37

Cyrus was numb. Greyson was going to break up with him. He'd been overly kind the last week or so. Cyrus kept thinking that maybe Greyson was as nervous as he was about the emperor's letter. But as the days passed, he became increasingly convinced Greyson was simply trying to find a way to extract himself from this relationship.

Greyson had made hotcakes every morning for breakfast and had been extra nice, not snapping or scowling. He'd also done all sorts of things, presenting small gifts and whatnot, but the one thing Greyson hadn't done was kiss him, not once, in the last week. Also, he hadn't let Cyrus trail along as he wandered the forest.

He didn't know what to do. Cyrus should probably let Greyson go, but he couldn't, not yet. If Greyson asked, Cyrus would honor his wishes, but otherwise, he would keep holding on in the hopes that it would change.

Cyrus didn't understand what went wrong, but he could pinpoint the exact moment Greyson changed. It occurred when they arrived back at the apartment from exploring the woods. Greyson had started to take care of him, like normal, and all seemed fine until he helped Cyrus undress. Greyson had hovered above him, looking stricken.

Maybe Greyson didn't want this anymore?

A knife twisted his insides. He could not even think that. Now that he'd experienced being with Greyson, Cyrus couldn't go back. Since he was seventeen years old, he'd imagined all sorts of scenarios and situations, but he couldn't have dreamed how amazing being with Greyson would actually be. He and Greyson were different, yet they matched perfectly, and he didn't want this to end.

Cyrus entered the apartment from his daily check in on Lord Darius. His gaze froze on Greyson who was straightening up the room. Cyrus wanted to draw him into his embrace, hold him close if only to assure himself that everything was fine. He didn't, though, because he didn't know if it was something he was allowed to do anymore.

"I got you something."

This had become a regular occurrence. The gifts almost came on a daily basis. Cyrus forced a smile to his lips. "What?"

Fist extended, Greyson grinned. Cyrus stepped closer, drawn in by the warmth of his expression. Slowly, he pulled Greyson's fingers straight. In the center of his palm sat a venetus gem that had been shaped into a flower. It was round with intricate petals, appearing almost like a puffy ball. Cyrus picked it up and tilted it back and forth, the light changing the iridescent gem's color with every movement.

"Thank you," Cyrus said, unsure why Greyson would give him a flower.

"I found a venetus. It probably fell off a wagon. It's not powerful enough to be made into an artifact, so it was destined to be ground up. I crafted it into this shape."

"Thank you," he said again.

"Do you like it?" Greyson asked, eyebrows lifting in obvious expectation.

"Of course. What type of flower is this?"

"A King Zinnia."

He mustered up a smile. "Thank you, Greyson. I like it."

His brow furrowed as his long fingers trailed over Cyrus' cheek. "Are you alright?"

"Of course." Cyrus closed the distance between them, wanting to feel the softness of Greyson's lips on his, but Greyson pulled back.

"I need to go."

Ice sat squarely in his chest. "Alright."

Greyson cupped his cheek, running his thumb in a soothing arc. "I'll see you later."

Not saying anything, Cyrus stared at the stone flower in his hand. It felt like a solid weight had settled in his stomach. His fingers traced the petals. Greyson had to feel something about him, right?

Cyrus dropped the stone in his pocket and went outside. The frozen wind didn't faze him as he headed around the front of the house with nowhere in particular to go. He needed out. He needed fresh air, though he'd only just come in.

"Prince Cyrus," a rough voice said and made him turn around. Widow Jones stood in the door frame of her house.

"Widow Jones," he said, unable to keep the exhaustion from his voice.

Her lips puckered. "What's eating you?"

He waved off her concern, but when he tried to leave, ice swelled around his ankles. Cyrus teetered, but the ice released its hold, and he was able to catch himself. Peering at the old woman, he asked, "Your doing?"

"Indeed," she answered. "Come in."

With no other option, Cyrus entered the house. Lily played on the rug in front of the stone fireplace with some wooden dolls as she sang in a high voice under her breath. Widow Jones waved to the table, and Cyrus sank onto a chair.

She poured him a cup of tea, setting it in front of him. Cyrus smiled but didn't touch it. Widows Jones added a dollop of milk into her own tea. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

Widow Jones shook her head. "You are a terrible liar. Absolutely terrible. You'll probably need to work on that for your royal duties."

He chuckled, but it sounded false to his own ears.

She remarked, "Greyson has been quite busy. I've seen him running around."

"Yep."

"Uh-huh." She raised her snow-white eyebrows.

His mouth opened to confide in her, but he swallowed the words. Cyrus didn't know Widow Jones that well, but the emotions that circled in his mind were like poison. They needed out, yet he couldn't speak about them because by doing so, it might make them true.

"Problems are part of any relationship," she said, taking a sip of tea. "I've found their cure is usually communication. Clear communication. No rounding the subject or hinting. Say what's wrong and what you need."

"H-how? How did you know?"

She guffawed. "I didn't get old for nothing. Besides, I was married. I learned a few things. I'm just trying to save you from a lifetime of pointless arguments over a stupid wooden carving that your mother-in-law gave you that was uglier than the serpent's ass."

There was a story to that, but Cyrus didn't know if he wanted to know it or if he should ask. Instead, he smiled politely.

As Greyson stepped into the apartment, he looked around until he saw Cyrus who sat at the table, hunched over what appeared to be another report.

With a slight smile, he set the bag not far from Cyrus. A bright blue leaf escaped from the top. Greyson smirked. He'd found several caeruleus herbs in a grove, not entirely buried in the snow. It was quite the find, and he could hardly believe it. He'd harvested three of the five plants, leaving the others to pollinate future plants.

"Hello," Greyson said.

Cyrus nodded with a tense expression.

His brow furrowed. Cyrus did not look pleased to see him. Maybe he was having a bad day? When Greyson had given him the flower this morning, he seemed out of sorts, not his usual chipper self.

Letting it go, Greyson carefully removed the plants from the sack so as to not break the fragile stems or leaves. The juice would not kill a person, but it could make them sick. The herbs had to be dried before being made into a healing potion.

He set them on the table, the dirty roots spreading over the wood. Greyson leaned his staff in the corner before removing his cloak and gloves. As he turned around, he caught sight of Cyrus touching one of the bright blue leaves.

"Be careful," Greyson snapped.

Cyrus jerked back, face pinched like Greyson had struck him. Greyson had not meant to snap; it slipped out before he could stop it. He grabbed Cyrus' hand and inspected his thick fingers, not seeing any liquid.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled."

Cyrus did not respond.

Greyson hauled him up, then wrapped his arms around Cyrus' waist. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I didn't want you to break the leaf open and have any juice spill on you. It could make you ill."

"Are we poisoning someone?"

"No. This herb can make a powerful healing potion."

Not responding, Cyrus leaned against him, arms slowly coming about Greyson's neck. Greyson's fingers trailed up and down Cyrus' spine as he breathed deeply. The simple contact soothed him. He rested his cheek on the top of Cyrus' head, the golden strands soft against his cheek.

"I'm sorry." Greyson did not like snapping at Cyrus. He was trying to get better.

Cyrus didn't say anything as he moved out of Greyson's grasp, nodding. "I understand."

Greyson stared at Cyrus. What is he talking about?

Shaking his head, he let the matter go. He tied rough twine around the base of the plants, then hung them from a hook in the kitchen ceiling. It would only take a few days for the herbs to dry, especially with how hot Cyrus kept the apartment.

"What do you want to eat?" Greyson asked as he surveyed the cabinets.

Cyrus did not reply, so he turned around. Cyrus' jaw was clenched as he stared at the table with glassy eyes. Greyson moved toward him. "Love, are you alright?"

Slamming a hand down, Cyrus glared at him. "If you're going to break up with me would you just do it already?"

"Break up?" he choked out. He had no intention of ending this. Swallowing, he asked in a tight voice, "Do you want to break up with me?"

"No," Cyrus shouted, standing. "Of course, I don't. You're the one who wants to break up with me."

"When did I say that?" Greyson asked. "I have no desire for this to end."

"Then why are you acting so weird? For the last week, you've been tiptoeing around me. I thought you were preparing to break it to me easily. What the hell is going on?"

"I was trying to show you how nice life could be together."

"I already know that. I love being with you!"

"Well, that's good," he snapped.

Widow Jones' words floated through his mind. What did he need? The truth. Cyrus needed the truth, but more than that, he needed Greyson. Nonetheless, nerves prickled in his stomach. What if he upset Greyson or they fought? Cyrus shook his head. It didn't matter. He had to do this.

Cyrus crossed the room and stopped right in front of Greyson. Pink tinged his pale cheeks. Hand under his chin, Cyrus lifted Greyson's face so he could see it better. "If you don't want to break up with me, then what's going on?"

He did not reply, but his cheeks darkened.

"If you don't talk to me, then I can't know what you're thinking. Please, tell me."

Greyson looked at the ceiling. "This is ridiculously embarrassing."

"What?"

"I want to be with you."

"We are together."

"I mean be together."

"We are," he said.

Mouth falling open, Greyson gaped at him. "How are you not getting this?

"Maybe because you aren't telling me. Just say it."

"I want to have sex with you, okay? I wanted to that night after you followed me into the woods. But I was embarrassed, so instead of telling you, I decided to woo you, which apparently didn't work." Greyson scowled, cheeks bright red.

Desire thrummed in his body as his pulse sped up. Gently, Cyrus cupped his cheeks. "You don't have to be embarrassed."

"Well, I am."

"Is it worse to be embarrassed or to have me think you"re going to break up with me?"

"Maybe you should've asked me directly, instead of thinking about unnecessary things?" Greyson retorted, cheeks still bright red.

"Let's compromise," Cyrus said. "In the future, let's just directly talk. Alright?"

"I can try."

The blush hadn't lessened on Greyson's cheeks, so Cyrus smiled softly. "There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I love you."

"I love you too."

Cyrus captured Greyson's lips and kissed him slowly, fully. He wanted Greyson to feel loved and safe. His touch remained soft as he nibbled on his lips. Greyson pressed closer and kissed his mouth open, then his tongue delved inside. Cyrus groaned.

Greyson shifted back, and Cyrus released an annoyed noise. Greyson asked, voice quiet, "Are you sure you want me? This?"

"I should be asking you that," Cyrus mumbled. Before he could respond, Cyrus yanked Greyson flushed against him so he could feel exactly how much he wanted him. "I have wanted this for a very long time."

A soft smile pulled on his lips as Greyson bent down to kiss him. Cyrus ground against Greyson, which elicited a tantalizing moan from Greyson. His hand slid down and he tugged on the bottom of Greyson's shirt. He slipped it off, with a bit of assistance. Eyes wandering over his bare chest, Cyrus couldn't help but wonder about the scars and where they came from, but Greyson didn't let him get a single word out.

Cyrus directed Greyson toward the bed. When the back of Greyson's knees bumped into the bedframe, he shoved him back, then climbed on top of him, knees bracketing Greyson's hips. Greyson pulled Cyrus' shirt off before exploring his back and chest. With each touch, the kiss turned faster and more passionate.

Cyrus pulled his mouth away, breath coming out quickly, then began kissing Greyson's face before drifting down to his neck. As he nibbled and sucked, Greyson moaned. He feasted on every sound. It was music to his ears. After a bit, Cyrus moved back and examined his handiwork. A lovely little mark decorated Greyson's neck. Smiling, he continued to drop kisses on Greyson's chest.

Eventually, Greyson rolled over, pushing Cyrus onto the mattress. Greyson pressed into Cyrus. He could feel Greyson's desire for him.

"Cyrus," Greyson ground out, making him smile. Cyrus kissed him, tongue exploring Greyson's mouth. Greyson began undoing the ties on Cyrus' trousers before shoving them down. He kicked them off, leaving him in nothing but his undershorts.

"I need you," Greyson said, his voice harsh.

Slowly, Cyrus ran his fingers over Greyson's face, tracing his features. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." His hands slid down Greyson's neck, over his chest, before stopping right at the edge of his trousers. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Greyson said before kissing him.

Greyson snuggled against Cyrus' chest, fingers absentmindedly wandering over his smooth skin. Cyrus had an arm slung around Greyson's waist, keeping him close. The room was mostly dark, as the fire had died, leaving nothing but coals.

Cyrus began to trail his fingers up and down Greyson's back. A sleepy grumble escaped his lips as he closed his eyes. "I should put a log on the fire," Greyson commented, not moving.

"You should stay right here." Cyrus placed a kiss on his head.

"Hmm."

He chuckled. "So what's the verdict?"

"About?"

"About what we just did."

"Obviously, I enjoyed it." If his eyes were open, he would have rolled them. It had been amazing as Cyrus well knew from Greyson's vocal and energetic responses.

"It will be even better next time."

Greyson sat up slightly so he could see Cyrus' face. "Cyrus, you enjoyed it, right?"

"Yes, very much."

Satisfied, he settled back down.

"I didn't mean anything bad," Cyrus said. "I just meant it gets better the more we know each other."

"Hmm." Greyson had enjoyed it and couldn't imagine it getting any better, but he was willing to believe him.

"You must have experienced the same with your past relationships."

He shrugged. "I wasn't with anyone for very long."

"Ah."

"I hadn't been interested in relationships before now. I was always too busy."

"And now?"

"I'm with you," Greyson said as sleep began to lure him away. "I mean, you're it, so I guess I'll see if you"re right."

A beam of light danced in his eyes, blinding him. Squinting, Cyrus looked outside. It was lighter than it should be. I must have overslept, he thought. Greyson was half draped across his chest, face tucked against his neck. His steady breath tickled Cyrus.

Cyrus couldn't help but grin as memories from yesterday resurfaced. Greyson's moans. The way he ground out Cyrus' name. The feel of Greyson's skin against his. His own release. Cyrus had imagined the two of them being together many times, but it didn't compare to the real thing.

While his body remained warm under the blanket with Greyson, his face was chilled. His gaze swiveled to the fireplace. He could see it from the corner of his eye. It was empty and cold. The fire must have died hours ago and let the chill of winter seep in. Despite that, Cyrus had no desire to move.

Eventually, Greyson shifted against him. "Good morning, love."

Squeezing him, Cyrus said, "Good morning." Greyson started to climb over him, and Cyrus trapped him in his arms. "Where are you going?"

"To get dressed." Greyson black hair hung around his face.

"Why?"

"So I can go to the outhouse."

Cyrus tightened his arms. "Do you have to?"

He scoffed. "Yes."

With an exaggerated sigh, he released Greyson, who scrambled over his chest. Cyrus watched as he tugged on his trousers, donned his shirt, then yanked on his boots. Greyson glanced at him and rolled his eyes, probably from Cyrus' blatant ogling.

"I'll be right back."

A few minutes passed before Greyson strode in, shivering a bit. Cyrus held out his arms for Greyson, who shook his head; instead, he got the fire started.

"Don't you need to use the outhouse?"

"No," Cyrus said, stretching his arms out again. "I need you."

Smiling, Greyson climbed onto the bed. Cyrus dragged him onto his chest and kissed him, arms locked behind his back. Greyson shifted back after the barest moment. "You need to get dressed. We overslept, by a lot."

"No."

"No?" he repeated, chuckling.

"We need to stay here."

"You have responsibilities."

"They can wait."

"Cyrus."

"No," he said for the second time as he tucked Greyson's hair behind his ear. "It can wait until tomorrow." Before he could protest again, Cyrus took possession of his mouth to silence any argument.