11. Syrus
Syrus
Syrus knew he was many things, but a coward was not one of them.
At thirty-five years old, he’d been serving in the military for seventeen years, working his way up the ranks.
His last name might be the reason he’d achieved the rank of general so young, but he did his best every day to ensure he earned it.
As a young soldier, he’d helped hold the Vaetrean-Gavarrian border after the Gavarrian civil war ended and traitors attempted to flee south.
He’d traveled the coastline of his country from end to end, holding back raiders and helping rebuild after attacks. Nothing scared him anymore.
And yet, he stood in the hallway outside his own bedroom, hesitating, debating the merits of tactical retreat. The guard standing outside, a man he’d sparred with several times, tried to hold back his amused smirk, but failed. He knew, just like everyone else in this damn palace knew.
That, more than anything else, forced Syrus to abandon his half-formed plan. If he didn’t face Eiri now, he’d have to do it later. May as well get it over with while his mother was occupied.
“Anything to report?” he asked, and the guard immediately sobered, standing at attention.
“No, sir. No one has come or gone from this room all day.”
“Good. You can go.”
“Sir, my orders are—”
“You can go, Barten.”
The man hesitated, but as a prince, Syrus’ command overrode everyone except his oldest brother and his parents.
He bowed once, then walked away, leaving Syrus standing alone in front of his bedroom door.
There were other guards, of course, further down the hallway near the other residences, should his husband try to murder him.
The ward on the door opened at his touch, the lock sliding back. A master key to get past the wards was given only to a very few high-ranking members of the household staff, which did not include Barten.
Syrus entered the room cautiously, one hand on the knife at his belt, just in case. The queen would be furious if she knew he’d armed himself around Eiri, but Syrus wasn’t taking any chances today. He could control himself enough not to murder the man.
The front living area was silent. Syrus closed and locked the door behind him, carefully searching the room before stepping further inside.
Evening was descending and the soft magelights cast everything in shadows without sunlight to banish them.
The plush chair Eiri had claimed as his own sat empty, a blanket thrown across the arm and a tea cup abandoned on the side table.
The washroom yielded nothing but shadows and the faint scent of jasmine lingering in the air.
Syrus avoided scented bath oils, an old habit from his days in the barracks, but he’d noted that Eiri had no such qualms. The other man never bathed if he knew Syrus was nearby, leaving the floral scent as the only sign that he’d used the deep tub.
The door to his office remained locked, which left only the bedroom. Perhaps he’d get lucky and Eiri would be asleep. He was not looking forward to this conversation.
One thing he’d learned recently was that luck very much was not on his side anymore. It’d abandoned him before the betrothal that left him tied to a man he’d tried very hard to arrest or kill on more than one occasion.
So really, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to find that Eiri was not, in fact, asleep. Instead, he sat perched on the windowsill, a knife that he absolutely should not be in possession of in one hand, the other wrapped in strips of what appeared to be his extra bedsheets.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Eiri exploded off of the sill. There was no other way to describe it.
The second he heard Syrus’ voice, he shoved away from the window and charged at him, the knife still clutched in his hand.
Instinct kicked in and Syrus drew his own, catching the blade of Eiri’s stolen weapon before it could come down and meet his chest.
“Stand down!” he ordered, planting his feet and shoving Eiri back, sending the other man stumbling back a few steps.
Fury shone in his light eyes, unlike anything Syrus had seen from him before.
Even on the day of their betrothal, when they’d realized who they would be marrying, Eiri’s anger had been a banked fire, smoldering embers waiting to ignite.
Now that fire was lit and quickly growing into a raging wildfire. Eiri spat something in Canjiri, either not remembering that Syrus didn’t speak his language or not caring. He would bet his favorite horse it was the second.
“What the hell is going on?” Syrus kept his knife at the ready, which proved to be a wise decision when Eiri came for him again.
They’d fought each other countless times over the years and knew how the other moved, but Syrus had never dealt with this side of Eiri before.
Speed had always been his advantage, not raw strength, but he attacked now like a savage, his usual control long gone.
His first wild slash caught Syrus off-guard and a burning line of pain opened along his forearm.
In the past, they had always been evenly matched, with neither of them gaining an advantage for long. Now, for the first time, Syrus had the upper hand. He held his ground, defending himself as Eiri spat curses at him in Canjiri, waiting for an opening.
It didn’t take long for Eiri to give it to him, either, too caught up in his anger.
One slight misstep, a tiny stumble, and Syrus pressed forward, catching Eiri’s wrist in his hand and barreling into him, slamming him against the bedroom wall and holding him there with his body.
He let his knife fall, leaving both hands free.
“Let go of me!” Eiri hissed, finally speaking in Vaetrean.
“Not until you stop acting like an idiot.”
“Get off me!” Eiri twisted and bucked, trying to throw him off, but without any leverage, he couldn’t shift Syrus. He tried to punch him, which only resulted in Syrus catching that hand and pinning it to the wall as well.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or should I turn you over to the palace guards and have them lock you in the dungeons for a while?
” Syrus asked, careful not to let any strain show in his voice.
Eiri may be slender, but he was scrappy, and his anger gave him enough strength that holding him pinned wasn’t easy.
“I’d rather be in the dungeons than stuck here with you!
” Eiri fought against his hold, trying to bring the knife down again.
Syrus tightened his grip, feeling the bones of Eiri’s wrist grind beneath his fingers until the pain finally grew too great and the knife clattered to the ground.
Syrus kicked it away for good measure before turning his full attention back to the man writhing against him.
“Are you throwing a temper tantrum because you had to spend a single day in the bedroom? Are you truly such a child?”
If looks could kill, Syrus would be nothing more than a pile of ash on the floor. He’d never seen so much loathing in one glare.
“You locked me in your bedroom! You had no right!”
“I have every right!” Syrus snapped, his own control starting to fray. It was growing to be a familiar feeling around Eiri. “You are my husband now, whether we like it or not, and you will not keep embarrassing me!”
“Embarrassing you?!” Eiri tried to kick him and Syrus pressed closer, pushing his knee between Eiri’s thighs to cut off the angle of his attacks.
“Yes.” He locked eyes with Eiri, letting his own anger come to the forefront. “All I have asked you to do is start acting like you belong here. Instead, you’ve thrown our customs in my face and continued to act like the savage little raider you seem to believe you still are!”
For a moment, the fire in Eiri ignited to an inferno, blazing with fury, but only for the span of a breath.
Then his face went blank, his emotions shuttered and locked behind a cold facade that was completely at odds with the person he’d been a moment ago.
“That is who I am. That is who I will always be to you. Locking me up will never change me.”
“Why are you like this?” Frustration ate at him and Syrus’ words came out on a growl.
“I’m just being myself. Isn’t this how savage little raiders act?” That acid sweet voice was back, dripping poison with every word. “I will never be one of you.”
“You don’t have a fucking choice.”
They were nose to nose, eyes locked. Syrus could feel every ragged breath Eiri drew, each rise and fall of his chest where they were pressed together.
Eiri’s pulse raced beneath Syrus’ hands, belying the mask of calm he wore.
It called to something inside him, something dark and mean.
He wanted to shatter that mask and find out what truly lay beneath it just as much as he wanted to never see Eiri C’Dari again.
“You can’t force me to become someone else, Syrus.” Eiri sneered his name, lips curled as though it’d left a foul taste in his mouth. “I won’t bend. Not about this.”
“Then I will break you.”
“You can certainly try.”
Syrus didn’t blink, didn’t break eye contact even for a moment. Eiri’s body still pressed against his, his wrists still held in Syrus’ hands, but even pinned, there was no submission in Eiri’s eyes. He notched his chin up, defiant even in defeat, refusing to back down to Syrus.
Hate, dark and ugly, pulsed up inside him, throttling the grudging respect Eiri’s audacity had earned. It’d been an empty threat, but now he wanted to. He wanted to see this stubborn, insolent, infuriating raider finally defeated.
“Oh, I’ll do more than try,” he growled.
He held Eiri’s gaze a few seconds longer, letting the truth of his words shine through.
Only then did he release him, stepping back and leaving Eiri staggering to regain his balance.
Pausing only to grab both knives from the ground, he turned and walked out, leaving Eiri slumped against the wall, alone.