Maris sighed in sympathetic pain. “My mother burned my birth registration and my father had all my records deleted from the Phrixian government files. There for a time, I couldn’t get anything...couldn’t even rent a place to live. Poor Syn had to forge me all new records. But it’s okay. He shaved two years off my age for me.”
Ture laughed. “Are you serious?”
Smiling, he nodded. “I have great friends.”
“And I have an incredible lover.” Ture scooted up to kiss him.
Maris closed his eyes and cherished those words and the sensation of Ture’s body on top of his. This was why he’d flitted from one lover to the next more often than most people changed their bedsheets. Keep relationships physical and short, with no real commitment or feelings. It was a lot easier than having his heart broken. But to be honest, he’d kill for the comfort of knowing the person with him wouldn’t let him go. That he was their world and would remain so, forever.
Just once.
Rolling to his side then scooting back in bed, Ture spooned against him. Maris smiled as he buried his face against the nape of Ture’s neck and inhaled the warm scent of his skin. Honestly, he’d missed Ture more than he wanted to admit. Since Ture had returned home, Maris had felt strangely adrift. Like something was missing.
But that feeling was completely gone now. He felt better than he had in a long time.
Ture’s head rested against his biceps and Maris’s other arm was draped over Ture’s ribs so that he could hold him close to his chest. Closing his eyes, he lost himself to this one perfect moment and tried not to think about the day that would come when Ture learned to hate him and storm out of his life.
But nothing ever lasted. Not the bad...
And especially not the good.
CHAPTER 6
Maris came awake to an empty bed, but the most incredible scent he’d ever smelled wafted through the room. It made his stomach rumble and cramp in hunger. Salivating, he left the bed and saw the robe that Ture had left draped over his clothes in a nearby chair.
He pulled it on then went to investigate the warm aroma. Cautious, he kept his eyes pealed for Anachelle who was either still barricaded in her room, or gone. Since he had as many scars on his legs as he did the rest of his body, he didn’t like for others to see him. Had the hunger pangs not been so ferocious, he’d have dressed first.
Following his nose, he found Ture alone in the kitchen.
As if he sensed his presence, Ture turned with a smile. “Hey, sweetie. Did you sleep well?”
Amazingly, he had. “I did. You?”
“Like a baby.” Ture placed a quick kiss on his lips then returned to his cooking.
“Where’s Anachelle?”
“She left a few minutes ago for a doctor’s appointment.” He handed Maris a glass of juice. “Freshly squeezed, it’s my own juice and spice blend that’s guaranteed to wake up even the most diehard night owl.”
Good luck with that. Not even military drills had managed that, hence about half his physical scars. But as Maris drank it, it did wake him, and it was delicious. “Damn, you are a god in the kitchen.”
“I prefer goddess.” Ture wagged his eyebrows proudly.
Smiling, he stepped closer. “Can I do anything to help?”
“Want to chop the onion?” Ture gestured toward the island where one waited.
Maris moved to the cutting board. Next to it, Ture had cubed a steak. He took the knife that was between the two items then reached for the onion.
Ture let out a squeal of protest. “Oh my God, stop! Don’t move.”
Baffled by the panic in Ture’s tone, he frowned. “What?”
“I swear, you’re as deadly in the kitchen as you are in battle.”
Completely confused, Maris stared at him. “What?” he repeated.
Ture took the knife from his hand. “Cross contamination. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”
“Not about cooking. Princes aren’t exactly allowed to do that. For that matter, I don’t even know which part of our palace held the kitchen.”
Ture paused. “I forgot for a minute that you were royalty. Anyway, you never use the same cutting board or knife on protein that you use on your vegetables. Gracious, man. You’ll kill us all!”
Maris laughed at his indignation. “Sorry.”
Ture squeezed his arm as he nudged Maris away from the uncooked food. “Can you scramble an egg?”
“I can try. Never done it before, but I am good at scrambling people’s thoughts. How much harder is it to confuse a nonverbal egg?”
Ture shook his head. “Come here, and let me show you how it’s done.”
Maris obeyed. Ture pulled him to stand between him and the stove where a pan holding some oil was heating over an open flame. Taking his hand in his, Ture led it to the eggs and pulled one out. He showed Maris how to crack it with one hand and put it in the pan, then use a spatula to scramble it.
It was actually kind of neat.
Next, Ture showed him how to put the egg on a plate then he drizzled a reddish sauce over it. “Look, you now know how to cook.”
Maris smiled proudly. “I can feed myself. Who knew?”
Suddenly, Ture grimaced. “Well, yes, you can cook an egg now, and die in the process.”