Chapter 8 Syrus
Syrus
“Farlin tells me you refused to cooperate with the tailor?” Syrus carefully kept himself neutral.
He was getting better at keeping his emotions off his face.
He’d developed a constant ache in his jaw from gritting his teeth, but it was a small price to pay.
A week now, he’d been sleeping on the floor of his own bedroom and at first, it had seemed to work.
Eiri hadn’t been as argumentative and the two of them had managed brief conversations without attempting to kill each other.
All that had changed a few days ago, though, and while his new husband wasn’t as hostile as he’d been, he’d become more stubborn, clinging fiercely to his Canjiri ways.
“That’s correct,” Eiri said. “I have clothing of my own. Quite a bit of it, actually. Until the tailor is willing to listen to my preferences and wishes, I’m not going to meet with her.”
“You are in Vaetreas. Because you married me, you are one of us now. You need clothing that reflects that. Your clothing from the island is fine for informal settings.” The lie nearly stuck in his teeth before he got it out.
“I have formal clothing as well. I don’t need to be stuffed into… that.” Eiri’s gesture encompassed the length of Syrus’ body.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? It’s not even formal wear.
It’s just everyday clothing,” he protested.
His shirt buttoned to just below his throat, unlike the stiff collars of his dress clothes that rose to his chin.
His waistcoat today was a simple one, only one cinch at the back, and his trousers had only one row of buttons on each side to secure them. He’d forgone a jacket and cravat, even.
“You can’t even put it on without help from your valet. How is that normal?”
“It’s Farlin’s job to help me prepare for the day. Is that the issue? Should I assign you a valet?” Perhaps he should have already done so, to get him used to the process.
“No!” Eiri protested immediately. “No, I don’t need anyone to help me dress. What I’m wearing is fine.”
Syrus raised an eyebrow. This evening, Eiri wore loose trousers that flowed around his legs, soft green in color, contrasting with the dark grey of his tunic.
The sleeves cut off just above his elbow, baring his arms in an obscene fashion.
While it did look comfortable, it was entirely unsuited for anywhere outside the privacy of the bedroom.
“The only people who go out in public with their arms bare are farmers and prostitutes. You are royal by marriage. You need to dress accordingly.”
“I’d rather be mistaken for a prostitute than wear the clothing the tailor brought with her,” Eiri said, wrinkling his nose. “She claimed it’s fashionable for men of my build to wear a corset to emphasize it. I’m still not sure if she meant it as a compliment or an insult.”
Syrus couldn’t be sure about that, either, so he chose not to address it.
“She wasn’t incorrect. A more slender physique has grown popular over the last few years.
It’s her job to dress you in clothing that is in keeping with current trends.
Royalty should never be seen as falling behind the times. ”
Eiri sat up straighter in the plush armchair he’d all but claimed as his own, eyes narrowing even more than usual. “It’s fashionable to look like you’re starving?”
“That’s… perhaps not how I would put it.
” He didn’t wince, but it was close. While he’d never cared much for fashion, leaving his clothing choices in Farlin’s capable hands, there were some trends he’d questioned over the years.
The modern trend toward a slender look was beyond him, given his stocky build and love of good food, so he compensated for it with his modern clothing.
“You people host feasts with more food than anyone could possibly eat, ignore that food because you want to be skinny, then throw away what’s left when there are people in your city that are actually starving? Yet, somehow, I’m the problem?”
“What does any of this have to do with clothing? The tailor is just trying to do her job.” A hint of temper slipped through the cracks before Syrus could contain it and Eiri immediately latched onto it.
“That’s what you took from what I just said?” he snapped, rising to his feet. “Not the fact that there are people starving who would do anything for even a portion of what you throw away every night?”
“You’ve been in Lodie for a week. You don’t know anything about the people here or their living situations,” Syrus growled, and the careful rein he’d kept on his temper this past week was now a bare thread.
“I know enough.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I have eyes and a window that looks out at the city. I’ve likely seen more of the locals in the last week than you have in your life. The divide between the nobility and literally everyone else is very clear to anyone who bothers to look.”
“If you’re so concerned about the people of this city, then let the tailor do her job so she doesn’t lose that job!”
Rather than appealing to Eiri’s emotions, as he’d hoped, that only seemed to piss him off even more.
“So if I don’t let her dress me up in your ridiculous clothing, you’ll dismiss her from her job?” He muttered something in Canjiri under his breath that Syrus couldn’t understand, but probably wasn’t a compliment.
“I won’t, but my mother will. She hired Naji to dress you properly and if she fails in that task, then we don’t need her here.”
“Properly? What’s wrong with my clothing?” Whatever hold Eiri had on his temper, it was as frayed as Syrus’. One of them would break if he couldn’t get this situation under control.
“I’m sure your clothing is fine for Canjir,” he ground out. “You are not in Canjir, though. You are in Vaetreas, and your clothing is not appropriate for the halls of this castle.”
“Then I won’t walk the halls of this castle!” Eiri snapped, harsh and mocking. “I will not change who I am just because of your judgmental, archaic rules! I’m hardly walking around naked, like your courtiers seem to believe! Is a bit of color truly so scandalizing?”
“It’s not about color. It’s about fitting in! You married me and by virtue of that, you are now Vaetrean and you need to start acting like it!”
“By that logic, marrying me made you Canjiri. Maybe you’re the one who needs to start acting like it.”
“I’d rather die than have someone mistake me for Canjiri trash.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them, an automatic rejection of everything Canjiri, but they landed with the force of magical explosives, undoing the work of the last week.
Every meal he’d begrudgingly ordered for Eiri, every night on the floor, all of it laid to waste with a few simple words.
In an instant, Eiri’s face shuttered, his thoughts and feelings locked down behind a mask of perfect calm.
“And I would rather die than become one of you,” he said evenly.
“Eiri.” Syrus didn’t know how he could possibly salvage this, but the other man didn’t give him a chance.
“No. You’ve made your feelings on this perfectly clear, as have I.
I don’t see a need to keep up this charade anymore.
” As he spoke, Eiri returned to the chair, picking up a dressing gown laying across the arm and slipping it on.
A small book on the side table went into his pocket, surprising Syrus.
There was no reason for Eiri to be illiterate, of course, he’d just assumed that was the case.
“What are you doing?” Exhaustion tugged at him, the deep weariness that came of trying to suppress everything since the wedding.
“I’m going to sleep, but I’m not going to do it here. I’m sure you’ll be happy to have your bed back.” Eiri pulled on a pair of soft shoes, similar to his sister’s slippers.
“Where are you going, then? You’re married to me, and my mother clearly wants us to share quarters.”
“I honestly don’t give a fuck what your mother wants,” Eiri said, acid sweet. “I refuse to spend the rest of my life like this. She can officially give me a separate room or I’ll choose one for myself. I don’t care which, but I’m not going to keep doing this with you.”
“A raider taking what he wants with no regard for others. Why am I not surprised?” The words were fuel on the fire but Syrus was beyond caring.
“Which proves you know absolutely nothing about me or my people. Have the night you deserve, Syrus.” Eiri turned on his heel and marched out the door. He didn’t slam it behind him, which only pissed Syrus off more.
He should go after him, drag him back kicking and screaming if necessary.
His mother would want him to. They had to keep up appearances, after all.
He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Eiri wouldn’t get too far. He was too recognizable as the only Canjiri in the palace and possibly the entire city.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would come up with a plan to deal with his rebellious husband once and for all. Tonight, he just wanted his bed, to sleep on comfortable pillows and chase away the fatigue that ached at the very center of his bones. Everything else could wait until tomorrow.
The flaw in his plan to deal with everything tomorrow became apparent rather quickly.
The noon hour had come and gone, and Syrus hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of his husband.
Eiri missed his appointment with the tailor, as well as the first lesson with the etiquette tutor hired by the queen.
He was due to start classes in Vaetrean history and politics the following week, something Syrus hadn’t told him yet.
He’d hoped to ease into it after a week of peace, but that wouldn’t be happening after last night’s argument.
“Why can’t we just have the guards help us?” Xan whined as they trudged up yet another flight of steps. He’d stumbled across his cousin in the hallway and recruited him for this mission to find Eiri.