24

Greyson and Cyrus headed west over the rough terrain. It would take five days to reach Woodhurst, where Lord Darius lived. The trip would not be easy, though. There was a road, but it was a much longer, circuitous route that went through a couple of towns. He did not want Cyrus to experience anything similar to the woman calling him a murderer, so they avoided the path and journeyed through the woods.

Cyrus trailed along, shivering. The cold wasn't his friend. Now if they stayed in the house or spent very little time outside, he seemed to enjoy winter.

Of course,Greyson thought with a shake of his head, Cyrus becomes handsy at every opportunity.

Memories of when they were alone resurfaced. Cyrus's lips on his. The warmth of his skin. The way his fingers explored Greyson's chest. Greyson scoffed, which made Cyrus raise an eyebrow. He smiled but didn't say anything. Cyrus had respected the boundary of no sex, but he definitely tested it. Greyson had a feeling that as soon as the word ‘unmarried' was out of Lord Darius' mouth, Cyrus would drag him to the first private space he found.

Fire raced in his veins and made his skin tingle at the thought. Part of him didn't mind at all. Another part of him worried. He'd never been with another man. Greyson loved Cyrus, but it concerned him a bit. Shrugging it off, he knew, in the end, it would be what it was, and Cyrus loved him so it would work out.

Shaking his head, Greyson wanted to laugh. Romance had never been important to his life. His parents and little sister had died when he was fourteen from a plague sweeping through the empire. After that, everything became about teaching and making potions and poultices to help his people.

There had been no time or inclination for romance. He'd courted a couple of women, nothing serious or long. Cyrus was the first man Greyson had been attracted to. Cyrus was also the first and only person he'd ever fallen in love with.

"What?" Cyrus asked, trembling.

"Nothing," he said. "I just like being with you."

"Me too," Cyrus said, moving closer.

Greyson faced forward, walking over the steep, snow-covered ground. He carefully wound through the pine trees, all the while focusing on Cyrus' hand in his.

Cyrus huddled next to the fire, frozen. Snow covered the ground, and the air was so cold, it burned his skin and made needles prickle his lungs with every breath. He desperately longed for the cabin Greyson called home. Cyrus wanted to stay with Greyson in their small home. He didn't care that he was a prince or about whatever waited for him back in the capital.

While he shivered next to the fire, Greyson cut branches from the trees, not even bothered by the frigid temperatures.

"I'm almost done," Greyson said, black hair hanging in front of his face.

"What are you doing?"

"Making something for you to sleep on. The cold ground doesn't bother me much, but this should offer you some insulation." He continued to work, layering heavily-needled branches on the ground, then covered them with one of the extra blankets they'd brought before holding out his hands. "Come here, love."

The endearment made Cyrus beam. Standing, he went to Greyson, who wrapped his arms around him. With a smile, Greyson kissed him, slowly and gently. Cyrus wanted to groan in frustration. Every touch made him want more. Every time he kissed Greyson, a panicked frenzy would grow in his chest and make him want to kiss him harder, faster, like it would be their last chance.

Much quicker than he would have liked, Greyson lifted his head. Cyrus held back a frustrated sigh. Some of it must have leaked out in his expression because Greyson stroked his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Greyson said.

He seized the front of Greyson's shirt and shook him slightly. "You have nothing to apologize for. I understand your hesitation. It's very honorable."

Greyson's eyebrows raised. "I believe that is the first time anyone has called me honorable." Cyrus chuckled, and he continued, "You have to admit it's a possibility."

"Yes," he said. "I understand your worries, but I don't share them. I know I'm not married."

"How?" Greyson asked, brow furrowing.

Cyrus shrugged. He couldn't explain the certainty he felt deep within him. "I don't know. I just do."

Leaning down, Greyson pressed his forehead against his. "I hope you're right."

"I know I am."

The next four days passed in a haze. Cyrus had never been so cold in his life, and every day the temperature dropped. Even at night, wrapped in Greyson's embrace, did not banish the chill that had settled into his very bones. He promised himself most heartily to spend the future winters in the house and sparingly outside, not traipsing around the mountains.

The sun hung in the west as Greyson continued to lead him on an unseen path. Constant shivers wracked his body as his teeth chattered. Cyrus swore viciously and repeatedly in his mind. He would have spoken out loud if he could've managed it without biting his tongue off.

Greyson kept glancing over his shoulder at him, but each time, Cyrus would wave off the obvious concern. He didn't want to stop. All he desired was to reach Woodhurst so he could sit in front of a fire and thaw out.

Finally, after another hour or so, they came up a steep slope. In the distance, Cyrus spied a village—a proper settlement of a few dozen buildings, dirt roads, and people. Validus Peak, capped in snow, loomed over Woodhurst and pierced the sky. To the east, he saw Sarcio Peak, his first sighting of it. It was taller than Ferrum but it was quite a bit smaller than Validus.

"Thank the goddess," he muttered, which elicited a chuckle from Greyson. Unable to stop himself, Cyrus grinned. The last few days, actually since Greyson confessed everything, he'd been laughing more.

"Soon we'll be inside, and you can warm up," Greyson said as he directed Cyrus to the wide road.

"I would like that," he muttered. But even as the excitement for a warm fire grew in his stomach, worry began to gnaw at him. What would the representative say? Cyrus was pretty sure he wasn't married, but what if he was? What if Lord Darius separated them or hurt Greyson? His hands clenched as his back straightened. He would allow no one to hurt Greyson while he breathed.

"What's going on?" Greyson asked, shaking his hand. "You're hurting me."

Cyrus immediately loosened his grip. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. What's bothering you?"

"You don't think you're in danger, do you?"

"From Lord Darius?" Greyson asked, stopping in the middle of the road.

"Yes."

"It's a distinct possibility, but I should be fine," Greyson said, eyes averted.

"You're lying to me," Cyrus responded, completely certain. When Greyson didn't reply, Cyrus demanded, "Tell me the truth. Are you in danger?"

Meeting his gaze, Greyson answered, "Yes, but I can't let the emperor punish or hurt my people. I was willing to die for them before, and I still am."

He yanked Greyson's face down. "I will not let anyone hurt you, ever." Then Cyrus tried to kiss him firmly, but his numb lips made it more clumsy than he intended, though Greyson didn't seem to mind. Greyson belonged to him, and he would not let him go. Not now. Not ever.

Pulling back, Greyson said against his lips, "Thank you."

Unfortunately, Greyson shifted back and continued toward Woodhurst. Cyrus would've much rather have stayed in the middle of the road, kissing, even if it meant he would freeze the entire time. But Greyson, as usual, remained focused on the task at hand. Together, they walked down the dirt path, which was full of ruts and covered in a light dusting of snow.

People stopped and gaped at them or him; Cyrus couldn't tell which it was. Greyson did not let the crowd stop him. He nodded at various people and called out greetings, which were returned, continuing to a two-story home with a steep gable roof in the middle of the village.

It had wide windows, empty flower boxes, and dark brown siding that contrasted against the white paint. There was a red brick wall around the side of the home that disappeared behind it. Peeking out behind the home was a long building with a fenced-in area with targets in the distance. Barracks and lists, he assumed.

When Greyson reached the large home, he rapped on the door, a frown already forming on his face. The dark red door with a black iron knocker loomed before them and made Cyrus swallow. Cyrus squeezed his hand, and Greyson gave him a slight smile.

It took a few minutes before a slight maid with golden-blonde hair, tan skin, and light blue eyes opened the door. Immediately, Cyrus knew she couldn't be from the Griseo Mountains. Pretty much everyone he'd seen looked like Greyson—grayish skin and dark hair.

When she saw him, a surprised squeak came out of her mouth. Throwing the door open, she bowed low. "Prince Cyrus."

If he possessed any doubts that Greyson had lied about his heritage, this alone would have assuaged them. Cyrus nodded, distinctly uncomfortable. "Is the representative available?"

"Of course, Lord Darius will see you," she said, bowing again.

"We need to speak with him immediately," Greyson said.

The maid's expression cooled. "Mage Greyson. You are not welcome here."

As Cyrus studied him, he could find no evidence that the maid's words hurt him. Returning his focus to the woman, he said, "Greyson is with me."

Her eyes darted to their joined hands, widening. "Of course, your highness." She, with yet another bow, allowed them to come in.

Warmth immediately washed over him. Cyrus shuddered. He couldn't wait to sit in front of a fire. He glanced around as the maid led them into a front-facing parlor. Paintings hung on every wall. Statues in the corners. Finely carved and well-polished furniture decorated every space, and thick rugs spread over the polished wood floor. In the short time he'd been in this house, Cyrus had seen more evidence of wealth than in the entire time he'd been with Greyson.

Once they entered the parlor, the maid bowed and closed the door. Greyson immediately shoved him into a chair closest to the ornate marble and gold fireplace, then crouched before Cyrus.

Cyrus tried not to laugh. Greyson may complain about being a nursemaid, but he did it well. "I didn't freeze to death." Swallowing, he fought against the worry coiled in his chest. "I'm nervous."

"For yourself or me?"

"Both."

"Don't be. We will both be fine."

He pointed to the staff on the ground next to Greyson. "You have your staff, and you will use it to defend yourself," Cyrus ordered.

A sigh escaped his lips as Greyson's eyes shifted to the fireplace.

Cyrus gripped the front of his shirt. "I'm serious, Greyson."

"I know."

"You'll protect yourself, then?"

"I will protect you and decide what to do about myself in the moment, should it arise."

When the door opened, Greyson started to move away, but Cyrus held fast. "That's not good enough."

With a quiet chuckle, Greyson picked up his staff, then sat beside Cyrus. Unwillingly, his gaze shifted to the intruder who sauntered in wearing fine deep blue clothes. Lord Darius was a man in his fifties with blonde hair, green eyes, and soft features. No doubt in his youth, the lord would have been considered attractive, but he had a weaselly look about his face and slim body that made Cyrus immediately dislike him.

"Prince Cyrus," Lord Darius said, his voice high and nasal. "How unexpected. I received word from the emperor that you would be heading in this direction months ago. In fact, a couple of days ago, I received an urgent message that you were missing, but here you are with Mage Greyson."

Cyrus froze. He and Greyson hadn't discussed what to say. Greyson calmly said, "His journey took an unexpected detour."

"You don't say," Lord Darius remarked with obvious sarcasm as he gestured to Greyson.

"On his journey north to see me, Cyrus met with someone else and was injured," Greyson stated in a bland tone.

Lord Darius whipped in his direction. "Are you alright, your highness?"

"Yes," Cyrus said. "I was minimally injured. Greyson saved me."

His thin eyebrows shot up. "How unbelievable."

"It's true," he said, grabbing Greyson's hand. Lord Darius blinked at the movement, mouth opening.

"Unfortunately, Cyrus has lost his memory," Greyson said.

Scoffing, Lord Darius said, "That I believe." Then the lord turned to him and asked, "You remember nothing?"

"No. Well, very little. I had no idea who I was until Greyson informed me and brought me here."

"So," Lord Darius started. "I'm supposed to believe that you," he broke off pointing at Greyson, "saved Prince Cyrus' life, but somehow the prince has lost his memories?"

"Yes, because it is the truth," Greyson answered.

"I don't believe it," Lord Darius said, legs crossing.

"You don't have to," Cyrus said, his voice cold and hard, "because I do."

Lord Darius paused for all of one second at his tone, then continued, "No offense, your highness, but I could tell you that your esteemed aunt was a talking bird and you'd believe me. You're not exactly the image of reliability."

"I have no memories, but I'm not stupid," Cyrus growled, anger boiling in his stomach.

Lord Darius continued like he hadn't even spoken, "So this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to arrest Mage Greyson, and if he resists, I will punish random citizens. Then I will write to the emperor while sending you to the capital with an armed escort, and when he orders me to execute Mage Greyson, I will do so."

Cyrus immediately leaped to his feet, snarling, "You will do no such thing."

Greyson had known where this would lead, and shockingly, Lord Darius had acted predictably. He yanked Cyrus back into the delicate chair with flower and vine covers.

"Enough, Cyrus," he said, holding on to him. He studied Lord Darius for a few breaths. His overplucked eyebrow was arched as he stared at where Greyson held Cyrus' arm. Greyson pulled the bottle of poison out of his pocket, twirling it between his fingers. The glass gleamed in the firelight as the red powder slid around the cylindrical bottle.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes," Greyson said, nodding. "Very rare and illegal." He twirled it faster. "I'm one of the few who makes it. You can have it if you allow Cyrus to write a letter and stay here until the emperor decides my fate."

Lord Darius' lips pursed. "What's to stop me from simply taking it?"

"Nothing besides the fact that the prince of the nation, the capital"s golden boy, and beloved of the emperor will see you take it. Me? I have nothing to lose. You? You could be stripped of your title and land."

"He'll see me either way," Lord Darius remarked, hands folding on his legs.

"Yes, but Cyrus will say nothing if you agree to the terms." It was not much, but it was all he had. Greyson wanted to scoff. He was holding out hope that the emperor he hated had a heart and would allow them to stay together.

When the lord did not say anything, Greyson continued to twist the bottle full of deadly red powder between his fingers. "Think about it. There's enough to kill a hundred people or one person if you really want to make sure they're dead. You seem like the overkill type. Here? Not much you can do with it. But when you return to the capital with the venetus, think of the people you could kill that are in your way."

Lord Darius followed the bottle's every movement. Of course, he didn't want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people who hated him. The assignment had to be a punishment. But if he was cleverer than he seemed, Lord Darius could get what he wanted. Most likely, Lord Darius would end up poisoning himself because he would not be careful enough, but it wasn't Greyson's problem.

"Deal, but you don't get to keep your staff."

Greyson fought back the sudden panic that stole his breath and made his stomach roil at the thought of his weapon and the only link to magic in the hands of a man who would simply break it in half. He looked at Cyrus, who watched him with wide eyes. Cyrus was worth it. He started to toss the bottle to Lord Darius when Cyrus clamped onto his arm.

"You can take the staff," Cyrus said coldly, "but you can't break it. If you do, I will tell my uncle. It is a prized royal artifact."

Lord Darius frowned. "Fine."

Cyrus let go of his arm, and Greyson tossed the vial to Lord Darius, then handed his staff over. As Lord Darius' fingers closed around it, his heart clenched. It physically hurt Greyson to see him holding it.

"I don't suppose you know if I'm married or not?" Cyrus asked, which made Greyson roll his eyes.

Lord Darius' focus shifted from the two prizes clutched in his skeletal-like hands. "What?"

"Am I married?"

"No," he said, eyebrows squished together. "At least not as far as I know. News takes a while to travel this far, but I probably would have heard about you marrying."

Cyrus said triumphantly, "I told you so!"

Before Greyson could respond, a loud racket filled the air.