Chapter Eighteen
EVEN THE brISK weather and threat of snow couldn’t dampen Archie’s mood.
He felt as though all of his senses were sharpened as they rode through the woods.
He even managed to engage in small talk with Jasper’s friends and took a few shots at their first glimpse of a demon.
It was a pheasant with human-like hands at the end of its wings.
None of his shots hit, but they were close enough he wasn’t immediately deemed useless and the disturbing image of the pheasant carried the conversation for the next half hour.
Their retinue stopped for lunch in front of a series of cabins instead of the tents that Archie had been expecting.
A servant, who must have been told in advance all the arrangements, ushered him and Damaris to one by themselves on the end of the semi-circle, slightly separated from the rest, and took charge of their horses.
Archie was so relieved that they didn’t have to do any real camping that it didn’t even matter to him that the most desirable ones were considered the ones clustered in the middle near the prince’s abode.
“I really ought to ride more,” said Archie morosely, stretching out his cramping legs. He’d been much better at it as a child, but years of city-living had made him soft.
Even though the cabin appeared simple and rustic on the outside, the interior left no comfort behind. A wall of warm air greeted him, where the fire must have been burning merrily all afternoon and Archie near-groaned in delight, feeling the way that Damaris too vibrated with pleasure.
The main room was a reception area, with an array of food already set out on the side table.
Damaris was already investigating under the magically-heated silver cloches and Archie watched him discover a tureen of hearty stew, a golden-brown pie that smelled of meat and gravy, roasted vegetables, and spiced apple mead, as well as crusted bread, thick-sliced cheeses, and cold desserts on the side, with unabashed interest. It was strange how Damaris had seemed lofty when he had first appeared to Archie, amused by and condescending of humans’ baser desires, compared to his reaction to things that seemed so mundane to Archie.
“What?” asked Damaris as Archie stifled a laugh at the sight of him poking the pudding.
“Nothing,” said Archie, and instead of smothering the burst of affection he felt, he embraced it. Reveled in it.
“I wish to know how this one tastes,” said Damaris, jiggling the pudding.
“I can taste them all for you. Are we expecting more people?” asked Archie, but when he glanced at the table, it was only set for two. And since Damaris didn’t eat real food, that meant it was all just for him.
Since it was just the two of them, Archie did away with manners, scooping out a small portion of everything and trying it.
Damaris sat opposite him, watching closely as Archie concentrated on the smell, the taste, the texture of each bite.
He discovered quickly which ones Damaris liked most from the way he hummed with pleasure.
The honey-sweet mead in particular made him hiss and lose control of his Damian form for a moment.
Archie finished the whole tankard. It was as if he were the demon now, savoring Damaris’s reactions.
If it was like this all the time, he had no idea how Damaris didn’t keep him chained to the bed.
Damaris didn’t say anything when Archie announced he was done, wiping the corners of his mouth clean of custard, but there was a slight shimmer of disappointment.
“Later, stews taste even better after some time,” Archie promised, tucking it all back under the still-warm covers.
Usually, when he ate this much, it was all he could do to roll himself into bed.
But with Damaris siphoning the energy off him as fast as he could take it in, he felt a mixture of exhilarated – and aroused.
He’d been so hungry and tired earlier that they hadn’t even looked around the rest of the cabin in favor of immediately falling upon the food.
Now, he rose to see that most of the cabin was one big room, with the sleeping area separated off by a wooden screen hung from the ceiling.
Behind it were two large beds, the covers warmed with heated bricks tucked under.
“Do you have a preference?” asked Archie with some bemusement. He still didn’t know if Damaris actually slept at night, or if he spent the hours Archie was asleep prowling around the castle.
Damaris appeared to take the question seriously as he put one hand on Archie’s lower back, steering him across the room. “Start on this one, and then if it becomes unbearable, you may choose to move to the other.”
“Unbearable? Why would it be?” Archie tried very hard not to be distracted by the warmth of Damaris’s hand, the feather-light brush of his thumb across his back.
Turning slowly to blink at him, Damaris said, “When you peak, your body exudes a great amount of liquids. I surmise some are uncomfortable to sleep in.”
What? Oh. Oh! Archie felt the blush flood him immediately. “I wasn’t exactly – well, I didn’t expect to, you know, on the prince’s hunting trip.”
“Archibald,” said Damaris slowly, and oh, that was new. Archie was struck dumb for a moment at the sound of his name coming out of Damaris. He’d never heard it like that before, the letters all rich and heavy on someone else’s tongue.
“It’s Archie,” he said, annoyed to find himself flustered. It was just his name.
“Archie,” said Damaris with a drawl, and that was worse because he liked ‘Archie’. He liked the way it sounded in Damaris’s voice, he wanted to hear it again. “The good princeling doesn’t really expect us to join his hunting party.”
“Right, yes,” said Archie, because it was obvious the moment Damaris said it aloud. “Indeed, that makes sense. He just wanted an excuse to speak to us alone and block his brother from speaking with us. Or, with you. And now we have to keep pretending for the next few days.”
“The prince commanded us to take advantage of his hospitality,” said Damaris, with the tone of someone indulgently tolerant of the idea that any human, future king or not, could command him to do anything, and gestured at the beds.
If Archie’s face could have got any hotter, his eyebrows would have been singed off. “You don’t think he – knows?”
“I know not and I care not,” said Damaris, his hands rising to trace the length of Archie’s spine from nape to ass. And then Archie was too distracted to think of the prince after that.
When Archie awoke, he immediately knew he had been asleep for a long time.
He felt like a puddle, pooled into the middle of the bed, the dip in the mattress making him list against Damaris.
When he tried to roll over, he ached all over, groaned, and quickly gave up.
Beside him, Damaris laughed silently, the only giveaway the rise and fall of his chest that Archie was pillowed against. He would have stayed in bed even longer, except he desperately needed to relieve himself.
Reluctantly, he pried himself upright, and then promptly staggered as pain lanced through him from sore muscles he didn't even know he had.
Damaris was there suddenly, solid and steady for Archie to collapse against like a fainting maiden.
He was in full demon form; Archie's hand landed in the fur-like tuft of hair on his chest, so soft under his hand he couldn’t stop petting it.
One clawed hand delicately braced against his back and the other pulled Archie upright until he could see Damaris's face.
There was nothing in Archie left to be embarrassed about it, apart from the memory of how he had rubbed his face in that fur or clung to Damaris's antlers.
"This is your fault," Archie grumbled, as Damaris manhandled him to the attached bathing room.
There was the coveted magical plumbing system that his parents were installing in their townhouse, and Archie was quickly converted as hot water came directly from the upper tap.
The sun was shining – oh gods, it must be mid-afternoon already, how long had he slept?
– and there was something terribly exposing about being naked in front of someone else in the light of day.
All his faults were on display and he desperately tried not to think about the dried or sticky patches on his skin too much; he could already feel the start of a blush as Damaris's hands cupped the curve of his ass appreciatively.
Except instead of anything more lascivious, Damaris hefted him aloft and deposited him into the bathtub.
Archie squeaked, and clung to his shoulders as Damaris maneuvered him under the hot water and joined him in the tub.
Even though they'd just had several rounds of debauchery, this somehow felt even more intimate, Damaris rubbing his hands over Archie's body.
Between the hot water pounding against his shoulder blades and the rhythmic circular motions of Damaris removing the evidence of the last few days' exertion, Archie found himself relaxing again.
He pressed a cheek against Damaris's chest, comfortingly solid, and closed his eyes.
This was something he'd never thought about missing.
The sex, the kissing, he'd thought about, had longed for ever since he'd realized he preferred men.
But this, he hadn't even known to crave.
The gentle scratch of Damaris carding through his wetted hair.
A warm body for him to lean against, the comforting weight of an arm pressed against his waist. The slow slide of fingers between his ass cheeks as Damaris cleaned him thoroughly, not enough to be titillating but enough to be a warm fizz in his stomach. A brush against his temple: a kiss.
"You are… crying?" asked Damaris, his voice next to Archie's ear. He sounded perplexed. When Archie opened his eyes, he found his vision blurry. So he was. He hadn't even noticed.