Chapter Two
“THE LAST TIME I saw you like this, you were horrifically hungover.” The voice was remarkably close to Eric’s ear. And very familiar. Ix, that was it. No one else could sound so coolly amused.
Eric groaned. He felt… grimy. He was dressed in last night’s clothes, still slightly damp from the rain.
He tried to open his eyes, but the sun beat down straight into them because he’d forgotten to close the curtains last night and he didn’t have servants anymore who did that sort of thing for him.
Oof. A shadow shielded him and Eric opened his eyes.
“Thank you,” he began to say, and then choked. The shadow over his face was from Ixthan’s arm which was, of course, attached to the rest of Ixthan. Who was lying next to Eric on his bed, dressed only in a loosely tied silk robe. Instead, Eric croaked, “What are you doing?”
“Protecting your precious little gem eyeballs from the horrors of morning,” drawled Prince Ixthan, second demon prince of the realm. He was in fine form, which was unfair given he definitely went to bed later and got up earlier than Eric.
“I—” said Eric, which was all he could manage before his mind gracelessly gave up and melted into a puddle.
It was usually easier than this to ignore the whole…
reaction his body seemed to sometimes have when he was around Ixthan.
He’d first noticed it years ago, but what growing boy didn’t deal with the occasional uncontrollable bodily reaction to things?
And none of it meant anything. There had been a period when he’d had strange reactions to being too cold, or too hot, or from laughter, or the mere act of standing up.
He’d grown out of most of that sort of thing, he was just waiting to grow out of the rest of it as well.
Except, he blinked and looked up at Ixthan reclined across the bed, the sun glinting off his dark brown hair and dappled across the side of his face, arm still raised to shade Eric’s eyes, and he forgot to breathe for a moment.
“I was jesting, but you do really look hungover,” said Ix with a rare flash of concern, leaning in to smell if there was alcohol on Eric’s breath.
Eric threw himself backwards so quickly he launched himself off the bed, and wheezed as he hit the floor and punched all the air out of his own chest. “Fuck!”
“Well done,” said Ixthan. He slid off the bed the normal way, exposing an awful lot of bare muscled thigh for first thing in the day, and looked down at Eric with amusement.
“I was going to ask if you were joining me for breakfast, but I suspect you’d prefer to hide in here until you’ve gotten over your embarrassment. ”
Godsdamnit, Ix knew him far too well. Eric mumbled something that was probably assent from his huddled heap on the ground. He watched from his vantage point on the floor as the large furred claws Ix had in lieu of feet padded away.
One good thing about suddenly becoming destitute and having to let all the servants go was that there were no witnesses to Eric’s current state.
No one was here to see him lie on the ground, cheek smashed against the rug, and use the bedpost as a crutch to haul himself upright.
No one else was here to see that he’d somehow kicked off one boot and sock during the night but was otherwise still fully dressed.
No one saw him embarrassingly take far too long to realize the cravat had twisted backwards on his neck before he could pick it loose.
And no one, surely, noticed how flushed his face was after having Ixthan so close he could feel the heat of his body radiate against his skin.
In Eric’s mind, he could picture Petrella giving him that little look that told him she had seen him do said embarrassing thing, and she was going to hold it above him by not even goading him about it. Urgh, he couldn’t even get peace from his sister’s judgment even when she wasn’t here.
Eric took a cold bath, submerging himself fully into a beautiful clawed tub with a yelp and scrubbing himself vigorously.
By the time he emerged, he was shivering but clean and raw, which was as close to ‘refreshed’ as he was going to get.
He tamed his shock of damp red curls as best as he could, dubiously dabbed in some pomade like he’d seen his (former) valet do before, pulled on some of his favorite clothes, and went out to find some food.
He was shocked to find it was only midday, but that meant that the hot foods in Ix’s reception room were just arriving.
The Prince had a most vexing schedule, where he swung between extreme productivity, sometimes getting up before sunrise for a ride and a swim before breakfast, and glorious hedonism where he might still be abed past noon.
It had been deeply annoying for everyone: the servants, his tutors, and Eric himself.
These days, Ix had a standing arrangement with the kitchen cooks where they put out a selection of cold foods early, the bread, cheese, cold cuts of meat, and fruit, and started bringing in the hot foods later, instead of trying to guess what His Highness might need on any given day.
It certainly made living with him very convenient for Eric, who could wander over and be guaranteed a fresh meal no matter the time.
Thankfully, Ix had got dressed. A small, traitorous part of Eric was disappointed at that, now that he was in a much better mood to appreciate it.
His shirt remained unlaced at the chest, gaping open enough to reveal not only his collarbones but the top of his chest, but that was normal for Ix. Eric had got used to that much by now.
The tea that Ix wordlessly pushed across the table at him was strong and bitter, the way that all of Ix’s food and drink tended to be particularly potent in taste.
Eric gulped it down too hot and winced as he scalded himself.
Pain was a wonderful distraction from dwelling too much on other men’s collarbones.
They ate in silence, Ix reading from some book or other about demonic magic, using his magic to keep it aloft in the air in front of him.
He read extraordinarily quickly, to the point where their tutors had refused to believe he was truly reading at all, until Ix rolled his eyes and proved them wrong.
Perhaps it was another demon trait, along with his magical speed and strength.
Struggling to keep up with him was another thing that Eric had got used to somewhere along the years.
Eric didn’t even realize he was staring until Ixthan looked up, locked eyes with him, and raised his eyebrows.
“Sorry,” said Eric, even though he knew Ix didn’t care about human niceties such as apologies. He could almost anticipate the words before Ix said them:
“What for? Doing what you wish?”
Eric shrugged, and reached for the teapot.
Most of the time, he was better at dealing with Ixthan.
Both of the realm’s demon princes, Ix and his half-brother Ceronzar, were commonly considered to be ‘an acquired taste’, or ‘charming in small doses’, or other such terms people used to indicate that they would definitely attend their parties but might not stay for long.
But Eric just didn’t have it in him today to parry the rapier-fast edges of Ixthan today.
“Have you not read the library’s entire collection of works on the demonic magics by now?” asked Eric instead, nodding at Ix’s book.
“Yes, years ago. It only proves how little humans know,” said Ix with derision. “They all either repeat the same three observations or if there is occasion to report some new phenomena, they declare it unexplainable. This one is not from the library so I hope to glean some new insight.”
At some point, Eric caught sight of the note wedged under his plate, and pried it loose. There was no name on the envelope, but the seal on the back was of pink wax. Plain, with no initial pressed into the wax, and yet Eric could somehow tell who it was from. He winced.
“Yes, your dearest Lydia accosted me last night. She was most aggrieved to discover you were not at my party.” Ix’s voice always took on an acidic tone talking about her, though Eric had never quite understood why.
Their interactions were always perfectly civil, aside from the faint tinge of awkwardness.
“She’s not my – never mind,” sighed Eric as he tore open the letter.
I hope you are faring well. It has been some months since we last spoke.
I hope it is not too bold of me to state that there has been a standing arrangement between us, but it is only too understandable that your circumstances have changed since.
In this matter, my intention is to release you so that you are free from obligation in these trying times, and that we may each pursue opportunities more suited to us.
If you hear amongst the Ton in the next few months some word that I have taken flight, know that I am quite well. Although some discretion on your part would be greatly appreciated.
Please convey my best wishes to your sister also.
The letter did not address him by name, nor did it bear her signature at the bottom. Eric had exchanged plenty of letters with Lydia over the years, enough that he recognized her neat handwriting and telltale preference for rose sealing wax.
Eric read it twice. Huh. That was unexpected.
Reading between the lines, it sounded as if she was planning on running away and eloping, and yet she’d done him the honor of warning him about it first. Her inclination towards slightly obscure sentences in plain language also sounded like her, but if Eric showed this note to someone else later on, there would be a sense of deniability.
That was not too bad at all, much better than he could have hoped for, actually.
He’d been braced for some tear-streaked accusation about how his father’s reputation had brought down theirs, or at least some reprimand for avoiding her.