Chapter Eight
IT HAD BEEN weeks since Archie had seen his eldest brother, and yet there he was at lunch. Already seated in what Archie had come to think of as his seat, Charlie had the gall to look at him as if he were the interloper.
“There you are, Archibald. Have a seat,” said Charlie. No one else called him Archibald unless he was in trouble; Charlie just did it to be obnoxious. The maid, Grace, was swiftly setting out the extra place at the table, which meant Charlie hadn’t even informed the servants to expect him. Ass.
“Charles,” said Archie sourly, settling into the last seat.
The remnants of hazy pleasure from Damaris’s touch curdled in his stomach, and he sighed to himself that Charlie could have such an instantly unpleasant effect on him.
Charlie, naturally, didn’t even notice. Mother had other plans today, so it was just father trying valiantly to make stilted conversation.
Archie wished he’d thought to go out to Crothby’s even if it was to dine alone.
“I knew I shouldn’t have had lunch in, this tastes like slime,” said Charlie, pushing his fish soup away with disgust.
“The Queen approves the food from the palace kitchens,” said father mildly.
“Then why is the palace food worse than anything you can get down Fairbank? Ye gods if it wasn’t so much faster to get to the Mile District from here, I would have never bothered.”
“You’re going to the Mile District? The Assembly of the Lords is this afternoon.
” As father regarded Charlie over the top of his eyeglasses, Archie silently dunked a piece of bread into his soup and stuffed it into his mouth to save himself from needing to contribute.
The soup was delicious, creamy with fresh herbs and lemon to cut through the fish, he honestly didn’t know what Charlie was complaining about.
More.
Archie twitched silently; he hadn’t expected Damaris to join in. Mostly, the demon seemed content to share Archie’s body with only the occasional observation, which was a relief. More…?
Soup.
Oh, huh. You like salmon soup?
Demons do not taste. Damaris sent Archie a confusing jumble of images of them tangled together; it took Archie a moment to realize that Damaris had been literal when he fed on Archie.
The desire that he took from Archie was the food that sustained his demonic ability, which must mean he didn’t have the ability to taste in the same way that humans lacked the ability to sense magic.
The knowledge that the only way Damaris was tasting food was through Archie’s body was an oddly intimate revelation.
But I’ve eaten many times since meeting you.
Your human body reacts in many strange ways. As our bond gets stronger, the differences become easier to discern, said Damaris with what Archie only describe as a slight sneer. He deposited a number of other examples in Archie’s mind. I still do not understand the pleasure of sweating.
Sweating isn’t meant to be pleasurable, it’s just something that happens when you’re hot.
Can you not cease?
I – no, humans don’t really have control of our bodies like that. It was difficult to explain when he’d experienced first hand the way Damaris could manipulate his entire being.
No wonder your fleshy prison gives you so little joy.
Ouch. That one felt a little too close to the truth for Archie’s liking, and he had no good reply. He wasn’t going to be able to explain why he was the way he was, and why he wasn’t supposed to be like this. He took another sip of soup, instead, in the hopes it would distract him.
I have so many flavors to show you. Not just soup, but all different kinds of food, Archie thought as if he were trying to tempt a child, and received a satisfied rumble from Damaris in return.
Archie was brought rudely back to the conversation at the dining table as Charlie shoved his chair back, scraping the back legs harshly across the polished wooden floor.
He nearly toppled Grace over from her post, jostling the water jug she held.
Charlie raised a hand and she shrank away, back hitting the wall.
“Charles!” Father snapped. Charlie aborted his move with a jerk of his arm and hissed an insult at her that made Archie gasp before storming away.
They watched him go as in appalled silence before father spoke again.
“Grace, no, leave that, go clean up and take a moment to compose yourself. Nell, why don’t you go with her. ”
“Yes milord. And I’ll fetch cloths to clean this immediately.” Nell folded an arm around Grace and ushered her from the room.
Although Archie had been distracted by the whole conversation about soup and taste, of all things, he could more or less guess what had happened.
The Assembly of the Lords met four times a year to discuss all matters of legislation that had recently been approved by the lesser Assembly of the Judges.
Father held two seats in the Assembly of Lords for the two territories he held, the first as Duke of Russex and the second as Viscount of Bandembry, but each person was still only considered one vote.
As his heir, Charlie honorarily had use of the Viscount title to also sit in the Assembly and he would have added an additional vote on any matters father wished to support or dismiss.
He’d either forgotten about the Assembly or, more likely, couldn’t be bothered to go.
“He’s getting worse,” sighed father, removing his eyeglasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.
That was unlike him; although it was usually obvious to the siblings what their father’s opinion of things were, he generally avoided open disapproval of Charlie.
Archie made a noise that could be considered assent.
“I could go in his place,” said Archie eventually. It wasn’t as if he had any plans for this afternoon, after all.
“You?” Father looked up at him for the first time.
“The Viscount of Bandembry seat is officially Charlie’s, but you can swear me in to represent Russex ‘in your absence’.”
“And I represent myself as Bandembry? How devious,” said his father, his brows raised.
It was not a solution many could have stomached, to have Archie as the stand-in for the higher ranking seat, but he seemed delighted.
Archie dared a tentative smile. “You know, this might improve the state of things for you to get you some exposure in court.”
Archie’s momentary happiness soured instantly. “I am trying, father.”
“Your mother worries. As do I. Charles’ inclinations have shown him to be… short-sighted.” His father paused. There it was again, that reluctance to be open about Charlie’s shortcomings. “But we hope that you will be able to find some niche for yourself, in the way that Oliver has.”
Ollie sounded happy enough in the occasional letters he sent, but to Archie, nothing sounded more soul-destroying than retiring to the countryside to organize farming and villages and whatever else Ollie took such diligent satisfaction in.
Still, he understood the principle of it, and so he nodded.
That seemed to appease his father for now.
“Good. Now, if you are to tag along with me, I must outline the principle discussion points and we haven’t much time.”
Archie had never seen inside the Assembly Hall before.
Nestled away next to the throne room, it was long and rectangular, with tiered seating that ran lengthways along the room so that each person would have a full view of the open speaking space in the middle.
The Assembly of Lords sat by rank, with seats assigned to dukes in the front row, then marquesses and earls in the second row, and finally viscounts and barons in the third.
Archie’s father took a seat at the back of the room with great relish; as the room filled up, more and more people entered and looked askance to see him there.
“I’m Bandembry today, my boy there is Russex,” he said more than once with no little amusement as Archie tried not to look as out of place seated at the front of the room as he felt.
Next to him on either side and opposite were other dukes – his father’s friends and peers.
Even without any interest in politics, Archie knew who they all were: here, the Royal Treasurer; there, the General Commander of the army; and so on.
Unsurprising, given Archie had grown up around them, knowing them as his friends’ parents or even grandparents.
He felt very much like a child allowed at the high table for the first time.
Apart from one man. Settling into a seat in the back row diagonally opposite Archie’s father.
The only other person in the room even close to Archie’s age, perhaps a few years older.
He had dark brown hair, loosely curled and artfully swept to one side, full lips and a strong chin.
His skin was slightly tan, as if he had wintered abroad somewhere more sunny, and his Welcian-cut shortcoat showed off his broad shoulders.
As if he could hear Archie’s thoughts, the stranger turned and caught his eye, just in time to catch Archie staring.
Immediately Archie flicked his eyes away, fixing his eyes determinedly on some non-existent detail on the wall.
He could feel the heat manifesting in his ears, the red no doubt betraying his embarrassment.
If the floor were to open and swallow him whole, he would have let it without a second thought.
His reaction had been reasonable, Archie argued with himself.
Archie obviously knew who all of the baron and viscount titles belonged to, and he had never seen this man before.
It was a completely normal, reasonable reaction to seeing a new face turn up at the Assembly.
A dozen of his father’s peers had commented on his unusual seating arrangement, after all.
The Chair stood, one of his father’s old hunting friends, and Archie tried to look interested in the proceedings.
He was, in a way. Not in the actual politics of it, the movements of trade and army and money all went over his head a little, but in the interaction of it all.
He watched as esteemed lords harrumphed over sly remarks made by other lords, or the way someone might bring up a point just to further contention.
He himself offered no contribution, knowing that he would sound stupid if he tried, but threw in his vote on the hastily prepared points his father had outlined.
It would have been easier if his father had sat in front so Archie could simply see whether he had raised his hand or not, so he hoped his memory held.
Through it all, as Archie moved his gaze from noble to noble, he got the distinct sense that the man opposite was looking at him.
And yet, every time he flicked his gaze over, he appeared to be paying attention to the discussion.
In fact, he was the one who caught Archie staring at him.
A raise of the eyebrows accompanied a quizzical smile.
Or at least, that’s how Archie chose to interpret the bemused look he was given; he averted his gaze again and resolved not to look at the man again.
The Assembly took up most of the afternoon, and even Archie’s good intentions had wilted by the time they were done. However, judging by the way the votes went, his father would be pleased on most of the points that had been approved to be presented to the king.
“It might suit us all if I brought you next time instead of Charles,” said Duke Russex in high spirits as they walked back to their quarters.
Archie wasn’t naive; he understood that his father appreciated his willingness to agree more than anything else.
When he did bother to turn up, Charlie presumably voted however he liked.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to. I suspect that for Charlie, the notion that I took his rightful place will mean more than not wanting to attend,” said Archie ruefully.
Father gave him a look that betrayed his surprise. “How very astute of you, my boy.”
They were almost to their quarters now. If Archie didn’t bring it up now, he would lose the chance to. “Father, who was the man opposite me? The one near my age.”
“Opposite? Who was sat there, let’s see. Do you mean Earl Lymond?”
Archie had never heard of this earl before, neither the man nor the place. Which was odd. Even if he were not involved in politics, Archie still knew who they all were socially. “Is he new to court?”
“Certainly not, he has sat the Assembly for the last three years. You must have met him, he was at one of your mother’s dos.”
“Remind me of his given name?”
“Damian, I believe.”
“Oh, yes. I think I do remember somewhat,” said Archie, outright lying. He bit the inside of his cheek. No, he had definitely not met Earl Lymond before, he would have remembered a man who looked like… that.
Thick hair, large hands, full lips. Thighs. Deft wrist.
Stop that, Archie thought wildly. No reply from Damaris.
Actually, nothing from Damaris at all, not even the vaguest hint of him in the back of Archie’s mind as he had been constantly.
Perhaps he was asleep; Archie had no idea if demons slept and now he thought about it, it would be awfully inconvenient for a succubus demon if he had to sleep at night.
After parting ways from his father, Archie wondered belatedly if that meant those thoughts had been his own.