“I know.” A warm hand settled on his shoulder, steady and comforting. “Would you like me to stay until after the prince arrives?”
As tempting as it was, Eiri shook his head. “It would only make it worse if he came in and we were both here. I’ll shout if it looks like he’s about to kill me, though.”
“If he tries to kill you, you would do well to respond in kind,” Kien said, and if Eiri wasn’t already getting to know theman so well, he would have missed the hint of humor in his words.
“So, try to kill him right back?”
Kien’s lips twitched into a smirk, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. “You had better do more than just try. I know your skills. I do hope they are not needed tonight, though.”
“Me, too.” Eiri dredged up a confident smile. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Kien.”
“Good night, Eiri, and good luck.”
Eiri’s smile dropped the moment Kien walked out the door, leaving him alone. The suite of rooms really was quite spacious, but he could feel the walls closing in around him as he stood there, lost and exhausted. His bags and one large trunk sat near the window, haphazardly shoved against the wall out of the way.
He may not care for politics, but he wasn’t so naïve that he didn’t recognize an insult when he saw one. Legally, he was now a prince consort of Vaetreas and stood on nearly equal footing with Syrus. For him to be treated as an unwelcome guest by the royal family was a slap in the face. For that behavior to carry down the ranks spoke of their utter disdain for him. While he was more than capable of unpacking his own belongings and preferred to do it, the palace staff should have at least tried. Marla had offered, yes, but only after the older man had left, which told him just how welcome he and Kien were here.
Nothing to do about it now, though. With any luck, he wouldn’t be stuck in this room for long. Surely, after the official wedding night passed, he would be allowed to move to a different room.
The high collar of his wedding robe rubbed against his skin, itching where a thread had come loose. Eager to be rid of it, hedug into his trunk and found a pair of soft linen pants, creamy white with delicate floral patterns picked out in pale pink threads that shimmered when he moved. He changed swiftly, exchanging his wedding robe for a long-sleeved linen tunic in the same pale pink shade as the threading in his pants.
Much as he despised what it represented, he did love the crimson robe and soft, deep black pants inherited from his father and took the time to carefully store them away in the box they’d come in. He debated pulling on his boots or even a pair of soft slippers, but left them off for now. He could fight just as easily barefoot if needed. Probably better, actually, considering the rugs scattered across the floor.
Syrus still hadn’t returned by the time he’d changed, leaving Eiri at loose ends. He certainly wasn’t going to sleep, not when he didn’t know his enemy’s location. Even had Syrus been in the room, though, he wouldn’t be sleeping, considering there was only one bed in the suite.
Wide windows broke up the stone walls, all of them covered with curtains at this hour. Curiosity wriggled through the tired fog creeping up on him, and he pulled one of the heavy drapes aside.
Below him, the city of Lodie spread out from the base of the royal palace. Magelights held back the darkness, though the further one got from the palace, the darker and tighter the streets became. There, simple fires and lanterns did their best to battle back the encroaching twilight, but it was a losing fight. Eiri could only assume the slums must lie in those shadows. He had yet to encounter a Vaetrean city where the outcasts and paupers weren’t pushed to the very edge, out of sight and out of mind of those with the wealth and power to help them.
He couldn’t deny there was a certain beauty to the city, despite the clear divide. He could just make out what appeared to be some sort of park just beyond the palace gates. A sparklinglake reflected the pale moonlight, glittering diamond stars sprinkled across the calm surface. Dozens of people wandered through despite the late hour. Magelights illuminated their clothing and Eiri recognized several of them as wedding guests, those not quite wealthy enough to warrant a personal carriage to convey them a quarter of a mile to their homes.
These people had openly mocked him, sneering and looking down their noses the entire evening as though he was flotsam washed in on the morning tide. Away from the palace, though, they were simply people. Men loosened the ties and cravats at their throats and several women let their hair down from the tight, restrictive styles popular in the country. Vaetrean clothing was far too conservative and boring for Eiri’s taste, too strictly bound up in outdated gender roles, but their garments were well made, the fabrics clearly expensive. So long as he never had to wear them, he could admit they held a subtle beauty.
Watching the city he was now trapped in quickly became excruciating and he let the curtains fall shut again. With nothing better to do, Eiri went back to his bags. Tucked into the bottom of his personal belongings was a slender book, tattered and worn. A comfortable-looking plush chair sat near the window facing the door and Eiri made himself comfortable there, tucking his bare feet beneath him. He didn’t know when Syrus would return and he couldn’t let himself relax, but at least he could keep his mind awake. Keeping one eye on the door, he carefully opened the book and let himself get lost in the words.
Chapter 6
Syrus
Syrus grit his teeth,his jaw aching from forcing a smile for so long. His new betrothed may have departed early, but one warning look from his mother kept Syrus stuck in his seat until the feast officially ended. Then, of course, he had to thank their guests personally. It should have been a line of well-wishers, with congratulations and advice for the new couple. Instead, he’d received murmurs of sympathy couched in probing questions, each noble wanting the gossip on his new raider husband.
The last guest finally bowed and left, arm in arm with her wife, both of them clearly eager to spread the news of the evening to those who hadn’t warranted an invitation. Let them talk. At least he was finally free.
“Syrus, stay a moment,” his mother ordered before he could even take a single step and he had to battle back a groan. His siblings had long since wandered away, leaving him alone with his parents. Belatedly, he spotted one other person in the room, leaning against the wall behind his parents. Partially hidden in shadow, Marsen Henschel seemed at his ease, arms crossedover his chest. As his mother’s spymaster, though, he knew the man was aware of everything happening around him.
Only once the doors closed behind the guests did Queen Delia turn to him and in that moment, she was very much the queen, not his mother. He’d learned at a young age that the two sides of her were completely separate.
“Mother, I’m sorry for my behavior this evening,” he murmured, head bowed ever so slightly in deference.
“I understand you are in a difficult position, Syrus, but I expect more from you.” The reprimand stung even without a bit of inflection in her voice.
“I let my emotions get the better of me. It won’t happen again.”
“Yes, it will,” she said, then sighed. “What matters now is how you respond to those emotions. The eyes of every noble and politician in this city are now on you. They know you didn’t want this marriage, and if they see a crack in your armor, they will exploit it to the fullest. Do not let yourself become the weak link in the Vardor family.”
Only years of training kept Syrus from wincing. “I will do my best to make you proud, your Majesty.”
Her hands slipped into his, strong and steady despite their delicate appearance. When Syrus lifted his eyes, his mother looked back at him.
