Syrus looked around the empty room, the jacket still held in his hands, his thumb tracing the designs. His instincts, blunted by the shock of their argument, now grumbled back to life, and he knew without a doubt that tomorrow would be too late. If he let this fester between them through the long, dark hours of the night, he’d lose Eiri for good.
Of course, if he ignored Eiri’s wishes and went to him tonight, there was a very good chance that the conversation would start or end with bloodshed, but it was a risk he was willing to take. No going backward. They’d both promised, and he’d broken enough promises to his husband.
Mind made up, he pulled his boots back on over the pants he’d picked out. His clothes were informal, meant for relaxing and not for storming around the halls of the palace. It would be a breach of every etiquette rule to be seen like this, but he no longer cared. Those rules had done nothing but make his and Eiri’s lives miserable the entire time they’d been together.
On impulse, he tugged the jacket back on, the sleeves of his linen shirt bunching around his arms. In lounging clothes, with his boots and Canjiri-marked jacket, he’d draw the eye of anyone who spotted him and likely leave the gossip-mongers wagging their tongues for months, but let them talk. He had more important things to tend to.
Ignoring the startled looks of the guards in the hallway, he stormed out of the room and down the long hallway, not stopping until he reached the door of his own suite. Two more guards stood in the hallway and one of them opened his mouth to speak, but Syrus’ glare had him clamping his lips shut without a word.
The door opened easily when he twisted the knob, which he had to hope was a good sign. Eiri hadn’t locked it, so perhaps he’d hoped Syrus would come?
Still, he opened the door cautiously, keeping a wary ear out for any sound from within the room. Eiri’s temper could be just as bad as his own, and he’d seen the other man’s accuracy with a thrown dagger.
No noise came from inside, though, nor did any weapons. Syrus eased the door closed behind him and stepped inside, surveying his rooms. The formal sitting area appeared exactly the same as it had before the party, when he and Eiri had left together. Even the tea tray with Eiri’s lunch sat untouched, forgotten on the small table when they’d given in to their need for each other.
Likewise, the bedroom and study sat empty, unchanged. Eiri hadn’t come here after their fight, and that told him nearly everything he needed to know. These rooms were the only place Eiri truly knew, the only place he could be himself without someone sneering at him or judging him. For him not to come here showed that these rooms were no longer the tentative sanctuary they’d been before, and Syrus knew it was entirely his fault. Eiri must have known Syrus would come looking for him eventually. This made it blatantly clear that he didn’t want to talk to him.
There was one other place he knew to look, and so he left the room again, ignoring the burning curiosity of the guards. When he reached the door that led out to the roof, the latch remained secure, but Syrus went outside anyway. The cool night wind cut through his thin clothing with ease and the smell of rain was in the air, but the sky remained clear, the moon bright, illuminating the empty roof. Eiri hadn’t come here, either.
He could keep looking. This palace was his home, after all,and he knew most of its secrets. To thoroughly search would take days, though, and he didn’t have that long. Going back to his borrowed room never even crossed his mind. All he could do was return to the suite he’d hoped he’d share with his husband tonight and wait, hoping Eiri would come back and they could talk.
The two guards gawked at him when he returned, exchanging significant looks that he refused to acknowledge. Let them talk. Let them tell everyone that Prince Syrus had gone searching for Eiri. He didn’t give a damn.
With nothing to do but wait, Syrus made his way through each of the rooms again, picking up all the little signs of Eiri that he hadn’t paid attention to before. He’d never shared a room with anyone before, not even as a child. The military barracks where he’d stayed during training were the closest he’d ever gotten, and even then, the others gave him space because of who he was. When he and Eiri had married, he’d assumed they’d have separate quarters. Sharing space with a raider hadn’t been an option, and when Eiri had first taken over the rooms, Syrus had been furious at the thought of the other man in here, touching his things.
Now, that same idea was a strange comfort. Eiri had slept in his bed, used his washroom. His colorful Canjiri clothes mingled with Syrus’ stark Vaetrean clothing in the massive wardrobe. The dressing table against the wall, which had largely gone unused save for when Xan insisted he make an effort, now had a clutter of items across the surface.
The cosmetics Xan had applied still sat inside the small bag his cousin had brought. The velvet-lined jewelry box where Eiri had left his earrings lay open, the moonlight from the window catching the jeweled clasp and making it glimmer. Syrus knew this part had upset Eiri. He didn’t fully understand why every Canjiri he’d ever met had their ears pierced, but he knew it wasimportant to them. The first time he’d seen Eiri, the other man only had four piercings: two on one lobe, one in the other, and a fourth high up his ear. Over the years as they’d clashed, he’d noted each new addition. At the time, all he’d thought was how foolish it was for the Canjiri to leave a vulnerability like that.
Now they were as much a part of Eiri as his eyes. The silver studs and tiny hoops were made of cheap metal, likely mined from the island and forged by whatever smiths the Canjiri possessed. What they lacked in monetary value, though, Syrus knew they made up for in sentiment. They’d all agreed that leaving them in would push the queen too far, but in hindsight, Syrus regretted that decision.
He left the box there untouched. Perhaps one day he’d earn Eiri’s trust enough to learn what they meant, but after tonight, he couldn’t help but doubt he’d ever get that trust back.
With nothing left to do but wait, he made his way back out to the sitting area. When Eiri returned, it would be the best place for them to talk. The bedroom was out of the question now that he could admit his attraction to his husband.
Spotting the abandoned tray, his stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten at the party, and the dinner tray he’d ordered now likely sat in the other room waiting for him. Fetching it would be simple enough, of course, but it meant passing the guards yet again, and he had grown tired of their stares. Sending one of them to get it for him sounded equally unappealing.
A quick inspection of the tray showed a teapot that had long since gone cold alongside a plate of small sandwiches. Sitting out in the air for a few hours had left the bread somewhat stiff, but otherwise fine. Eiri would hate it if the food went to waste. Until he’d pointed it out, Syrus had never truly realized how much food got wasted in the palace.
Mind made up, Syrus settled on the couch with the tray and a flagon of water. Wine sounded good after the nighthe’d had, but he needed to keep his wits about him if he stood any chance against Eiri when he returned.
The minutes ticked by, each one slower than the one before it. With nothing but the silence for company, Syrus finished every crumb. It’d been meant as a light lunch and did little to curb his growling stomach, but it would do. When Eiri came, after they’d talked, he’d order them dinner from the kitchens.
If he comes back.
Syrus shoved down the little voice in the back of his mind before it could latch on too tightly. Eiri would come back. He may be furious right now, but eventually, he’d have to return. Where else could he go? Eiri’d said it himself: he was too recognizable. He’d never be able to hide out in the city without word reaching the palace. Unlike Nevarre, where people of every race and country intermingled freely, including the Canjiri, Vaetreas was more insular. Years of raiding and skirmishes meant no Canjiri would ever be accepted here.
That dark thought plagued him as he stared across the dark room, the long hours of the night closing in on him, and still Eiri didn’t come. Could they truly make this work when the prejudices of their people held such deep roots?
A knock at the door drew him out of his maudlin thoughts, and hope burst to life within him. In his haste to stand, he nearly stumbled over the table, his muscles stiff and uncooperative after sitting so long. The moon must have hidden behind clouds, leaving the room darker around the edges than it’d been earlier. None of that mattered right now, though. Syrus hurried to the door and opened it, only for that hope to wither and die.
Rather than his husband, Kien C’Marlo stood in front of him. They both stared at each other for a moment, and it was difficult to say which of them was more surprised.
“Your Highness,” Kien murmured after a moment, executing a perfect bow. “I’d like to speak with Eiri.” It wasn’t arequest, and before, Syrus would have bristled at the edge in the man’s tone, but if he truly wanted peace with Eiri, that would mean making peace with the ambassador as well.
“So would I,” he said. “He’s not here at the moment, but you’re welcome to wait with me, if you’d like.” He stepped to the side to allow Kien in, only to stumble over his own feet. The stiffness in his legs hadn’t eased up. How long had he been sitting there, waiting? He’d have to see about getting a more comfortable couch in his sitting area, one with more cushioning than the stiff little one he had now.
“Where is he?” Kien stepped inside, angling his body as he moved so he faced Syrus the entire time. Obviously, they weren’t on the same page about becoming allies. Given what Eiri had told him about the older man, it didn’t surprise him. It would take a long time and a lot of work to overcome the hatred so ingrained in their people.
