18

Anger seethed under his skin, rolling along his veins like fire, as Greyson jumped in front of Cyrus. The woman immediately drew back, blanching. "Anyone who tries to hurt Cyrus will have to deal with me."

People started to drift away, disappearing. While they may not like him as much here, no one doubted his skill. The Griseo Mountains were his, and no one who'd challenged him here had ever won. Greyson used the edge of his own cloak to wipe the spit off Cyrus' cheek. Cyrus simply stared, eyes wide. Greyson took Cyrus' hand and stalked out of the village, staff held high.

Cyrus did not utter a single word as they walked, and Greyson could not see Cyrus because he was on his right side. Greyson kept his hand tight around Cyrus' as rage pounded inside of him. He'd known people would recognize Cyrus and that it could potentially be a problem, but seeing someone angry at Cyrus stirred his protective fury.

As the sun began to set, Greyson made camp a little distance from the road in an open expanse. Trees stood behind them and the mountain before them. If someone wandered down the road, they would undoubtedly see him and Cyrus, but Greyson would protect him if such a situation arose.

He took the bag from Cyrus' shoulder, and Cyrus would not even look at him, expression drawn. Cupping his frigid cheeks, Greyson said fiercely, "What she said doesn't matter. Do you hear me?"

"What was she talking about? Why does everyone seem uncomfortable around me?"

With a hand behind Cyrus' neck, Greyson yanked him closer. "Don't think about it, alright?"

Cyrus shook his head and moved out of his arms. Greyson watched him as he got a fire started. The temperature started to drop drastically once the sun set, and he did not want Cyrus to get cold. He made dinner, but Cyrus wouldn't eat. He curled up on the bedroll, arms wrapped around his stomach with his eyes squeezed shut while his breath came out in short bursts. No matter what Greyson did, Cyrus refused to speak.

Greyson dropped his bedroll right beside Cyrus. Laying on his left side, he gathered Cyrus close. "Don't think about what she said, alright?" Tightening his hold, he pressed his face against Cyrus' neck, breathing in his sweet scent. "It'll all be alright. I promise."

"I need to know what she was talking about."

He swallowed. Greyson did not want to confess the lies. Not now. He buried his face against Cyrus' shoulder. "I know."

Cyrus wiggled out of his embrace. Greyson let him go, reluctantly. Cyrus did not go far; he simply rolled over and cupped his cheeks. "Something is going on."

Greyson frowned. Calloused thumbs stroked his cheeks, creating tingles in their wake. Without thinking about it, he moved closer to Cyrus, whose hands slid from his face and around his back.

"I wish you'd trust me," Cyrus said.

He did not respond.

They lay in silence, holding each other. The only noises in the darkness were the crackling of the fire and the occasional hoot of an owl. Cyrus snuggled against his chest and whispered, "You should roll over, or else you won't be able to sleep."

Greyson agreed, but he was enjoying this moment with Cyrus. The warmth. The easy touches. The perfectness of it. With a grunt, he rolled onto his back and brought Cyrus with him. Cyrus gave a startled squeak, and Greyson kept shifting until he was on his other side.

Cyrus clutched the front of his shirt, laughing breathlessly. "What are you doing?"

"Rolling over."

"I don't understand you," Cyrus said, shaking his head.

Greyson finger-combed Cyrus' hair. "I don't understand me either."

"That's okay," Cyrus remarked, nuzzling his chest. "I still like you."

"I know." His arms tightened around Cyrus, warmth permeating his skin, and he fell asleep.

Cyrus groaned as a shaft of light directly shone on his face. He tried to resituate, but solid arms wouldn't allow him to. A familiar, intoxicating presence encircled him. With a smile, he snuggled closer, and Greyson rubbed his back. Cyrus kept his eyes closed, hoping the attention would continue, but Greyson said, "I know you're awake."

"I'm not. You're dreaming."

"Hmm, dreaming?" Greyson lifted his face. Cyrus opened his mouth, shifting closer. Before their lips touched, Greyson pinched his side.

"Ow."

"So, not a dream," Greyson remarked with a smirk.

"Spoilsport."

Chuckling, Greyson shifted to his back. "Come on. It's already late."

Cyrus reached for him, but Greyson was already standing. With a yawn, Cyrus followed suit, stretching, then paced around the clearing next to the muddy trail to wake up. The fire had died, leaving nothing but coals in the ring of stones. The air held a chill, and a dense fog hung around them, obscuring his vision, not that he would see much. Everything appeared the same since they'd started traveling.

His gaze landed on Greyson, who knelt next to the dead fire, his black hair falling in front of his face. Cyrus wanted to push it back, to feel the soft strands slide between his fingers.

His expression dimmed as the events of yesterday washed over him. Something was awry. He's lying to me, I think.

Suddenly, Greyson met his gaze. He gave Cyrus a slow smile, which made his heart falter. Cyrus returned it, a blush heating his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "How long until we reach the next village?"

"I think we're going to go straight to the coast."

Brow furrowing, he asked, "Why? Aren't we supposed to be showing me around in the hope to find the mage who magicked my memories?"

"We didn't do that at the other villages, so I'm sure it'll be fine to skip the next one." Greyson wouldn't look at him.

He sank to the ground in front of him. "Do you have a friend there?"

"Yes. James. But we don't have to speak to him."

Cyrus took Greyson's hand, placed it on his thigh, and ran his fingers over Greyson's palm, tracing the lines. Greyson's fingers twitched under his gentle ministrations. "Is this about what happened yesterday?"

Greyson closed his hand around Cyrus' fingers. "Let's head to the coast, alright?"

After a moment, he nodded. "Okay. How long will it take?"

"About a week to two depending on the weather."

The days disappeared quickly, though, with every day that passed, Greyson withdrew, further and further, until he would no longer hold hands or sleep next to Cyrus. But Greyson continued to answer questions. Over the journey, Cyrus learned more about Greyson like his love for the peace of the mountains and his fear of horses and heights.

"You don't like the capital?"

Greyson sipped a cup of tea. "It's not just the capital. I don't like any city."

"Have you ever lived in a city?"

"Not long term. I stayed in the capital for a few months at a time when we were negotiating with the emperor."

"You didn't like it?"

"No," Greyson said.

"We met there, though, right?" Cyrus watched Greyson closely; his expression tightened as his eyes darted to the side. Every time he asked Greyson a personal question about their previous relationship, he would look away.

"Yes. We met there."

"Why don't you like the city?" he asked, changing the subject.

His shoulders relaxed. "Lots of reasons."

"Which are?"

"First, the smell. Second, the people. Third, the tall buildings. And so many other reasons."

"I guess we'll have to stay in the country."

Greyson asked, "Do you like the country?"

"I mean, I don't remember the city. Well, I know what it looks like, but I don't have any personal memories of it. But yeah," Cyrus said, glancing around at the towering pine trees, then the gleaming stars. "I like it here."

"That's good."

"Yes, it is. That way we can stay here together."

"Together," Greyson repeated quietly as he prodded the fire. The light played on his hollow cheeks, making them appear gaunt as his gaze never wavered from the flames.

The next few days flew by while the weather grew steadily colder. Until the last night before they reached the coast, snow drifted from the sky. Cyrus stared in wonder, mouth open, at the sight. Lifting his face, he spun around. He didn't know if he'd ever seen snow before, but looking at it now, Cyrus quickly decided he loved it.

Hands settled on his waist, stopping his movements. He peeked over his shoulder at Greyson. "It's snowing."

"Be careful, you almost hit a tree."

"Do you like snow?"

"Yes." Greyson held out a hand, catching the flakes. "I've always loved the first snow."

"I don't know if I've ever seen snow before."

"You have," Greyson said.

"I have?"

"Yes."

"When?" Cyrus asked. Greyson seldom spoke about his past. Cyrus bit his lip. Maybe, just maybe, Greyson wasn't lying about them being friends.

Greyson stared at the sky, snow falling on his face and clinging to his black hair. "When the rebellion ended, you brought me back to the Griseo Mountains. It snowed the night before you left and went back to the capital."

"Did we stand side by side like this?"

"Yes, though not exactly like this." Greyson's expression was drawn.

Cyrus stepped closer, gawking at the flurries hanging off his hair. He wanted to bring the black strands to his lips and brush them away. Cyrus desperately wanted to close the distance between them. His fingers ached to touch him. Instead of doing any of that, he held Greyson's hand, their fingers interlacing, and stared at the clouded sky.

After a bit, Greyson shook him off and started to pick up pieces of wood. Sadness pierced his chest. Cyrus didn't understand why Greyson kept moving away from him. Taking a deep breath, he began to collect wood and stacked it.

Greyson started a fire, and Cyrus huddled as close as possible, rubbing his hands together. Greyson removed the fur blanket from one of the bags, then draped it over his shoulders.

"Thank you."

With a nod, Greyson began dinner, soup again. Cyrus, with his chin on his knees, watched Greyson's precise movements and his long, trim fingers.

"You're staring," Greyson said, dumping potatoes into the pot.

"I can't help it."

Greyson rolled his eyes. "You can. Simply look elsewhere."

"Sorry." Clearing his throat, he asked, "How far from the ocean are we?"

"A few hours. We'll get there tomorrow afternoon if the snow doesn't slow us down."

"I can't wait to see the ocean," he said. For some reason, the thought of being at the seaside with Greyson made his stomach churn in excitement.

"I promise it's not like the ocean you"re used to," Greyson said, laughing.

His head tilted to the side. "What's it like?"

"Rocky shore. Cold water covered in ice. Like I told you in the story about Ferrum."

"I'm still excited."

Once dinner was done, Greyson gave him a bowl of soup. Cyrus put a spoonful in his mouth, groaning as the savory taste danced along his tongue. "I swear to the goddess," he said between bites, "everything you cook tastes the best."

A pleased smile pulled on Greyson's lips as a blush warmed his gray cheeks. It was adorable, and Cyrus wanted to touch the redness to see if it was warmer than the rest of his skin. He bit his bottom lip at the thought. Greyson focused on his mouth, motionless. A sudden tension bloomed. Cyrus let go of his lip, and Greyson looked into his eyes. Cyrus wanted to kiss him, but the instant he moved, the tension shattered, and Greyson's gaze darted to his own lap.

When they finished eating and cleaning the dishes, he set up his bedroll near the fire. It was cold even next to the flames, and snow continued to float from the sky, dusting the ground. He shivered and stared at Greyson, eyes wide and lower lip extended.

"It's cold," Cyrus commented. Greyson scowled, and Cyrus smiled.

"Fine," Greyson ground out. He dropped his bedroll next to Cyrus and sank to the ground behind him. Cyrus draped his blankets over the both of them, and Greyson hooked an arm over his waist, drawing him close.

Nestled against his chest, Cyrus exhaled. "Now I'm not cold."

Greyson scoffed. "You're shameless."

Cyrus didn't mind being shameless if it led to snuggling. Greyson pushed an arm under his neck, then pressed his face into Cyrus" shoulder. It didn't take long for Greyson to fall asleep, his breath becoming shallow and even.

He brushed Greyson's arm. "Goodnight, my love."