Chapter 4
Syrus
The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, softening the sharp corners and angles of the furniture and lending a golden warmth usually missing from the suite.
The fading light danced across a glass bottle, the only item on the desk, sending tiny rainbows flickering across the wall before Syrus picked up it, ruining the effect.
He didn’t bother with a glass, just tilted his head and drank the wine straight from the bottle.
It was far lighter than it should have been, which probably accounted for the haze over his mind.
The bottle had been full when he’d procured it from the cellar, before he’d begun methodically draining it.
A light knock on the door interrupted his maudlin thoughts, but he ignored it in favor of taking another swig from the bottle. When the door opened despite his silence, it didn’t surprise him to see his cousin Xan Cormyr step inside.
“Come to join me?” he asked, holding up the bottle.
“And interrupt your pity party? I couldn’t possibly,” Xan drawled, but he came over and perched on the edge of the desk, anyway. “You’re supposed to be downstairs in a half hour for the ceremony.”
“Trust me, I know. That’s why I have this.” His words slurred at the edges. He wasn’t quite drunk, but he wasn’t sober, either.
“Your parents will kill you if you show up to your own wedding drunk and embarrass them,” Xan warned, snagging the bottle out of Syrus’ hand when he tried to take another drink.
“If they wanted me to go into this sober, they wouldn’t have married me off to a fucking raider. He’ll slit my throat the first chance he gets.”
“So you decided that the best way to deal with that was to lose yourself in a wine bottle? Way to keep your guard up.”
“You’d do the same thing if they forced you to marry someone you hate,” Syrus muttered.
He half-heartedly reached for the bottle, but Xan kept it out of his reach.
His cousin was half his size and he could easily take the wine back if he really wanted to, but the last thing he needed was Xan pissed off at him, too.
His revenge would be swift and devastating, coming when Syrus least expected it.
“Perhaps, but I’d save it for after the ceremony. Now get up so we can finish getting you ready.”
“I’m already ready.” He snorted, wine-soaked mind amused by the phrase. “Already ready.”
“Clearly.” Xan arched an eyebrow, looking Syrus up and down and clearly finding him wanting. With a sigh, he slid off the desk and disappeared into the washroom, returning without the wine bottle but with a cup of water, which he plunked down in front of Syrus. “Drink this. All of it.”
If anyone else had ordered him about like this, he’d have challenged them to a fight. Xan was in a class all his own, though, and he obeyed the tiny tyrant, downing the cool water in a few long gulps.
“Satisfied?” His head was already a little clearer, not that he’d ever admit it out loud.
“Not even close. Get up so I can work. I’m not letting you embarrass yourself tonight.”
Syrus let Xan lead him into the washroom, squinting against the bright magelights illuminating every corner. “Did you have to make it so bright?”
“It’s not that bright. You’re just drunk.” Xan pushed his shoulder until he sat again, this time on the tiny stool in front of the vanity. “Now be quiet and let me work.”
Syrus relented, something he’d never do for anyone else.
He rarely even let his valet help him, preferring to ready himself for everything but the most formal occasions, but for Xan, he sat still while his cousin ran a razor over his face, neatening his beard and trimming it into shape.
Concoctions he had no name for went into his hair, smoothing his braids, which fell nearly to his shoulders.
He balked when Xan opened a bag of cosmetics, but wisdom prevailed and he sat still and allowed his eyes to be rimmed in dark liner, his eyelids dusted with a subtle glimmer of shade.
Xan eyed him critically, head tilted, then finally nodded. “Better. If you’d met me earlier like I told you to, I could have done more, but this will do.”
“I’m not out to impress anyone tonight,” Syrus reminded him, eyeing himself in the mirror. The effect was subtle but effective, something he would have worn for a night on the town, looking for a bit of fun.
Xan paused while packing up his bag. “You know, you could at least attempt to get to know him.”
No need to clarify who he meant, of course.
Syrus rolled his eyes. “I know everything I need to know about him. Not only is he a raider, but he instigated an uprising against his king. We’ve faced off dozens of times over the last decade and if we both survive to the end of the year, no one will be more surprised than me. ”
“You didn’t even know his name until the handfasting ceremony, though. You don’t know who he really is. The two of you are going to spend the rest of your lives together. Would it kill you to try?”
“Probably,” he scoffed, earning an aggrieved sigh from Xan.
“Look, I’m not going to antagonize him, but we’re not going to be friends.
His rooms have already been arranged and we’re far enough apart that we’ll never have to interact.
We’ll go about our separate lives as best we can and play nice when Mother forces us all to appear in public. ”
“That just sounds sad,” Xan said, wrinkling his nose. He yelped and dodged back when Syrus tugged at his curls, quickly smoothing them back down. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone about it.” The ‘for now’ was heavily implied.
“Let’s just get this over with so I can finish that bottle of wine.”
“Sy, promise me you won’t get drunk at the wedding dinner.”
“I’m a man of my word, so I’m not going to promise that.
” Honestly, the beer and ale were the only parts of the dinner he was looking forward to.
“I still don’t know why my mother insisted on having it.
I know it’s tradition, but everyone knows we’re being forced into this marriage.
Why are they acting like it’s something to celebrate? ”
“It’s an excuse to wear our fancy clothes and eat amazing food that we don’t have to pay for.
” Xan’s cheeky grin drew a reluctant smile in response.
Honestly, his cousin was a complete brat and acted the part of a spoiled noble almost too well, but he’d done more to soothe Syrus’ nerves in twenty minutes than a full bottle of wine had managed in two hours.
“Are you escorting me down?”
“Of course. Aunt Delia wants to make sure you actually make it there and don’t attempt to make a run for it. I have permission to use whatever means necessary to get you down to the hall on time, so if I were you, I’d get moving. We have just over four minutes before you’re officially late.”
“You’d use your magic to keep me hostage?
Really?” Syrus stood and smoothed down the front of his jacket.
He’d fought his mother’s attempts to put him in formal court attire and in a rare concession, she’d allowed him to wear his dress uniform, complete with the medals and accolades he’d earned after seventeen years in the military.
The gold-trimmed violet sash adorned with the crest of Vaetreas couldn’t be avoided, standing out in stark relief to his black uniform.
“I’m not even half your size and my boots have four-inch heels. Magic is the only way I’d be able to stop you. Now stop stalling. You’re down to three minutes.”
Syrus groaned but allowed Xan to escort him from his room to the formal Great Hall. They even made it with a few seconds to spare.
“I was about to send the guards after you,” Caro snipped.
In charge of planning and executing formal events in the palace, she had very particular opinions of what it meant to be on time and made no effort to hide her disdain for Syrus’ behavior.
“Now, you will enter here on the right. Your betrothed will walk up the left aisle. The two of you will meet at the front to stand at the dais with your parents and the officiant.”
“Why are we not using the center aisle?”
“As per my explanation yesterday, it seemed imprudent to have the two of you walk up the aisle together, as is traditionally done.” Caro looked ready to throttle Syrus.
In her defense, he’d been fairly drunk yesterday when she’d been explaining the scheduling for the wedding.
“Your mother felt it best to keep you both apart until the ceremony is complete.”
That made sense. She needed them both alive until they were legally bound to each other and she gained access to whatever the Canjiri had offered her in exchange for a Vaetrean prince.
“Of course. Please continue.”
Caro took a slow, measured breath. Xan’s poorly muffled laugh nearly broke Syrus’ composure, but he kept himself together. It was easier to pretend Caro was in a huff about a random ball. If he focused too hard on what was about to happen, he might actually break and run.
“Once the ceremony is complete, you will walk down the center aisle with your new husband.” Her nose wrinkled for the briefest second, betraying her feelings about Syrus’ betrothed.
“I will escort you both to the dining hall. You will be required to stay at least two hours and socialize with your guests. We have kept the guest list small, only two hundred or so guests.”
“Wait, how is that small?” Syrus protested.
“You are perfectly aware that the celebrations for royal weddings usually last three days and involve hundreds of guests, between the nobility, certain military officials, foreign dignitaries, and select commoners. Given the nature of this arrangement, tradition can be set aside just this once.”
“But what about—?”
“No more questions,” she snapped, cutting him off. “If you’d gotten here earlier, I could have explained everything in detail, but you didn’t and now it’s time. Face forward, shoulders back, head up, and act like a prince of Vaetreas.”
Before Syrus could compose himself to ask anything else, the doors opened and Caro pushed him forward, leaving him no choice but to proceed into the hall.
Xan slipped in ahead of him and hurried to his seat near the front, but Syrus barely noticed.
This was it. Too late to do anything but go forward.
The walk up the aisle was a blur. People filled the seats on either side of him, but he kept his gaze locked on the dais ahead of him.
Tittering whispers accompanied him on the short walk and he wanted to look around to find the cause, but if he didn’t stay focused, he might never complete the trip up the aisle.
Besides, once he and his betrothed stepped up onto the raised dais together, he spotted the source of the whispers.
At the betrothal ceremony, Eiri’s white ensemble with red trim hadn’t stood out among the dozens of Canjiri in similar garb.
Syrus had simply assumed the raider would wear more traditional clothing for the actual wedding ceremony.
Judging by the look of stony disapproval on his mother’s face, she’d clearly thought the same.
They’d both assumed quite wrong.
Rather than tailored breeches and a jacket, similar to what Syrus was wearing, Eiri wore some sort of light, silky robe with billowing sleeves that gathered at his wrists, the hem of the robe falling to his knees.
The breeches he wore beneath it were more fitted, but still loose, and his soft slippers were more suited to the women in attendance, not for a man.
Still the strange outfit could have been written off as a Canjiri oddity were it not for the color.
As a man, he should have been wearing black, like Syrus.
Even white would be acceptable, though many would raise an eyebrow at him wearing a traditional bridal color.
Instead, Eiri had opted for red. Not a muted maroon, either, but bright as a poppy.
Floral designs in gold and black thread decorated the entire robe, heavier along the sleeves and back.
A matching sash encircled his waist, the ends left to trail down his left hip.
The trousers, at least, were black, but his slippers were the same red.
The blatant disregard for Vaetrean tradition by wearing such garish clothing at a serious event was a slap in the face.
Syrus hated every second of what was happening, but he’d dressed formally so as not to embarrass his family.
Eiri’s complete lack of regard showed he clearly had no intention of attempting to make this work.
Syrus had at least hoped they could go about their lives amicably, ignoring each other in private while maintaining a facade in public. Obviously Eiri didn’t feel the same. Even the officiant seemed startled, but recovered quickly.
“Let us begin the ceremony,” she declared in ringing tones that silenced the whispers and giggles of the assembled nobility.
She gave Syrus an expectant look and he belatedly remembered the betrothed were to face each other and hold hands during the ceremony.
He stalled just long enough to compose his features into a blank mask, then turned to face Eiri.
The raider hadn’t used the time to compose himself.
He wore his hostility openly and the way he wrinkled his nose at the touch of Syrus’ hand was a clear insult, if Syrus had cared enough to take it as one.
Eiri attempted to withdraw enough that only his fingertips rested in Syrus’ hands, but Syrus clasped tighter, keeping Eiri’s hands firmly trapped in his own.
He knew it was a petty move even as he did it and he should probably be ashamed of how much he enjoyed the discomfort it caused, but instead, all he felt was a curl of satisfaction unwinding within him.
The glare it earned him only pleased him more and he locked eyes with Eiri, a silent standoff neither was willing to break first.
Syrus held Eiri’s hands through the entire ceremony, even when the younger man subtly tried to pull back again.
He repeated what he was told to say, went through the motions, and, when prompted, slipped a signet ring on the man’s finger.
It was a smaller version of the one Eiri roughly pushed onto his finger a moment later, both bearing Syrus’ personal crest as a prince of Vaetreas.
After a few more words that Syrus didn’t hear, he was married, his future now bound to that of the stranger staring him down with utter contempt in his eyes.