Maris feigned delirious joy. “Oh great. Just the job I wanted most. A job I’ve dreamed about having since the hour I was born. Telling the woman you’re not supposed to love that you’re dead, but really sorry you died. And here, hon, here’s some blood money to make you feel better about it all…” Spuriously, he slapped his hand hard over his chest. “Thank you so much for thinking of me, Darling. Whatever would I do without you?” Maris sobered and narrowed his eyes on him. “For the record, you better not die on me, you worthless beast. I will not forgive you for it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be pretty pissed off at myself, too.”

“It doesn’t.” Maris pulled him into his arms and held him in an iron-tight hug. “You know I love you more than my life, right?”

Darling hugged him back with everything he had. Maris was the only person who’d never failed him. He was closer to him than any brother or friend could ever be. “I know, buddy. Brothers to the bitter end. I feel the same way about you.”

The door slid open an instant before Arturo cursed them. “Uh… you repulsive faggots!”

Darling saw red at his uncle’s snarling voice. He started to attack, but Maris tightened his hold around him, keeping him pinned in his arms.

Damn, Maris was a lot stronger than he looked. Because Mari hated conflict of any kind and profaned physical force, it was easy to forget that he was a trained soldier. And while Maris no longer had the overdeveloped build of his military days, he was still stronger than most.

“One more day,” Maris whispered in Darling’s ear in Phrixian—Maris’s native language that Arturo couldn’t understand. “You can hold on for one more day, my brother.”

Kissing Darling on his scarred cheek, Maris released him and cupped his chin until Darling met his gaze. He passed a warning look to remind Darling how imperative it was that he leash his temper one more day.

Nodding, Darling fell into the role he’d been playing for so long that until Zarya he’d almost forgotten he really was heterosexual. Not that he’d ever been attracted to men. Far from it. But until Zarya, he’d been the celibate monk that Maris always called him.

His façade was the same lie Maris had been forced to live when he’d pretended to be heterosexual to keep from “dishonoring” or “embarrassing” his royal family.

For years, Maris had played the dutiful son, dating women and hating every minute of it. In those days, only Darling had known the truth of Maris’s preferences.

And only Maris knew his.

Since the night of Darling’s fifteenth birthday, no one, absolutely no one, had been trusted enough with the truth. It was a lie they’d both despised and unlike Maris, it was one Darling couldn’t let go of.

Not so long as his uncle lived.

God, it was so easy to speak a lie in the heat of a moment. And so hard to abide by it, especially for the rest of your life.