Chapter 23 Syrus #2
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 night he’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 a request, 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.
“We had an argument earlier and he needed some space. He’ll return soon, though.” Syrus closed the door, the handle slipping from his fingers at the last second and slamming into the frame much harder than he’d intended.
Kien frowned, taking a step back to put another foot of space between them. “You don’t know Eiri as well as you pretend to if you believe he’ll come back so soon after an argument.”
“I’m not pretending anything.” A sharp warning laced his words, a reminder of their positions. He didn’t enjoy doing it, but after everything Kien had done to sabotage his relationship with Eiri, perhaps the man needed a reminder.
“Of course,” he said smoothly. His eyes remained flat and hard, though, belying his calm words. “The two of you believe you can make this work.”
“We do and we will, no matter what anyone else thanks. Thinks,” he amended. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the sudden exhaustion creeping through his bones. He was no stranger to long nights, and he had to keep his wits about him to deal with Kien C’Marlo.
Kien frowned, tilting his head ever so slightly at Syrus’ fumble. “Your own family openly mocked your husband tonight and you said nothing.”
“Because we had a plan!” Anger gave him the surge of energy he needed to push away from the door and take a step toward Kien. “A plan that you ruined when you called him a traitor. You say you’re here to protect Eiri, but all you’ve done is break him down with your poisoned words.”
For one moment, Kien’s eyes flitted to something deeper inside the room. A strange look crossed his face, there and gone so quickly Syrus wasn’t even sure he’d seen it at all, then the ambassador turned his full attention on Syrus again.
“I am here to protect Canjir and her people. That included Eiri C’Dari until he desecrated our history and whored himself out to you.”
Syrus saw red. Literally. The edges of his vision went dark and crimson and he surged across the remaining space between them, grabbing Kien by his collar. He stumbled and sent them both crashing into the wall, but the other man didn’t so much as flinch.
“Don’t you dare call him that!” he hissed, heart racing as fury unlike any he’d felt before coursed through his veins. His whole body burned with it, a fire that spread with every ragged breath he took. “Eiri is a better man than you’ll ever be!”
“Eiri didn’t even last two months here before he broke and spread his legs for you,” Kien sneered. For all the venom in his words, his eyes remained sharp, locked on Syrus’ face.
Syrus punched him.
Kien’s head barely moved at all, the blow glancing off his jaw and leaving Syrus stumbling to the side.
His legs were iron weights dragging him to the ground, his arm heavy and aching.
The red in his vision spread, the room going hazy around him.
Fire ate through his veins and he couldn’t catch his breath, his chest clenching every time he gasped for air.
This isn’t normal. Something is wrong. What did he do to me?
The thoughts flickered through his mind and disappeared before he could grasp them as fog crept over his mind.
“What’d you do?” he slurred. He tried to take a step toward Kien and stumbled again, going to one knee on the plush carpet. The man simply moved back, watching Syrus dispassionately, all his sneering derision gone.
“I told you. I am here to protect Canjir. This was not the plan, but plans can change. There is more than one way to win a war.”
Syrus’ response died on his lips, coming out as a wordless groan as the fire continued to burn him from the inside out.
His strength fled and he sagged to the side, collapsing on the floor at Kien C’Marlo’s feet.
His chest heaved, desperately trying to draw air into his starved lungs, but none came.
The room faded around him, red fading to black, and the last thing he heard before the darkness took him was Kien’s voice calling out in false panic.
“Guards! Help! Your prince has been poisoned!”