“I know nothing of my real mother and father, though I’ve spent countless hours searching. I was abandoned on a doorstep when I was a baby. I only know that whomever left me there chose for me a good home.”
“Will you tell me about your family?”
Trystan pressed his lips into a tight frown. “My fathers, Noah and Owaine, raised me as their own. Noah is a wool farmer. Owaine was a wood carver.”
“Was?”
“A few months ago, Owaine was attacked in an alley.”
Trystan stopped to lean against the garden wall, ignoring the moss trailing along the crevices between stones. A heavier mist floated downward now, dampening everything it touched. He closed his eyes, the light spray on his skin soothing but not enough to calm the tearful memory, and inhaled deeply. His throat tightened.
“The man who attacked him stole everything of value and pierced his heart twice with a dagger, leaving him to die alone. They never found the man who killed him.”
“Are you certain it was a man?”
“A young girl witnessed the crime.”
“Trystan.” Marc’s somber voice wafted over him, a hint of rage underlying his tone. “I’m so sorry.”
“Noah hasn’t been the same without him. Emrys blames himself for not being there to protect him. And I can’t help this feeling in my gut that I could have done something to change his fate, but I didn’t.”
“You couldn’t have known, Trystan.”
“I know.” Trystan fixed his vacant stare on the flowering vine behind Marc. He lifted his gaze and met Marc’s, his eyes searching. Conflicting emotions warred within his heart, but he didn’t understand why. It wasn’t the bond he supposedly shared with Marc, but rather, something else tugging at the depths of his being. Buried deep. He tilted his head back against the stone and pulled a cleansing breath into his lungs, letting his eyes fall closed again.
Marc moved in a fraction closer, taking care not to startle Trystan. Hidden regret stole the serenity that should have been on Trystan’s face, and Marc longed to take that pain away. He wondered if Trystan felt the same pull that he did, but wasn’t sure how to ask.
Years ago, after first meeting Trystan, Marc had told his mother about a boy he’d met in the stable and how he found his way into his dreams every night. That was the first time he’d heard of the soul bond and that the boy he’d met may or may not have been chosen for him by fate.
According to his mother, to have a cymara came with a purpose. Often, at an immense price. Love between soul bound mates was potent and of the truest in existence, but such a bond was necessary because with every pairing, a time always came in which one had to sacrifice themselves for the other.
For this reason, cymara mates were also rare, which meant that most people no longer believed they existed. Most believed that such bonds along with magic disappeared from the world when Arthur died. As recently as a century past, people had even begun to believe that the so-called heir was nothing more than a fallacy made up to keep the kingdom from collapsing.
The regent king before his father had even proclaimed the heir as non-existent and rechristened himself with the title of king. Marc’s father, like Marc, believed otherwise and restored the title of regent king after taking the crown in an uprising against the traitorous ruler. Then, to restore belief, his father, Regent King Locryn, had even gone a step further in naming his eldest son after the legendary king, and Marc after another who’d served Arthur while still ruling the land of Cornwall. Now that his older brother was dead, Marc was in line for the crown.
For now, however, he was simply a man ready to kiss the one standing before him and find out if fate had indeed chosen them for each other, because if they did share an innate bond, as his heart suspected, a kiss would awaken it.
“By the heavens, you are so beautiful,” Marc whispered, almost absently and so quietly, Trystan wasn’t sure if he’d meant to say it aloud.
Trystan opened his eyes. “You mentioned earlier not finding me in the stables.”
“I did.”
“Then you remember when we first me.”
“I remember everything about our meeting in the stables. You changed my life that day.”
“I had forgotten until Emrys mentioned it the other day.”
“You did fall and hit your head quite hard.” The wind gusted, bringing with it a blast of cool mist. Marc twined his arm around Trystan’s, relinking their fingers, to draw him closer. Marc’s voice softened and grew wistful. “I remember how terrified I was. From the moment our eyes met, you meant something to me. I didn’t understand why, but I felt a fierce need to protect you, as I do now. I was too young and worried about you at the time to know what to do. Emrys came in and took you away from me. I trusted him to look after you—I even told him as much—but I will not let you go this time.”
“What is this for you?”
“Do you believe in soul bound mates, Trystan?”
“The cymara?” he whispered. “I—”
“I think you’re mine.” Marc slanted his mouth over Tristan’s, and the entire world fell away.
