Chapter Two
ARCHIE SLIPPED AWAY after dinner, before his mother could notice or comment that he had no plans.
He didn't have a lot of friends to start with, and most of those had married in the last few years, moving the group all away from evenings at the gentlemen's clubs or the theater.
There was probably some sort of party being hosted among the regulars at court, but that circle wasn't quite in his reach, it was more Charlie's set than his.
The rain had died down enough that a walk around the gardens seemed feasible.
His father loved taking long walks by himself and the crush of wet grass and smell of damp earth was grounding, so Archie tried it out.
Unfortunately, being left alone with his own thoughts left him more depressed than contemplative.
On the palace grounds, it also meant Archie kept walking past brightly lit windows where he could see clusters of other people.
Someone was hosting a card game in one of the side rooms, a different one had a troupe of musicians, a third saw a group sitting and drinking.
He didn't even know any of these people, didn't want to spend his time with them, but he found himself wanting, nevertheless.
Wanting someone. Wanting not to be alone.
Someone... Victor? The thought came to him again, this time a tickle as if someone had whispered behind him.
Archie turned. He was alone, the only thing behind him the cultivated hedge that marked the side of the garden maze.
He peered over the hedge, just in case, but there were no lamps within the maze and he could only see pitch darkness.
A chill ran down his spine and he walked hastily closer to the better lit side of the garden, huddling at the corner of the palace wall to catch his breath.
Archie laughed at himself, his breath coming out in huffs.
As he scanned the gardens, he continued to find nothing and told himself off for being ridiculous.
His mind must have been playing tricks on him, a manifestation of the other things on his mind.
It was bizarre for him to think about Victor like this, all of a sudden.
Victor was weaselly and constantly social climbing and when they had been about fifteen, he'd made friends with Archie and then realized that Archie was of no use to him and promptly discarded him again.
Now, they mostly came across each other in the way of people roughly in the same small social circle did, with bland politeness.
Not Victor, but... like Victor, said that insidious little voice, even closer as if into his ear, and this time Archie shivered.
Then, images came to him haphazardly, as if his mind were a messy writing desk and someone was rifling through the drawers.
A flash of a hand pushing loose dark hair back, the bulge of a bicep as a bow was pulled taut, a deep squat and lunge during a tennis match.
Not all of the same man, and the memories came so quickly that Archie barely recognized who they were at all. And then, they were gone.
He was left staring at his reflection in the nearest darkened window. Even barely visible against the pulled curtains, his reflection had startled wide eyes and a pale face. And then it moved. His face moved. His lips stretched into an abnormally wide smile Archie had never seen on himself before.
Archie pulled away. "Who are you?!"
He dared not look back at his reflection to wait for an answer or see if it was still there.
‘It’, because he knew what it was but did not dare think it.
Archie half walked, half ran back to his rooms as fast as he could without drawing suspicion as his heart pounded in his ears.
He felt safer, somewhat, the moment he stepped inside and the corridor lamplight washed across him.
The palace had to be the best protected place in the country against demons.
The royal family had a longstanding pact with two of the most powerful demon clans in exchange for magical protections.
Archie didn't pretend to understand it, politics were well out of his realm, but it meant that there should be absolutely no stray demons lurking in shadows, and especially not in the palace itself.
By the time Archie got back to the family suite, his parents had left for the evening, so thankfully there was no one to comment on his embarrassing shortness of breath or the way his hands shook.
He caught one glance of his reflection in the giant mirror in his room, wane and sweating as if he were dying of consumption, and threw a blanket over the whole thing.
He just didn't have the energy to deal with it, the spike of fear still painful in his chest.
Archie poured himself a glass of sherry from the drinks tray with unsteady hands.
He didn’t even like sherry much but it was all his mother had set out at the moment, and at least it burned warm down his throat and in his stomach.
He sank onto the rug right in front of the fireplace and hunkered there until the fire burned uncomfortably hot against his face, as if the heat could peel away the strange chill from the garden.
When Archie pulled himself up, his legs were steadier.
It was too early to turn in for the night but he suddenly felt exhausted, between the disaster of a luncheon, the ill weather, and the other strange happenings.
Although his clothes had been put away, there was still a box of books and personal effects left on the side table.
He could get ready for bed and then finish the novel he'd started last night, that was bound to relax him.
As he drew the book out, he hesitated, then also rummaged for a small, worn sachet he kept tucked in his eyeglasses box.
It was a silly thing. His mother had bought it for him as a child when he'd been prone to nightmares, to help him sleep and to banish bad dreams. Whatever magic had been on it eighteen years ago had likely faded long ago, but he still kept it.
Mother had probably forgotten she'd ever given it to him, the fabric that had once been a light purple now a faded gray and the lace around the edges raggedy.
Archie slipped it under the pillow, and got himself ready for bed.
By the time Archie had brushed his teeth and changed into his nightshirt, he had started to feel foolish.
It had just been a series of misfortunes today and he’d let it all get under his skin too much.
He'd already known he didn't want to court Amelia, there was no reason her lack of interest should have felt insulting. The weather and encounter with Estelle’s friends had left him feeling wet and miserable, and then he’d been displaced from the house without any warning.
And finally, he’d been spooked by a few shadows in a new and unfamiliar place, like a child, all because he'd been caught up in commiserating over how lonely he felt.
How pathetic. He dimmed the lights and flopped over onto the bed.
As for his attraction to men... well, it wasn't a new thought to him.
It was just that he tried to avoid acknowledging it was there.
Archie had been having such thoughts since he was perhaps ten or eleven, when he had followed Ollie's best friend like a puppy around all winter.
His family had dismissed it as funny, and sweet that he was trying to copy his adult mannerisms at the time.
He'd had a lot of practice at dealing with these thoughts, only allowing himself to indulge when he was by himself and keeping his face schooled appropriately in public.
That could be the problem. It had been a while since Archie had let himself do that, it must have all built up.
He just had to release it, like letting his blood be leeched, and then he wouldn't be so distracted again.
The main issue was that this was Archie's fifth year out in society.
He'd already seen all the men who turned up regularly in court, already knew the tepid personalities that soured the pretty faces.
There had been a few newcomers this season, Archie told himself reluctantly.
There had been that Earl who had been abroad, arriving back with a daring brimmed hat.
Archie rolled onto his back, shifting his underwear down his hips enough to slide his hand down the front to grasp himself.
He let his mind linger on the man’s broad shoulders, the easy curve of his smile — ruined by the little beard that looked like a tuft of fluff stuck on his chin, urgh.
Archie sighed, letting his cock slide limp out of his hand.
He just wasn’t in the mood. Why was it so difficult to even indulge?
Perhaps he needed to toss himself off with abandon today, just take the edge off of things.
He pushed his hand back down again and gripped himself, working his hand back and forth with no finesse.
One day, he'd like to do it with someone else.
Someone whose hand was bigger than his, perhaps, who could take more of his cock in their palm.
He let his eyes close, imagining how it might feel.
Someone who would want him to spread his legs, who would grab him by the hips and pull him up.
Someone who would touch his chest, drag their hands over his bare skin.
He reached up and pinched his nipple, shuddering as it hardened to a nub.