The cities proved to be more horrible than Arit’s low expectations.
After their night together, he and Nick had emerged from the lodge’s imperial suite the next afternoon to a gloating Benjic, who had informed them Rolan and Lydia had left at dawn—and the forensics team had completed DNA tests on the remains. The council was prepared to go forward with final arrangements for the funeral and abdication ceremony. Only a fool would believe the timing was coincidental and Arit was no fool, especially when it came to his sire. Still, he’d trudged to his private quarters to pack a bag while his mate had texted Rolan to warn his adopted brother to meet them in the capitol and Nick otherwise organized the details of the return trip.
Arit had never wandered outside the Urals. Some shifters were born with itchy feet and couldn’t resist the compulsion to go, to explore, but not Arit. He took after his dad, preferring the comforts of home and hearth. The clacking of the train rolling over the tracks hurt his sensitive ears throughout the hours of their journey. He hated the smells—car exhaust, the ripe stench of too many bodies packed together, and clouds of perfume mixing. The roar of city traffic set his teeth on edge.
Threading his fingers through Arit’s, Nick held Arit’s hand from the moment they’d left the lodge until the bellboy closed the doors of their capitol penthouse suite, blissfully sealing off the rancorous noises and scents that had tormented Arit. As soon as Nick released his grip, Arit rubbed his temples. The headache throbbing behind his eyes intensified the wild urge to abandon Nick to his madness and scurry back to the mountains where Arit belonged.
“How bad?” Nick asked, startling Arit when he settled his hands on Arit’s shoulders and squeezed. “Visitors from the outer territories frequently suffer migraines at first. Our pre-arrival security team ordered green tea.” He nodded to a cart. “Tea sometimes helps.”
“I’ll throw it up.” His stomach roiled at the idea of risking anything inside it. “At least the soundproofing here is excellent.” The silence once the doors had shut came as a welcome relief.
“The upper and ruling classes perfected whatever measures added to their personal comfort since the war.” Nick’s mouth curved into a bitter smile. “You should rest.”
Arit yearned for a dark room and a soft bed more than he craved his next breath. “Do you think the media noticed?” He gestured at Nick and at his own chest. “Us.”
“We were discreet.” Nick’s warm chuckle soothed Arit’s jagged, fraying senses. “But not that discreet. You didn’t hear the chants of protestors at the train station?”
“The city is too loud. The sounds blend together.” Shaking his head, Arit rubbed at the knots forming in his stomach, then he abruptly stiffened. “Wait. Protestors?”
Walking to the tea cart, Nick shrugged a tense shoulder and turned a delicate tea cup over on its saucer before pouring the steaming brew from an extravagantly painted ceramic pot. “Until Sunday, I’m still the crown prince. Protestors follow me everywhere.” He smiled, gaze sad. “Now that we’ve bonded, they’ll follow you, too.”
“Not to the Urals.” Arit frowned. “Not if they’re smart anyway.”
Nick doctored the tea with cream and honey. He carried the drink to Arit. “Here. A few sips to ease your nausea.” He passed the fragile cup to Arit, whose fingers warmed on the heated ceramic. “Then you can rest. You’ll feel better once you’ve slept off the rigors of the trip.”
“I’ve work to do, or you would have never dragged me to this goddess forsaken pit in the first place.” Glaring at his mate, Arit sniffed the contents of the tea cup. “You aren’t tired.”
“I acclimated to the noise and stink of urban areas before I learned to drive.” He sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Can you hang on for a few days?”
Though his aching head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, Arit arched an eyebrow. “Days?”
“One way or the other, this will be over by Sunday.”
Regardless of the sweetener Nick had added to his cup, Arit grimaced at the bitter flavor of his tea. “If the tribes crown you instead of permitting your abdication, the people will expect you to live in the capitol.” He wrinkled his nose, astonished—not for the first time—that he’d signed up for this. Cultured garden parties and political glitterati were Benjic’s wheelhouse, not Arit’s, and Arit craved the crisp clear air of the Urals more than ever. “As long as we occasionally return to the mountains, I’ll adjust,” he said, hoping to convince himself as much as persuade his mate. “I’ll learn.”
“Already willing to sacrifice your personal happiness for the sake of the tribes.” Nick blew out a weary breath. “I knew we were equally matched.”
When Nick urged him to the massive sleigh bed in the master bedroom, Arit didn’t object, absurdly grateful his mate stripped free of his own clothes and sat beside him. Having Nick near, his clean piney scent in Arit’s nostrils, settled something raw and ragged inside him. Sunlight glinted on the fake gold of Nick’s necklace. “Why?” he mumbled.
Nick leaned over him. “Why what?”
“Your locket. It’s significant to you. I can’t sense much through our bond, but I see the evidence of its importance to you with my own eyes. I just don’t understand what it means to you because you haven’t shared it with me.” He frowned into his pillow. “Frustrating.”
His mate smoothed his hands up the bumps of Arit’s spine and once he reached Arit’s nape, he rubbed Arit’s aching shoulders. “Sleep. Explanations can come later.” At Arit’s discontented grunt, Nick bent to kiss the sensitive skin stretched over Arit’s shoulder blades. “It’s a long story and an ugly one. I promise to tell it, but for now, you need rest.”
Arit growled. “Liar.”
“Mates don’t lie.” Nick dug his fingers into Arit’s flesh. “I’ll never lie to you. I may not tell you everything, but I won’t lie. Not about this. I’ll tell you about the locket when I’m ready. When I’m strong enough to share it.”
His disappointment fought his exhaustion. The weary fatigue won. Maybe his mate was right. With Arit’s head splitting, his senses spinning from the new chaos of smells and noises slamming into him in the city, perhaps prying open doors shutting away Nick’s secrets should wait. “Okay.”
“I will tell you.” Nick’s low voice firmed with resolution. “I want to tell you.”
“I believe you.”
“Good.”
With Nick massaging the tension from Arit’s muscles, drugging sleep wasn’t long in taking him.
Arit dozed through the rest of the day, the night, and the following morning, his eyes not popping open until the sun blazed high in the sky outside the master bedroom’s windows. His belly rumbled, cavernously empty, as he pushed away the heavy comforter someone had draped over him while he’d slept. He swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. Rubbed his bleary eyes.