“About what?”
“It’s none of your business what we fought about.”
“How am I going to help you fix it if you don’t tell me what’s going on, though?”
“There is no fixing this!” They’d reached the suite he’d settled in, since he’d temporarily lost his bedroom, and he just wanted this day to be over with.
“We have to at least try. You two are married, and?—”
“And nothing. Our marriage is purely political and everyone knows it. We will never be friendly and we will certainly never be anything more than that. We will tolerate each other and fulfill the contract.”
Xan frowned, his dark eyes sad as he studied Syrus. “That sounds like a miserable way to live.”
“Mine isn’t the first loveless marriage in the world and it won’t be the last. It is what it is. Now will you go away? I’m exhausted.” Syrus pushed open the door and, as expected, Xan followed him inside.
“I’m not leaving you alone after what you just told me. Even if you won’t tell me what happened, I’ll at least keep you company until you no longer look like you want to kill everyone.”
“There’s only one person I want to kill and unfortunately, he’s the one person I can’t touch without facing the wrath of the queen.” The memory of Eiri’s wrists flashed before his eyes, the darkening bruises he’d left on the raider’s surprisingly fair skin. Following close on the heels of that image was the memory of Eiri’s body pressed against his. He was skinny, that much was clear to anyone who looked at him, but he was strong, muscles firm beneath Syrus.
In any other man, Syrus would’ve appreciated the lithe body and fiery obstinance glaring down at him from pretty hazel eyes. Eiri stood a few inches taller than Syrus, thoughSyrus easily outweighed him. He’d fought like a wildcat, twisting and straining against his hold, and to Syrus’ disgust, his body had reacted. He’d been half hard before his temper cooled enough to remind him just who was fighting him. That cooled his lust faster than a bucket of ice water.
“Uh oh,” Xan murmured, pulling Syrus back to the present and reminding him he wasn’t alone.
“What now?”
“Oh, nothing. I think I just figured a few things out.” Xan’s smile was all innocence, which usually meant he was up to something wicked.
“If you’re going to be cryptic and annoying, you can get out. I’m too tired for that shit,” he grumbled. Farlin had his clothing put away in the wardrobe, with a basket nearby for his dirty clothing. He’d chosen simple attire for tonight’s meal, rather than face his butler with his anger still so close to the surface. He was glad of that decision now, since he could also undress without him.
He and Xan had been around each other often enough that there was no modesty left between them, but he’d forgotten one thing.
“What happened to you?” Xan asked the moment Syrus took his shirt off. The white linen bandaging was a stark contrast against his dark skin, the faint line of rusty red blood clearly visible.
“A difference of opinion.” He grabbed for a sleep shirt, but Xan stopped him, gently grasping his arm to examine it.
“Did Eiri do this to you?”
“I told you we fought,” Syrus reminded him. He didn’t pull his arm away, though. Xan was slender and short, but he was a mage and a fighter in his own right. He had no desire to rile his cousin’s temper more than it already was.
“I thought you meant you used your words, not weapons!”Xan plucked at the ragged edge of the linen. “Did you bandage this yourself? Silly question, of course you did. Sit down and let me look at it. Don’t even think of arguing with me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Syrus drawled, allowing Xan to tug him over to a chair and push him down into it. He kept quiet as Xan unwrapped the bandage, tutting under his breath when he saw the jagged gash on Syrus’ forearm.
“You should see a healer, or this is going to leave a scar.”
“I’m a soldier. I have my fair share of scars. What’s one more?”
“At least let me clean it and wrap it so it doesn’t get infected,” Xan ordered. He didn’t wait for Syrus to agree, just ducked into the washroom and emerged a few moments later with a wet cloth and the fresh bandaging Syrus had left on the counter.
“It’s nothing to be concerned about. It’s not even that deep,” Syrus said, wincing when Xan ran the cloth over his arm a little harder than was necessary.
“A shallow cut is just as likely to get dirty as a deep one. Why were the two of you fighting with knives? Why did you even have knives?”
Syrus shrugged, earning a glare from Xan when his arm moved. “Most of our fights up to this point have included weapons of some kind.”
“You think you’re funny, but you’re not,” Xan said with an annoyed glare. “I’m serious. Tell me what happened. I don’t want to interfere in your life, but if you’re in actual danger of being killed, I’m going to have to.”
“We can’t kill each other. The queen would find a way to revive me just so she could kill me herself.” The queen was his mother, true, but Queen Delia and the woman he’d called ‘mama’ growing up were two entirely separate people and Queen Delia would not tolerate him disobeying a royal edict.
