Honeythorn (Honeythorn, #1)

by Marina Vivancos

It was haunting, to live with the man that was killing you slowly. At times, Milan thought that he must be bonded to two different people—the one ruthless enough to torture Milan, and the one everyone else saw. The ‘good man’.

It was an otherworldly horror, to see someone who was making him suffer so completely handle the bud of a plant with such care. Adding salt to the wound, Raphael flinched the moment he spotted Milan, hurriedly putting his gloves on as he stood up. Milan simply walked away. He hadn’t known that hopelessness could make your heart race.

He told her about his family. About how loving they were, how fierce. Every day he missed them more. It was at these times that his hope dwindled, for his greatest fear, more than dying, was never seeing them again.

What a burden it must be to sit beside the person you are killing. Milan set down his fork abruptly, standing up from his chair, barely swaying.

“I think I shall retire,” he declared. Raphael frowned up at him. “You’ve barely eaten.” Milan snarled, finally letting the anger through. “And what do you care if I eat or not?”

There was delirium, and sorrow, and begging, and in between all that there was one single moment of clarity. I’m not going to win.

Milan woke, and woke, and woke. There were voices, people, smells. They were burning him alive. They were killing him. Every thought he had was to wish for it to end—he begged for it, moaned for it. Nothing could ever feel worse than this. It was not just his body that was on fire, but his soul.

Milan could feel himself writhe in the fire, screaming for something—for death, for respite. He hoped for darkness that didn’t bring with it a blinding light. And then, even in dreams, it stopped. His body, his mind, they fluttered to the ground like ...

He understood perfectly what was happening. The bond was not broken. He was not free. Instead, Lord Raphael had waited until Milan was at the brink of death only to swoop in, the saviour, to pull him back. Milan could foresee his plan—Lord Raphael would do it again, and again, and again, until either Milan’s body or his mind gave in. “Please,” Milan choked out. “Please, he’s killing me. He’s killing me.”

The reality, however, was quite different. Instead of the coldness Milan expected, Lord Raphael’s face was cracked open with grief. He looked stricken, as if Milan’s words had truly struck him somewhere that hurt. Milan shook uncontrollably at how good an actor his husband could be.

Milan looked at him with hateful incredulity. “Do not pretend now, dear husband, that you did not know! The gloves—I begged you to let me touch you! I begged—just once a day, just once. How dare you sit there and pretend—how dare you?”

Milan started struggling again. He did not care about the pain or suffering. All he wanted was his skin never to touch Lord Raphael’s again. But, of course, it only took Milan wanting this for Lord Raphael to refuse him, holding on tight.

“That, I cannot tell you. What I do know is that Lord Ledford did not know about the effects of a neglected bond. His panic over your well-being and how distraught he was when he learnt the cause of your illness cannot be faked. Even if it could—I went to school with your husband. I’ve seen him in plays and, let me tell you, he has no talent for the theatre.” Milan closed his eyes, shaking his head again. None of what she was saying made sense. It just didn’t.

“How about this?” Dr. Kensington said. “The only thing I can prescribe to improve your condition is regular, physical contact between Lord Ledford and you.” Milan felt another sob rip through him. “I don’t want to touch him. I don’t want to touch him.…”

Finally, Lord Raphael deemed to speak to him, demanding, “Say something. Please.” Milan looked at him through bleary eyes. “I never knew I could be as unhappy as I am with you.” Milan saw Lord Raphael’s face, stunned as if he had been shot right through the chest, before sleep dragged him down again.

Lord Raphael’s inconsistent behaviour, the reputation he seemed to hold, so at odds with how he treated Milan. But mere ignorance did not explain everything. If Lord Raphael had not been trying to kill him, or at least make Milan malleable by wasting him away, then why the gloves? Why the insistence in never touching?

“Milan. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that…I do not know how you could ever believe me, but I did not know that your sickness was due to the bond. That it was due to me.” “Tell me your side of the story, then, if you have one, because I cannot fathom why you would so object to a simple touch of hands each night if it wasn’t to harm me. Whatever you say, you knew the bond was suffering. You wanted it that way.”

“I understand. Lord Raphael…” “Milan.” Lord Raphael’s hand, having gone limp, clutched his again. “Please, know that I do not tell you this to seek your forgiveness, for I don’t deserve it. All I want is for you to know that I will never—I will never…the suffering I have put you through…” Milan choked on a breath. He didn’t know whether to comfort Lord Raphael or to agree.

Lord Raphael shook his head. “What does that matter? What does it matter, what my intentions were? Whether I did it intentionally or not, you suffered just the same. Even if I didn’t know exactly how much I was harming you, I knew that you were miserable. That you were alone and that I was foiling your every attempt to make a home here. I showed you nothing but disdain and mistrust when you…”

“I cannot absolve you completely. I don’t even know if I have the power to do so. My body…it still fears you, somehow. It still…” “I let my fears torture you. I tortured you.”

“How can goodness prevail if we don’t expect it of people?” Lord Raphael demanded. “How can goodness prevail when we expect it of people regardless of the cruelty of their situation?”

Lord Raphael looked at him for a moment. “In the beginning, you said that, even if there could not be love, maybe there could be companionship. I do not deserve to ask anything of you now, but if I did, it would be for you to let me prove myself to you—that I will no longer put you in danger. That I will do all I can to never let anything like this happen to you ever again,” he implored.

Raphael took a bracing breath. “I do not expect the fear to disappear, but that is why I am responsible for what has happened. One can conquer fear to do what is right, something which I failed to do. Seeing you there, dying, because of me…my fear of that happening again is far greater than allowing the bond to grow. What you have said in the past is right—you did not choose this. I agreed as much as you to marry, I lay with you and bit you to create the bond. What’s done is done. This is the only option I have left.” Raphael’s eyes were beseeching, pleading with Milan to believe him.

Milan felt guilty leaving such a worn out Lord Raphael to rest poorly on the chair, but even with all he had learnt, he couldn’t quite face having his husband in his bed. Despite all that was churning in his head and the strangeness of sleeping tied to another person, exhaustion took him quickly.

Sometimes, Milan would pretend to read even as all his attention was on Lord Raphael. Or, at least, on thinking about him, and all he had revealed about his past.

Milan wished he could see the whole thing, his story included, play out at the theatre. To divorce himself from the situation and watch as an observer instead of a participator. That, however, was impossible—he could not evaluate what had happened with only logic.

But Lord Raphael’s actions had gone beyond coolness. He had been cruel, at times, in his suspicion of Milan’s character and intentions. Part of Milan wanted to forgive him—for the sake of peace in his own house if nothing else—but it was not so easy.

It was a vast improvement from before. But was it enough?

Lord Raphael laughed, and even now, after all that had happened, Milan felt a little thrill at hearing it.

It was truly disconcerting, how different this man was from the one before Milan’s heat. Milan had to wonder if almost dying was what Lord Raphael had needed to prove that Milan was not going to hurt him as Jack did—if this was not a change but who he was with everybody he was not afraid of.

Milan, despite the discomfort it appeared to cause him to speak so freely. Milan couldn’t help but admire Lord Raphael a little for going so against his instincts in order to take care of him.

Milan smiled at him from his horse. Lord Raphael looked so innocent at that moment, a delighted smile on his face. It sent a pang of sadness through Milan. Who had this man been before his first bonding? Milan had thought that the cruel man who oppressed him was the real Lord Raphael, and the ‘good man’ everybody saw was the farce—but perhaps it was the other way around.

“In a way. I just like…there is something magical about it, I find. You need to let go of control—nature will do what it will. You can only help it along. It can be freeing, to work together with something so grand.”

“Thank you, Lord Raphael. Truly. I…I know this is difficult for you. I know you are trying.” “As I should have from the start. Do not thank me, please. This is the bare minimum.” Milan sighed. Another moment of silence.

“Good book?” Milan jumped, twitching away for a moment before looking at Raphael seated next to him. Milan laughed at his own reaction, free hand over his heart. “Sorry, I think I lost myself in the book. Yes—it’s just that I read something very obvious and wondered why I hadn’t realised it before.”

“You would…that would be allowed?” he asked in wonder. Raphael looked down at their joined hands. “Of course. I know…my behaviour has not spoken kindly of my character in the past but, let me assure you, I will be in support of any of your endeavours,” he said quietly.

There was even a strange, intimate romanticism about their hands swinging between them, sharing warmth.

“Well—I’m not the most docile of people. It’s not that there is much bad blood between us, but I’ve gotten into quite a few arguments with several people in my family. I find it natural to do so, though—you cannot be surrounded by so many people and get along with all of them.”

“Yes,” he said simply. Raphael ran a hand down his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Milan sighed. “I know.”

“Let’s just go forwards.” Raphael looked at him for a long time. “Are you unhappy?” he asked finally. Milan laughed at the unexpected query.

“It’s all right. It’s in the past.” Milan shook his head against Raphael’s chest. “The past can still hurt. It’s all right to still hurt,” Milan whispered.

“Come on, let’s keep walking before we freeze.” They said nothing for the rest of the walk, but their hands held each other tightly between them.

A muscle jumped at the side of Raphael’s jaw. “Well, I find you in my study—” “Waiting for you.” “Waiting for me for what?” Raphael growled. “Because I missed you!”

“You know what? Never mind. You’re right—I’ll leave.” “Milan, wait—” “Don’t follow me,” Milan ordered as he fled the room. Milan collapsed into a chair when he got to the library, face hot and still angry.

How ridiculous was it that his husband was suspicious of him for being in his study, and Milan was embarrassed by admitting that he had missed him. His bonded. They were both so fucked up.

“What I mean by that is, when you doubt me, ask yourself—would Milan do that? Would I leave my whole family and almost die just to, what? Steal your money? My family has enough money. Also, I have skills and interests of my own. I don’t need you, Raphael, or your money.”

Milan sighed. “Raphael, that’s not how the bond works. It can’t manipu—” “No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just…it feels so different from the one I had with Jack. Even in the beginning. I didn’t realise then, but now, with you, it’s open. I can feel you. When you’re happy, when you’re worried—little impressions, like you don’t mind me knowing.”

Suddenly, a rush of fondness swept through Milan, but it wasn’t coming from him. It was coming from the bond. Milan gasped, face flushing. He looked at Raphael, feeling pierced through by his blue eyes. “That’s…you?” Raphael looked down. “I…I try to keep it open, but…”

“I miss you too, you know,” he admitted quietly. Milan pressed his lips together, trying not to grin. This was ridiculous. It had been only a month since he almost died because of Raphael. And yet…he was right. It was hard to think ill of someone whose intentions felt so pure through the bond.

“You’ve grown fond of him,” Katerina said, and Milan hadn’t acknowledged that was true until that moment. He flushed slightly. “Perhaps.”