“Syrus, if you don’t give me a straight answer, I swear…”
“It’s the same fight we’ve had since he arrived,” Syrus sighed, conceding to his cousin’s stubborn tenacity. “I told you my mother ordered me to get him to dress and behave like one of us and I’ve been trying, but he refuses. I tried being nice to him and it didn’t work, but fighting him doesn’t work, either. I’m running out of options.”
“Let me see if I understand correctly. You’ve tried two tactics: physical violence and fake niceties. Neither worked, so you’re giving up? Do I have that right?”
“It sounds worse when you say it like that,” Syrus grumbled, avoiding Xan’s eyes when the other man glanced up at him. His already-battered pride couldn’t handle too many more blows.
“Look, I don’t know Eiri C’Dari, but I know you. I’m not trying to be mean, but you’re a terrible liar. There’s a good chance he saw right through you, or was at least suspicious of your intentions, when you suddenly started being polite. You’d be the same way if he suddenly started acting that way toward you.”
As much as he hated to admit it, Xan was right. If Eiri suddenly started bringing him food and asking after his well-being, he’d assume the man was setting him up or actively plotting his death, instead of passively scheming like he usually was.
“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” His temper had cooled, but it flared up again now. Xan just raised an eyebrow at him until Syrus settled back down and let him finish tying off the bandage. He had a few more minutes to calm down when Xan returned to the washroom to clean up, likely taking his time and making Syrus wait in retaliation for his tone.
Finally, though, his cousin took the chair across from Syrus and sat down, his arms crossed. “Do you actually wantmy advice? Because I can guarantee you’re not going to like it.”
“You’re not going to give me any peace until you’ve had your say, so you may as well get it over with.”
“Have you considered actually getting to know him?”
“You’re right. I don’t like that advice.”
“I’m serious,” Xan huffed, holding up a hand to stop Syrus’ protest. “I know you don’t want to think about it, but you’remarried. For the rest of your life. You and Eiri are stuck together until one of you dies. Do you really want to spend all those years like this, hiding out in separate rooms between bouts of violence?”
“So you’re suggesting I do what? Try to find common ground with him?” The thought was laughable. “What could the two of us possibly have in common? He’s a fucking raider, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Both of you are stuck in this mess together. I’d say that’s a fairly large thing to have in common,” Xan pointed out, voice sharp and unyielding. “I know this isn’t ideal and you’re unhappy, but you have the comforts of home and family around you. You have me to give you advice when you’re acting like a fool.”
“Are you trying to make a point?” Syrus crossed his arms, as well, mirroring Xan’s pose even though it made the wound on his arm twinge.
“Yes, but you’re being deliberately obtuse and it’s pissing me off.” Xan shoved himself to his feet, glaring at Syrus. “I’m trying to help you, but if you’re going to continue acting like this, you can figure it out on your own. You know where to find me when you pull your head out of your ass and realize I was right.”
Xan stormed out, slamming the door behind him andleaving Syrus stunned and alone, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Hours later, Xan’s words still echoed in his mind. In the dark, silent hours between midnight and dawn, Syrus lay awake in his borrowed bed, staring up at the ceiling as though he could wrest answers from it.
He hadn’t said anything Syrus didn’t already know, but hearing it from his cousin somehow made it feel more real. Throughout the betrothal period, which they’d spent apart, he’d done everything he could to ignore his impending wedding. The day of his marriage was a blur, something he’d gotten through with the help of a wine bottle. The only thing that stood out in his memory of that day was Eiri in that ridiculous outfit, the feminine cut and scandalous color making a mockery of tradition. Aside from those few days he’d spent pretending to be nice in an attempt to gain Eiri’s trust, he’d seen very little of his new husband, which was exactly how he liked it.
It also made it very easy to pretend that none of this was real. With Eiri hidden away, it seemed more like he was an unwanted guest who would leave soon, allowing Syrus to return to his normal life.
“You’re married. You and Eiri are stuck together until one of you dies.”
He’d known that, of course, in an abstract way. He understood marriage and everything it entailed, but perhaps it hadn’t truly sunk in until Xan threw those words at him. The man locked in his bedroom was going to be there tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, every day until one of them was in the grave. The vague thoughts he’d once had of somedayfinding a spouse, someone sweet and patient, willing to put up with the days and weeks he was gone, traveling the kingdom and protecting its border… that would never happen. There would be no loving husband or supportive wife for him. There would only ever be Eiri.
That was enough to drive him out of bed in search of another bottle of wine, but there was nothing in this bedroom. His small stash was in his own suite at the far end of the hall, behind a locked door.
“Fuck,” Syrus breathed, the curse disappearing into the darkness surrounding him. Pacing the room, he fought to breathe against the wave of panic trying to pull him under. Half his life he’d spent as a soldier, fighting for his kingdom, and nothing had ever scared him quite like the realization that he was bound to his sworn enemy for the rest of his life and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
“Have you considered actually getting to know him?”
Xan’s suggestion was just as ridiculous now as it’d been hours ago. Eiri represented everything he hated and Eiri had made it abundantly clear he felt the same about Syrus. They would never be allies. Perhaps it could have happened. All those weeks ago when they were first betrothed, maybe there had been a chance, but no longer. Now, he wore the mark of Eiri’s knife and Eiri bore the bruises Syrus had left with his punishing grip. His threat to break Eiri hung between them, a blade ready to sever the hand of whoever reached out first.
What was his other alternative, though? Fifty years of animosity, fighting every day until one of them finally died? Ending his life as a bitter, angry old man with nothing to show for those years but hate and misery?
He stopped mid-step. It was too easy to imagine that life. He’d seen too many courtiers do the same, trap themselves in loveless marriages for the sake of power. He’d always said hewould never be like them, bitter and angry at the world. As a prince, an arranged marriage had always been a possibility, though an unlikely one. Syrus had always just assumed he could find some sort of common ground with his spouse if it came to that. Of course, never in his wildest imaginings could he have predicted that his chosen partner would be a fucking raider.
“Both of you are stuck in this mess together. I’d say that’s a fairly large thing to have in common.”
While that was true, that wasn’t enough to overcome a lifetime of animosity. It only showed how very different their core beliefs truly were. And yet, what else was there? Their only shared life experience came from attempting to kill each other and now their marriage. It was a shaky foundation to build on, but it would have to be enough. If he didn’t at least attempt to create some sort of truce between them, what sort of life did that leave him trapped in?
