantha.
"Oh, look," her mother said right then. "An invitation from the Vaels. They have invited us to brunch with them after church service, three weeks from now."
Her father murmured something unintelligible.
"Well this is quite unexpected. Why do you suppose they have invited us?"
Samantha lifted her eyes to her mother – had the invitation not stated it?
"May I see that, mother?" she asked and her mother nodded, bringing out the good stationary, as she called it only because it was trimmed in gold and not white, and began to write back accepting the invitation.
It was a plain invitation, as if written by a secretary.
His Excellency, the Duke of Starkhaven, brother to the prince of Starkhaven, his Most Worthy Highness, cordially and politely invites you and your family, your wife and daughter, to attend brunch on the day of the autumn equinox after Chantry service. Please RSVP at your earliest convenience.
With kind regards,
The Duke and Duchess of Starkhaven and their sons, Marquess Corbinian and Lord Goran
What was this? There was no mention of her at all! She tossed the invitation back down to her mother's desk and resettled herself on the red velvet divan, her book lifted to her eyes.
The Imperium began to tear itself apart from within, throngs of angry and disillusioned citizens doing what centuries of opposing armies could not. But the magisters were confident in their power, and they could not imagine surviving a Blight only to be destroyed by their own subjects.
What would she wear to the palace? She had only been there countless times, it wasn't like he had framed the invitation to suggest anything special, but then again she hadn't told her parents about the locket. Tucked away safely in a drawer in her vanity, she had a thought that maybe she was expected to wear it, though she had yet to find a suitable chain. But was it uncouth to wear the Vael family symbol to a gathering where such relationships have not been made public? He did say that his mother knew. Did that mean Corbinian was going to announce his intention at brunch? Would her father agree to it?
Her father had been so angry that night she had come home with that badly twisted ankle, wine on her breath, and a ripped open dress, and she knew that he blamed her condition on the influence of her friends. He couldn't forbid her from ever seeing a member of the royal family, but he could deny an engagement, should one be proposed. Wait—what? A proposal? Why was she thinking of such ridiculous things? This was Corbinian; the drunken scoundrel who had asked her what color her underwear was in church! With his cheeky grin and the truly naughty way he kissed—
"Samantha!" Her father's voice made her jump. "I've been calling your name three times now."
"I'm so sorry, father." She stood up. "I must have been absorbed in my book…"
"Tell me about what you read." He stood as well, appraising her.
She set the book down. "The book talks about the events that led up to Maferath and Andraste's rebellion against Tevinter. It begins after the first Blight has ended, and the world has been devastated by the magisters' actions that forever tainted the Maker's golden city. The book goes into detail about how the citizens of Tevinter, disillusioned by the silence that spread over the world, splintered into factions, eventually rising up in rebellion against the leaders of Tevinter who came down upon them without mercy. The end of the book introduces us to Maferath and Andraste and their tribe of Alamarri barbarians."
"Stand up straight, dear," her mother remarked casually and Samantha straightened her spine.
"Very good," her father huffed. "Why did the people rise up?"
"Because they were angry."
"At whom?"
"The Old Gods didn't answer their prayers and they blamed the magisters for their disappearance."
"Then why did they burn the temples? Wasn't that a place of solace for their suffering?"
Samantha thought about that. "An act of frustration. They hoped that by burning those places that were the most sacred, no matter if it drew their ire, that their gods would return."
He grunted again, nodding at her. "With more thought I think you'll have it. You'll read Chapter Two tomorrow, and perhaps you'll understand more then."
"Yes, Father."
"Off to bed with you."
"Yes, Father." She placed the book on the side table and made her way out of the room.
They were utterly silent as she left, but once in the hallway she knew they would talk; she didn't particularly care about what. At the top of the stairs, a yawn escaped as she greeted her lady-in-waiting, some elven woman and Samantha didn't know how old. She dressed in drab colors, always looked at the floor, and rarely spoke; sometimes Samantha wondered if she even spoke the common tongue. Like all elves, she was exceedingly graceful, and thus an excellent choice to help her out of her clothing; expertly unwrapping her from her dress, vest, corset, petticoat, stockings, and finally her elaborate hair. Such is the way of things in Starkhaven.
When she finally settled down in bed, the advent of darkness brought new memories. These were thoughts that she reserved for only when she was alone, and they were of Corbinian.
When the day to visit the palace finally arrived—and it seemed like too much time had elapsed —Samantha sat dutifully in her pew during church. The congregation was fanning themselves with elegant fans bought from Orlais or Antiva or some other place that probably seemed foreign and exotic, and all the women were wearing looser dresses with lighter stays. It was unusually hot for so late in the year.
The Grand Cleric's voice was an afterthought, floating through the air like ambient noise, because Corbinian kept looking over at her. He was seated next to his mother, which meant that Samantha couldn't look back at him for too long for fear that Lady Vael would turn her head and think she was staring at her and that would awkward later when they were sharing a table.
Her Grace, Francesca, was saying that man's nature was to rebuild, which was the nature of all things. Most importantly, however, was to recognize what the mistakes were and to learn from them so that the rebuilding process had a greater purpose. She explained that was how and why the Chantry was needed, because man learned from their mistakes about magic and knew the necessity of keeping mages from harming themselves. It was for their protection, she said!
Protection. Samantha silently sighed, thinking of her father and her mother and the strange ways that they thought they were protecting their family from Innley, whom she still had not seen or heard from and her parents never spoke of and forbade all the servants from mentioning either. They even had his room stripped and redone. It was like he was dead – no, worse, it was like he had never existed.
The duke and duchess along with the prince and princess of Starkhaven plus the two sons they hadn't given away had left the church already with Goran who, Samantha had noted, had been staring at Flora for most of the service. Samantha had also noted that her friend had looked entirely displeased with the attention. Corbinian met her outside the chantry, waiting for her under the Maker's blistering sun ready to walk her down the granite path leading to the Royal Palace. And—Andraste's breath!—he looked just amazing in the sun, his golden skin glowed and his auburn hair caught the sun's rays and seemed to reflect them back. Samantha noted how tanned both of them had become at the end of the summer.
Haveners, as they called themselves, were naturally somewhat dark, though influences from Orlais had lightened their skin over the centuries. Bordering Nevarra and Antiva, two nations known for their wonderfully bronzed skin had kept Starkhaven nicely brown, unlike Ferelden, which was pasty white and quite dirty – at least, everyone said so.
But while Corbinian looked divine in the sun, he seemed entire uncomfortable in his clothes.
"What is this you're wearing?" She felt the sleeves while he scratched at his neck; the nice green high-collared tunic seemed like it itched.
"I don't even know," he groaned. "Likely something from Antiva. Nothing but coarse cotton in that place."
"Next time I visit, I'll let the Queen know."
He smiled, holding out his arm for her to take. "That would save me the trouble of visiting. Then I could go someplace nice. Like Seheron."
She opened her parasol and took his arm. "You will fit right in. I hear the Qunari wear mostly nothing."
"In that case, you should come with me."
He spoke casually, but there was something to that invitation that made Samantha smile. Ideas of traveling with him on long journeys under the sun and the clouds alike, maybe on a boat or carriage. Maybe they would travel all over the world and see everyplace that ever was and meet every type of person and laugh and run and dance and play. Just like they did here, for to the rich, Starkhaven was just a playground on marble and granite with booze instead of swing-sets and sex instead of tag, even if sex was sometimes like playing tag. The way all of her friends went on and on about it, who was having sex with whom, and who wanted to have sex with whom, and on and on until it was almost too boring to even talk about.
"My parents are planning a trip to Nevarra this spring to visit my Aunt." He swatted at a fly. The heat of the day was rising. "Likely, they'll take me and Goran with them."
"Flora will be devastated."
"You caught that, too? And here I thought he was too subtle."
"The way Flora fawns over him, you can probably tell him that he doesn't need subtlety," Samantha jested, spying Goran ahead, his hair was already a little damp with sweat. "Or brunch."
He chuckled again, because even from a distance, Flora's disinterest in Goran was plain to see. Truly, Samantha couldn't believe they were brothers. It was like all the perfect beautiful Vael family traits got caught in Corbinian and everything that was left over spilled into the other brother. Goran wasn't plump, he was just a little pudgy, plus he was sort of dim... often just agreeing with everyone around him. He could scarcely follow Corbinian and Samantha's constant ribbing, but he always seemed far more interested in dessert than conversation anyway. She squinted under the sun, wondering if he had ever read a book.
She stopped thinking about Goran when Corbinian's hand covered hers on his arm and it was then that she became keenly aware of everyone else's awareness of them. The Luxleys, the Harimanns, the Fortneys, the Tylers, the Garritys, the widowed Lady Preston, the Marzianos, and even the Kendalls were exchanging looks and whispers and trying to cover up the fact that they were watching rather intently, from the pair to their parents and back again. The only families that didn't seem to be staring were hers and his. She looked behind her and caught Flora with a very un-subtle grin on her face, giving her a pointed look as if she were accusing Samantha of something.
"It seems like subtlety is something truly lacking in this town." Samantha shook her head, returning her gaze forward.
"Perhaps we should just give them what they want." He stopped in the middle of the path, the giant palace gates looming ahead of them. "Right here."
"And let the suspense die? You know it's what they live for—" But she stopped talking rather abruptly, because he stepped into her, tilting his chin down to speak into her ear, and the looks from the nobles that were passing by on the path were utterly priceless.
"And it's these moments that I live for." His whisper prickled her skin, a little ticklish, but he kept going. "Because after we smile and nod and behave in a mostly charming manner during brunch, I'm going to sneak you away to the stables."
"And if I refuse?"
"I'll make it worth your while."
"Name the terms, then." She couldn't help her smile, because not only was his voice truly naughty, but his body was so close to hers that she could see the stray threads poking out every which way from his tunic, tickling the side of his neck, where a single droplet of sweat was traveling from behind his ear, all the way down... ever so slowly.
"Next week, I will come to your estate for a visit."
"A generous offer, but hardly a worthy payment."
"I didn't say I'd visit your family – just your estate. And I plan on entering through your bedroom window."
She smiled so widely that she felt it in her eyes. She probably blushed too; she was nearly certain, anyway, because one of the nearby ladies—whom she could see over Corbinian's shoulder, craning to get a better earful of their conversation—let out a small but very audible gasp. Corbinian stepped away, turning about to find the culprit.
"Lady Luxley, are you all right?" he called with a sly grin. "It's rather hot, perhaps you should find some shade."
"Oh—yes, yes, my Lord." Lady Luxley giggled like a schoolgirl and curtsied, turning around with her large parasol's tassels swinging behind her.
Corbinian turned back to Samantha, a devilish look in his eyes. She shook her head, but when she said "Agreed" she wished that she had an artist to capture his smile.
They entered the estate and it was a marvelous respite from the searing heat of the day. A servant greeted them at the door, holding out a ridiculously large sterling silver tray with glistening glasses of ice-cold white wine, one for each of them. Corbinian knocked his back like it was water, tossing it over to the servant with a wide smile. Samantha sipped hers like a lady while her mother watched, but when both of her parents and Corbinian's parents turned away, she tilted her head back and finished it off. Corbinian took her glass from her hand and tossed it behind him to the servant as they walked past and the man had to scramble to prevent it from shattering on the marble floor.
He tugged at his tunic again. "I'm going to change. I'll meet you on the terrace."
She watched him ascend the first ten steps in four bounds before she started down the hall. The Royal Palace was encased in stone, marble, granite, and clay. These cool stones didn't absorb the heat from the outside, which lent a rather cool air to the interior, but everything else on the inside lent an air of riches. Samantha walked across the thick forest-green rug that stretched the length of the entrance hallway, an intricate design in gold dancing along its edges as she traveled. Thick curtains, velvet and silk, hid the towering windows from view, blocking out sunshine and heat.
The walls were absolutely covered in portraits: Vaels of the distant past, great-great-great-great grandparents and their children and their children's children, with aunts and uncles and second and third cousins so many times removed that Corbinian had never bothered to keep track, because it was just impossible.
Finally, as she neared the end of the hallway, her parents and their highnesses, the duke and duchess Vael, turned the corner passing the portraits of those members of the Vael family that were still alive. Corbinian's mother's portrait was painted on black velvet, the swathes of paint brushed casually, yet beautifully capturing his mother's stunning eyes and her dark hair. His father's portrait was traditional oil on canvas with the Vael family crest in the background, his shoulders square and his visage regal. Finally Marquess Corbinian and Lord Goran in all their Vael regalia and it seemed to Samantha that the artist that had painted Goran had been generous.
On the opposite wall were the prince and princess of Starkhaven and their three sons. Samantha paused to look at Sebastian's portrait: something was a little off, but his calm eyes and gentle smile were just the same. Had it been too long – no, not nearly, only just a few months. She needed to write him back, but she often found herself so caught up in the drama of the moment with the families of her friends that she forgot the obligations her parents didn't enforce.
She heard Corbinian striding down the hallway and stepped back from the painting. He had changed his shirt to off-white linen. Truly, it was a color and texture that suited him. He stopped next to her, looking over at Sebastian's likeness and squinted. "They got his nose all wrong. See?" He lifted his thumb to it, cutting off part of the bridge, and then Samantha recognized him.
"Ah! No wonder..."
"Come on." He led her onto the terrace just as the mimosas were being served, and when they sat down, Corbinian's parents were speaking to her parents of the trip to Nevarra.
"It will likely take a month," his mother was saying, her voice thick with regalia, as if she found it hard to talk like a normal person. "It would please us all."
"Well," her father replied. "Samantha has never been to Nevarra…"
Samantha shot Corbinian a look of shock and he settled back into his chair, popping a grape into his shit-eating grin.
"Think about it," Corbinian's father said. "We have plenty of time to make the arrangements."
"Thank you." Samantha's mother was always gracious. "A most generous offer."
"Think nothing of it." Corbinian's father gestured for the serving to commence. "We consider it our duty to see to the education of Starkhaven's daughters."
Samantha's gaze danced around the table, from her parents to his parents and back to him. He downed a mimosa and held the glass in the air indicating that he wanted another, but he still stared at her, smiling like a devious maniac.
The servants floated into the room by the half-dozen, setting down trays of sweetmeats – smoked, roasted, blackened to perfection – and bright fruits – melons of every color, berries of every size, plump grapes, pears already cut, peaches gently lined with grill-marks, and pitted cherries glistening with a sprinkling of sugar. There were omelets made with perfectly-cut mushrooms, asparagus, zucchini and tomato, topped with goat cheese. Goran eyed the tray of breads, butter, and cheeses imported from everywhere in Thedas, but Samantha's mother widened her eyes at the seemingly endless supply of orange juice and champagne. It was so much more extravagant than the Mayweathers were used to, but that was nothing compared to the centerpiece of the meal. Sitting atop a large plank of cedar rested whole roasted fish easily the length of Samantha's arm, slices of lemon and salt were all that coated its exterior, but it was half-cut revealing a soft white flaky center.
Samantha felt suddenly very tiny, wondering how she was going to eat this meal and not bust out of her dress. She decided to imitate the Duchess, Corbinian's mother, for she was quite slender. It only took a moment to figure out why; she moved slower than molasses. Her fingers extended painfully to point at which items she wanted the servants to decorate her plate with, and she brought each bite to her mouth as if it would be her last, savoring each mouthful. Samantha opted for an omelet and some fruit; breads would fill her up too easy.
"They say that Seheron is lovely in the summer," Corbinian said, almost offhandedly.
His father coughed into his drink. "What? Why would you want to go there?"
"Darling," his mother's voice dripped from her mouth. "Corbinian is joking. Aren't you, dear?"
"No."
"See? He's such a playful boy."
Samantha's father eyed him suspiciously, but her mother was inspecting the silver, and her small smile indicated approval.
"Seheron?" Goran asked, his mouth full of eggs.
"You know, that island that the Qunari and Tevinter are always fighting over?" Samantha spoke up, figuring she should at least try to make a good impression, and Corbinian settled his amused gaze upon her. "You remember from our studies, I am sure."
Goran stared at her like he had never heard that story before. Samantha glanced at her parents; her father was stiffly lifting eggs to his mouth and her mother was delicately spreading butter across toast. The Duke and Duchess Vael had, by now, moved on from their elder son's joke and their younger son's idiocy, but Corbinian was still staring at her, his ankle resting on the opposite knee, his chin in his hand, that ridiculous grin smeared across his face, and he was very clearly waiting for her to finish.
"Oh, stop teasing me, Goran," Samantha added hastily, wishing she hadn't spoke up, but he looked utterly perplexed, which was probably normal for him. In any case, he resumed consuming his brunch with gusto.
"So, Lord Corbinian." Samantha's father sat up straight. "Your father says you are taking the Oath of Starkhaven when you are of age."
"Yes, sir." He nodded. "It is the duty of the Captain of the Royal Army to set an example."
The Oath of Starkhaven was an age-old tradition dating back to the Second Blight. When it became clear that the Archdemon was heading to the city, thousands of women and men had taken a solemn vow to fight for the preservation of the city and its citizens. After the Blight had ended, may more had pledged their lives to continue to protect Starkhaven until their dying breath. Almost two hundred years later, when the Third Blight erupted in Tevinter and Orlais eventually snaking its way down the Minanter, and the Oath became popular once again, with the great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren of those who had taken the Oath before taking up the same vows along with the same swords.
It became a badge of honor to have someone in the family who had taken the Oath, yet equally disgraceful when the Oath was broken. Many felt the betrayal akin to treason, and thus the punishment of execution without exception was intended to keep those who weren't serious about the Oath from taking it to gain notoriety. It was mostly meaningless now since it had been so long since the last Blight – nearly four hundred years – but there were some who still took it seriously, such as the Mayweathers, the Garritys, and the Prestons who all had a long line of Oath-takers in their own family histories.
Corbinian was not of age to take the Oath yet; he would need to wait until his nineteenth year where he would stand in front of his family and all the leaders of Starkhaven – the Grand Cleric of the Starkhaven Chantry, the First Enchanter of the Starkhaven Circle, the Knight Commander of Starkhaven's Templar Order and the prince himself – during an elaborate ceremony and swear that the preservation of the city and its citizens would be more important than anything, even his own life. Even the lives of his family and everyone he ever loved. As nephew to the Prince of Starkhaven, it wasn't expected, but Corbinian had decided to take the Oath anyway, owing it to his duty as Captain of the Royal Army. It was one of the few things that he took seriously.
"Good man." Samantha's father naturally approved. "Not enough take the Oath anymore."
"You're quite right, sir," Corbinian agreed; he didn't have to call her father sir, but he did anyway. "It's easy to forget that even the longest peace can be disrupted by a single slight."
"Indeed. Without good men and women behind our leaders, all it takes is for the strongest among us to fall for chaos to splinter the city."
"Not while I'm alive, sir."
Corbinian was putting on a show, and Samantha forked small amounts of eggs into her mouth between bites of melon. It almost looked like her father was warming up to him – almost. Her mother was thoroughly enjoying her omelet. Goran was scraping the small bits from his plate with the back of his fork, licking them off and then repeating the process. Corbinian's father and mother had been paying attention... or at least they wanted to give the impression that they were.
Samantha's mother turned to Corbinian's mother. "I just received the new fashion plates from Orlais. I must say, the inclusion of feather plumes to hats is not really suitable for our weather."
"Quite right," she replied. "They will droop sadly. I read that the best way to combat this is to rub them with a little bit of starch-water, stiffen them up a bit."
Samantha took a long drink from her mimosa and spied Corbinian who was just finishing his own eggs – it took him about five bites.
"Indeed? Starch! Of course."—"And the perfumes of the season are floral."—"Is that right?"—"I believe the most popular is hydrangea."—"Lovely!"
They could probably go on all day and Samantha finished her drink, lamenting that her mother could be so stereotypically vapid.
"Lord Mayweather, I wonder if I might take Samantha to see the gardens," Corbinian interrupted their mothers' conversation.
"Oh, darling..." His mother's accent stretched out the word. "It's so hot."
"We won't stay out long."
The gardens stretched the length of the property; rows of roses in shades non-native to Starkhaven, the largest collection of chicory in the Free Marches, and pristine white calla lilies that had been shipped in from Antivan merchants who sent hundreds into the marshes to gather exotic plants; only dozens would return. It was a mark of wealth to have so many and the Duchess had ordered them masterfully arranged around a four-tiered white stone fountain that sat in the center of the gardens to show them off. The gardens also required constant watering in the summer, but their fragrance was so intoxicating that bards from all over Thedas would flock to Starkhaven just to see the gardens and become inspired. It was like walking through a colorful painting all the way to the tall hedges that buffered the estate from the stables, the smithy, and training yards.
"All right." Her father nodded slowly, still eyeing the young Vael with some trepidation. "But it's getting into the afternoon…"
"I'll see her home, then." Corbinian responded quickly. "I'm sure after the gardens, Samantha would love to see the sculptures. Perhaps the paintings by Pierre Moreau."
"Oh, I just adore him," Samantha's mother said dreamily, finishing off her mimosa.
"Well…" Her father looked to the Vaels, who were looking back expectantly. This was a brilliant move on Corbinian's part. Her father couldn't really refuse with the royal family sitting there staring at him. "All right."
Corbinian stood up and gave a bow. "Excuse us, then."
Samantha accepted his hand before they casually exited the room and moved out into the searing heat of the day, bursting into laughter and then running off into the garden before her father could change his mind. They paused at the fountain, unbuttoning their collars and running their hands through the warm water which was still cooler than the humid air that pressed down on them.
"Maker, it's hot!" Samantha ran a wet hand over her neck, remembering their deal. "This trip through my window better be memorable."
"Have I ever gone back on a promise?"
Samantha offered a sly grin. "The day is yet young…"
"My Samantha, you wound me! I would sooner run off to the live in the Northern Marshes than break any promise I make to you."
"I'll hold you to that!"
"I'd expect no less." He ran a fountain-whetted hand over his eyes. "Maker! It's hot! Whose idea was it to come out here?"
"I believe it was some reckless, adventuring youth with dishonorable intentions and no knowledge of weather reports." Samantha was damp under her layers of clothes, though her dress and stay were reasonably light. "Next time, we skip the stables and go straight to the window."
"Don't tease me." Corbinian brought his hand up to his brow to shade the sun. "I see salvation ahead."
She could see in the nearing distance the perfectly trimmed high hedges, which were at least twice as tall as Corbinian, and he led them passed the buzzing of honeybees and dragonflies who were intimately inhaling the fragrance of the gardens. She swatted several away who mistook her for some of the daisies as they rounded the corner hedge and pushed open the enormous wrought-iron gate that had grown hot to the touch from the afternoon sunrays.
Passing through the gate was like stepping into another world. There was a layer of dirt covering everything, leaving the air thick and Samantha covered her face to prevent from breathing it in. The training yards were empty, though only the most foolish of warriors would practice in such heat even if it were not a day of service. They passed around a large area encircled by a short fence. Practice dummies set up on sticks jutted out from the earth at severe angles and wooden planks were arranged around the entire area to simulate fighting around obstacles. Beyond that was the smithy's hut, a dark cave-like structure that baked like an oven when the fires were lit on a cool day; Samantha couldn't imagine what it was like on a hot day.
"Behold! Some shade!" He spread his arms wide. "What did I tell you?"
He was staring across the yard to a barn: the stables. She could see that the horses inside were laying down in the straw, hiding from the sun's rays. The hunting dogs were panting, their tongues lolled out of their mouths so far, the tips licked the dirt. The flapping of a few birds could be heard coming from the rafters above.
They stepped into the shade and the sweet smell of dirty animals filled her nose before she could stop it. Lined on the walls were saddles and riding crops, a pitchfork for the straw and a large shovel tinged with brown – she knew what that was used for. She turned to Corbinian, "You didn't mention you were leading me to your room!"
He chuckled at her joke. "Surprise! Come, I'll show you my bed."
The shade lowered the temperature to a palatable level as they collapsed onto a bale of hay, soft, scratchy, and utterly stinky. Samantha knew this smell would be on her when she arrived home.
Corbinian closed his eyes. "Now, we just need some servants."
"I'm going to need a bath." She flopped her arms out wide, and somewhere in the barn, a horse blew his lips out loud.
"In that case, we'll need a washbasin, ten liters of goat's milk to fill it—"
"Goat's milk? Are you bathing or cooking me?"
"You don't bathe in milk, then?" He turned his head. "I've been searching the world for someone else who does, but my mother seems like the only one."
She let loose a string of uncontrolled giggles; the Duchess of Starkhaven bathed in milk! Such extravagance! Such opulence! Surely there were others, but who would own to it? For a fleeting moment, Samantha wondered what the experience was like before she pictured Corbinian's mother, droplets of milk clinging to the ends of her long flowing black hair and her foreigner-skin disappearing into a mysterious pool of opaque white. She shuddered at the thought.
"Sammie…" Her name on his tongue broke her away from those musings. "I'd like your consent to speak to your father."
"About what?"
"I'm going to ask for his permission."
"His permission?" Samantha lifted herself on her elbows. "Are you going to request to court me, Beenie?"
"What? People don't do that anymore?"
"Well… I don't know." She felt a little foolish, because he seemed serious. "No one says anything…" And she meant their friends.
"Don't you think they should? I mean fun is fun, but what's the point otherwise?"
She smiled a little sheepishly, but before she could answer, he reached over with a warm hand, bringing her body to his, and though she was sticky under her light dress, she rather liked this kind of heat.
"Sammie..." He wrapped her up in his arms. "You don't think I'm serious about you? I'm devastated."
She crossed her arms behind his neck. "Clearly."
"I don't duel cousins for just anyone."
"A lesson from Lord Kendall, no doubt."
"I'll prove it to you," he whispered before he kissed that spot behind her ear that made her back arch. She crushed her eyes shut, giggling like mad at the tickling sensation that danced down to her hips, but he had his arms tightly around her body as he shook his head into the side of her neck.
"Beenie!"
She let out a small yelp, calling his name again and again; laughing and finally saying something like she believed him, until he stopped and lifted himself from her only to smile impishly.
"Told you I'd make it worth your while."
And when he walked her home just as he promised, winking at her as he kissed her hand goodbye, she felt like a stray cat come home from an adventure with a mysterious tom, dirty and ruffled with straw in her hair as she shoelessly stepped through the door to her estate.