The Ouroboros Cycle, Book One. G.D. Falksen
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evening, Baron,” she said. “I am surprised to see you down here among the common people.”
“Nonsense,” Korbinian said. “Here are only you and I, and there is nothing common about either of us. Clearly this is where the ball ought to be, and the company upstairs is simply too parochial to realize it.”
“How very astute of you,” Babette said. “But tell me, what brings you here? This is quite a coincidence, surely.”
Korbinian thought about her words for a moment, as if trying to discover some hidden meaning.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. “I wanted to see you again, and so I followed you. Why should I pretend otherwise?”
“Well, when you put it that way…” Babette said. “Would you care for a strawberry?”
“Yes, dankeschön,” Korbinian said, plucking a berry from the bowl. “Mmm, most delicious.”
Babette prepared to take another for herself, but Korbinian reached out to stop her.
“No, no,” he said. “Allow me.”
He selected another strawberry and gently fed it to her. Babette felt a shiver of excitement as his fingertips brushed her lips, and she swallowed the fruit eagerly.
Keeping her composure despite her impulse to the contrary, she said, “Baron, I feel that you should not have done that. It was most inappropriate, and I should not have allowed it.”
“But you enjoyed it,” Korbinian said, smirking.
“It is often the inappropriate things that we enjoy the most,” Babette said. “Like reading. Or setting off firecrackers in the garden.”
“The last I heard, Our Lord had not ordered an injunction against fruit.”
“Oh, you think you’re so clever,” Babette said, not at all displeased.
Korbinian nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “and I think you are clever too.”
He took another strawberry and placed it against Babette’s lips.
“So,” he continued, “why don’t you and I spend a little time being clever together?”
* * * *
Twenty minutes later the bowl was empty, and Babette was in paradise. She could not remember a time when she had spoken so freely to another person. She and Korbinian talked of everything and nothing, delighting in conversation for its own sake, but even in their verbal meanderings they wandered close to matters of intellect and substance.
“And that,” Babette said, looking into Korbinian’s eyes, “brings us to the Ancient Greeks.”
Korbinian laughed and replied, “I find the Persians to be of far greater interest.”
Babette gave him a playful shove, which he did not seem to mind.
“How can you?” she demanded. “Persia? The great Asiatic horde seeking to invade Europe?”
“Nonsense!” Korbinian said, catching Babette’s hand and holding it with gentle fingers. “The great civilized horde seeking to bring order to a fractured people.”
“You are a terrible classicist,” Babette said, looking at Korbinian with a firm expression.
“My tutor always said so,” Korbinian agreed. “He said I was always too easily distracted by beauty.…”
He raised Babette’s hand to his lips and kissed it softly.
Babette swayed a little, suddenly overcome.
“Baron, I don’t think—” she began.
“Call me Korbinian.”
“Korbinian—”
“Shh.…” Korbinian pressed a fingertip to Babette’s lips. “No uncertainty,” he said, leaning in close. “If you wish for me to stop, tell me to stop. But do not tell me what others would think.”
Babette smiled and closed her eyes, tilting her head upward to meet him.
“Why would I tell you to stop?” she asked softly.
She felt Korbinian’s hand caress her hair as their lips brushed. The warmth of anticipation filled her as she suddenly hungered for Korbinian. In that instant, she wanted nothing more than to be enfolded into him, like one spirit that would never part.
“Babette!”
Her father’s shout shattered the moment, and Babette turned away.
“Damn it!” she cursed under her breath.
Why did Father have to arrived at such a moment?
She looked at Korbinian and then down the hallway. Her father was not yet in sight. She heard him calling from the direction of the stairs. It would only be a few moments before he arrived and found them!
“What is—” Korbinian began.
“My father!” Babette said.
“Your father?” Korbinian seemed perplexed rather than concerned. “Why has he come down here?”
Babette looked at him in astonishment. How could such a clever man be so stupid?
“It’s his house!” she answered.
Korbinian tilted his head, and a smile slowly crossed his lips.
“You are Babette Varanus?” he asked.
“You didn’t know?”
How could he not have known?
Korbinian ran his fingertips along Babette’s cheek.
“I had no idea,” he said. He looked toward the passage. Father’s shouts were drawing nearer. “I think I should go before you are seen with me.”
Babette caught his hand and asked, “When will I see you again?”
Korbinian did not answer. Instead, he slid his fingers through Babette’s hair and drew her to him. His mouth met hers in a kiss of desperation and passion that Babette had never dreamed was possible. She felt herself fading away again, lost on a sea of scents and sensations until there was nothing left but the two of them.
A moment later Korbinian broke away and released her. Babette’s head swam, but all she saw were Korbinian’s gray eyes looking into her own.
“Soon, liebchen,” he said. “Very soon.”
With that, Korbinian bowed, stepped out the door, and vanished into the night.
Babette leaned against the wall, the haze of delight still encompassing her. She only half saw her father as he rounded the corner.
“Babette!” Father cried. “There you are!”
“Hello Father,” Babette said with a sigh.
“Where have you been for the past half hour?” Father asked. “Alfonse des Louveteaux has been looking for you! The quadrille is about to begin! What have you been doing?”
“I was only getting some air,” Babette said. She looked at the bowl. “And eating strawberries.”
Chapter Four
From the moment she awoke the next day, Babette could think of little but Korbinian and the kiss they had shared. The very thought of him made her dizzy. Everywhere she turned, everything she saw reminded her of him. She was bewildered by it all, disarmed by the very strangeness of being so elated. She had never felt that way before. It would have frightened her had it not been so pleasant.
Still, though delightful, the experience made it frightfully difficult for her to concentrate