29

Cyrus drummed his fingers on the table, lips pursed. It was afternoon if the light streaming in from the window was any indication. The room was empty, and the fire had burned down to nothing but coals. Most importantly, Greyson was nowhere to be seen.

When he'd woken up, Greyson hadn't been there, but the ache in his head hadn't allowed Cyrus to look for him. Even the cuts on his side and thigh plus the stab wound on his shoulder didn't hurt as badly as his head did. As he sat there, he had to fight against a sudden wave of nausea. Swallowing, he searched for a bucket in case he lost the battle when he saw Greyson's staff. It leaned in the corner next to his sword.

He glowed at the sight. Greyson had to trust him, even a little, to leave his staff behind. Unable to stop it, worry poked at Cyrus. What if this was all a ruse? What if Greyson didn't love him but was using him?

Cyrus banished the thoughts. He would trust Greyson. Yet, the doubts persisted. What if this wasn't real?

Standing, he ignored the pain and the way the world tilted. He shoved his feet into a pair of boots, but his gaze lingered on Greyson's staff and his sword. He didn't mind leaving his blade behind, but what if something happened to Greyson's staff?

Shrugging, he strapped on his sword and picked up the staff. Power vibrated under his hand and traveled up his arm, inexplicably warming him.

Ready as he could be, Cyrus went outside. The sun was blindingly bright as it glared off the pure-white snow. His squinted eyes watered while his nose ran. Shivering, Cyrus bit back a swear; he'd forgotten his cloak.

A gangly teenager with a messy braid passed by, then stopped. "Prince Cyrus."

Nodding, he said, "I'm sorry I don't know your name."

"I'm Jessica, Greyson's student."

"Nice to meet you," Cyrus said, breathless. Just this small excursion was taxing. Exhaustion weighed on him, and all he wanted was to sleep, preferably with Greyson in his arms. "You don't happen to know where he is."

She pointed toward the square. "He went over there only a few minutes ago."

"Thank you."

"Of course." Jessica frowned, hands curling, before she blurted, "Thank you for saving Greyson."

Cyrus blinked. "Of course. I will always save Greyson if he needs it."

Her cheeks pinked as she asked, "Is it true he's in love with you?"

His mouth fell open for a second before he snapped it closed. "That's what he says."

"It's very surprising," Jessica said, then blushed more profusely.

"More shocking, I love him back."

The teenager's eyes widened. "You do?"

"I do."

"Widow Jones says the two of you are fated, and that because Greyson was so hardheaded, fate had to work even harder to get you two together."

He laughed, then stifled a cry. Holding his head with his free hand, Cyrus asked, "Fate made me lose my memory?"

"That's what Widow Jones says."

Controlling another laugh, he said, "I best go find my fated love, then."

The girl gave him a shy wave before heading in the opposite direction.

Cyrus ambled toward where she'd indicated, head hurting more fiercely with each breath. Thankfully, as he entered the square, Cyrus caught sight of Greyson. He spoke with a soldier, arms crossed, nodding seriously at whatever was said. With measured steps, Cyrus trudged across the open expanse.

When he got closer, Greyson scowled. "What the hell are you doing?"

He did not respond as he took in every detail of Greyson's face. The swelling had gone down in his left eye, and his nose appeared marginally better. Greyson stalked toward him, right leg dragging oddly. He stood right in front of Cyrus, frowning. Cyrus could not stop himself as he went up on his toes to kiss Greyson.

It surprised him when Greyson returned it instead of pulling away. It lasted hardly any time before Greyson swore. "Damn it. I hate my split lip. If it healed already, I could kiss you properly."

"I would like that."

"Hmm," Greyson said, not letting go of his cheeks.

Cyrus looked from side to side. People outright ogled them. "People are staring."

"That's because I'm kissing my supposed enemy. Widow Jones blabbed all over town that I'm in love with you, but no one believed her."

"Ah." Cyrus was slightly hurt, even though it wasn't Greyson's fault.

Greyson yanked his face closer, kissing him again, fiercely. Cyrus groaned and carefully placed his free hand on Greyson's hip. After a few moments, Greyson moved back again.

"Now, I'm going to yell at you for coming outside while you"re injured without even a cloak," Greyson snapped.

"You were gone," he exclaimed.

"Getting us food. It's the middle of the afternoon. You slept forever," Greyson yelled back, still holding his cheeks.

Cyrus grinned. He liked this. Unable to stop himself, he said, "I love you."

With a shake of his head, Greyson said, "I love you too. Now, let's go inside."

Greyson led him back toward the house. Cyrus' teeth started to chatter, and his nose ran as he hunched his shoulders. Greyson kept peering at him with a deep frown. Even with his pronounced limp, he quickly scaled the stairs.

Taking the staff, Greyson said, "You should've waited for me or at least put on a cloak."

He couldn't respond because his teeth would not stop chattering. Greyson leaned his staff in the corner, then unbuckled the sword from around Cyrus's waist. Cyrus stared at the ceiling and silently counted, trying not to think of where Greyson's hands were. Greyson scoffed and set the sword in the corner before pushing Cyrus next to the fire.

"Next time," Greyson said, "if you want to go outside, wear these." He held up a fur-lined vest and gloves. "Also a cloak. That's why I had them made for you."

Even with his chattering teeth, he smiled as warmth that had nothing to do with the fire seeped into him. "T-those ar-re mine?"

Greyson stiffly sat in front of him, clutching his stomach. "Yes."

Cyrus grinned.

"Now, there are things we need to discuss."

"Like what?" he asked.

"First, you need to write to Emperor Caspian. Lord Darius sent a letter before you came to. I also sent a letter. Well, I gave it to Widow Jones to send to my friend Frederick who will give it to the emperor, as I doubt he would read anything from me. But you sending something would be best."

He agreed. His uncle would listen to him more than anyone else. Also, Cyrus didn't want Lord Darius' twisted words to be the only account the emperor heard because his uncle would undoubtedly dismiss almost anything Greyson said.

"Second, I need to look at your injuries," Greyson said.

Almost immediately, Cyrus opened his mouth to protest, but Greyson merely held up a hand.

"It has to be done, Cyrus. Besides, I've taken care of you before."

A blush rushed to his cheeks. He could not exactly explain why it embarrassed him to have Greyson care for his wounds, but it did.

"Third, we'll eat lunch. Then lastly, you need to take a nap."

"I just woke up."

"I am aware. But having your memory erased, then subsequently restored is taxing, and you need sleep."

"Will you nap with me?".

"Of course. I'm ridiculously sore and would not mind sleeping."

"Okay." Cyrus reached forward to grab Greyson's hand. He played with his long fingers as a wide grin stretched over his lips. It was ridiculous how happy he was. He'd wanted this for eight years, dreamed about it almost constantly, and now, he finally had it. It felt unreal, like a dream that would shatter at any moment, and Cyrus would wake up alone.

Greyson squeezed his hand before standing with a deep grimace. He set out a sheet of paper, quill, and inkwell, and Cyrus got to his feet and sat at the table. He hesitated as he thought about what to say. What would appease the emperor? Even as he contemplated it, a cloying fear cropped up in his mind. His uncle would want Cyrus to come back to the capital, but that would mean leaving Greyson behind, something he was unwilling to do.

Slowly, Cyrus scratched out the letter, the black ink flowing over the page with ease. He kept his story short and succinct. He did insist that the emperor recall Lord Darius and perhaps station him to the tower with the monks, and he also put himself up as a replacement.

The only part he did elaborate on was him and Greyson. He triumphantly told his uncle that he'd succeeded in winning the elusive mage's affections. Cyrus also added that if the emperor wanted him to come home, then the banishment order and bounty on Greyson should be lifted.

He sealed the letter, then addressed it before looking at Greyson, who sat on the other side of the table, watching him. With a blush staining his cheeks, Cyrus stated, "I'm done."

"Excellent. Now, it"s time to look at your injuries."

The whole process was far less embarrassing than he thought it would be, as Greyson remained clinical. Greyson methodically cleaned the wounds, then applied a foul-smelling paste before rebinding them. When he finished, he helped Cyrus put back on his shirt and trousers.

"Can I see your side?" Cyrus asked.

Greyson shrugged and lifted his shirt with a deep grimace. Cyrus could not stop the slight gasp that escaped. Greyson's left side was colored in different shades of purple. Standing, Cyrus gently touched the bruises, only to yank back when Greyson sharply inhaled.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," Greyson answered, dropping his shirt.

"How about your leg?"

"I'm not exactly sure what they did to it, but it's not broken, and it's already feeling a bit better."

Nodding, he bit his lip. He wanted to kiss Greyson yet again, something Cyrus had begun to suspect was going to become a normal thing. When he focused on Greyson, he paused. Greyson watched him, seemingly transfixed. Greyson's gaze had locked on his lips while he went stock-still.

Slowly, Cyrus sucked his bottom lip in and watched as Greyson leaned closer like he wanted to investigate where it had disappeared. Letting his lip go, Cyrus grinned in amusement, which made Greyson scowl.

His long fingers closed about Cyrus' chin as Greyson said, "You have to stop doing that."

"Why?"

"Because I find it very distracting."

"Do you?" Cyrus moved closer.

"Yes." Shaking his head, he said, "Let me make lunch."

As Greyson started to make food, Cyrus stared at him, not even trying to stop. Greyson limped from one end of the kitchen to the other, movements precise and graceful. After a while, he placed two plates on the table with bread, cooked vegetables, and some kind of meat.

They both remained silent as they ate, lost in their thoughts. The food was delicious, and Cyrus enjoyed it immensely. He also loved to stare at Greyson, who in turn, stared back. As soon as he finished, Greyson swept the plates up and stacked them in the kitchen.

"Come on," Greyson said, coming to stand in front of him.

"Should I lay behind you like last night?"

"I would appreciate it."

He climbed into the bed first, back near the wall, and lay on his side. Greyson came next, moving slowly with a deep grimace. Gingerly, he settled on his back and repositioned with quiet cries. Cyrus pushed an arm under his neck and helped Greyson lean against his chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes," Greyson grunted, voice tight.

Gently, Cyrus draped an arm over Greyson's chest. "We could try a snow pack on your side to help with the pain."

"Yes, but you couldn't lay behind me. You'd freeze."

"True, but it could help."

"Just stay close, Cyrus. I'm fine."

After a pause, Cyrus pushed his face against Greyson's neck. "Please tell me this is real. That this is not a ruse or a lie."

"This is real."