Chapter 23 Syrus
Syrus
Syrus tried to keep up with Eiri, but the other man was too fast for him, quickly disappearing into the labyrinthine hallways of Lodie Palace.
“Would you like us to find him, Your Highness?”
The two guards near the entrance of the corridor were watching him, their expressions carefully blank, but he could easily imagine what they were thinking right now.
“No, it’s fine. As my husband, he is allowed to go anywhere in the palace he’d like.
” It came out sharper than he’d intended, but it seemed they needed a reminder that Eiri was royalty by marriage, even though he was Canjiri.
He had the right to go anywhere Syrus could.
He also had every right to be furious with Syrus, something he was trying not to think too hard about.
How had everything gone so wrong, so quickly? Their plan had been working, at least as much as it could. His mother was furious, and he didn’t look forward to seeing her tomorrow, but at least it bought them a little time.
At least, it had bought them time until Syrus messed it all up.
He needed to fix things, but how? Apologies clearly weren’t going to work.
He needed to find Xan and Ellis, but… perhaps tomorrow.
Xan would berate him for not telling Eiri the truth earlier, and Ellis would likely do the same.
It could wait until tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to retreat and lick his wounds in private.
Eiri would likely be in Syrus’ suite, where he’d hoped the two of them would spend the night together, but that was no longer possible.
So, it would be another night spent in his borrowed rooms until he could fix this mess between them.
“Could I get a tray brought up?” Syrus asked when he reached his borrowed room, and the guard standing outside nodded.
“Of course, Your Highness. It will be here shortly.”
He murmured his thanks, then went inside, kicking off his boots by the door.
His jacket landed on a chair, to be tended by his valet in the morning, while everything else went in a heap by the wardrobe.
A glint caught his eye as he pulled on a soft linen shirt, the flicker of flames from the hearth catching on the embroidery on his jacket.
The red thread Eiri had chosen had a faint metallic sheen to it, something he hadn’t noticed before.
Crossing back to the chair, he picked up the material, tracing a fingertip along the delicate flower his husband had so carefully applied.
He didn’t recognize it, but he’d seen the design before on some of Eiri’s clothing.
The touch of Canjir should have looked out of place on his Vaetrean clothing, but truthfully, it meshed better than he’d expected. Just as he and Eiri had.
“Fuck,” he groaned into the silence of the room.
How could he let this happen? He should have insisted on explaining everything to Eiri right then, the party be damned.
He’d gone on and on about how they had to trust each other if this was going to work, and instead he’d lied.
A lie of omission, but a lie nonetheless.
Despite what he’d told himself and Eiri, a tiny part of him had known that getting Eiri to trust him would make it easier to bring him to heel.
After spending time with Eiri and getting to know him that day on the beach, none of that had mattered anymore, but how could Eiri have known that?
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 was important 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.