Chapter Six #2
When he awoke, the the sky was dark already.
Eric groaned. He had to stop with the erratic napping, it was throwing his sleeping patterns into disarray.
He looked at himself for just long enough to try and fluff up the crushed curls on the side of his head he’d slept on, then gave up and went to find Ix.
Ix’s rooms were usually never this quiet at this time of day, especially in the winter.
When it was too cold to be outside, Ix was almost always hosting something into the evenings, even if it was just a small group for dice and conversation.
But Eric hadn’t heard any voices or footsteps down the corridor.
Had he gone out? Eric struggled to think of a time when Ix had gone somewhere and not invited him at least. That probably said something about much time he spent in Ixthan’s company, but he didn’t have enough energy to unpick that thought right now.
“Ix?” asked Eric.
“In here,” called Ix in what Eric considered his sulking voice.
“What’s wrong?” All of Eric’s instincts were suddenly on edge. When he walked in, Ix was on the sofa, behind a stack of books that had not been there this morning.
“The Magisterium is useless, as predicted. No theory I have not already thought of myself and no suggestions as to how to reverse it. And I cannot even discuss the books I’ve obtained outside of the library with them,” Ix said.
Eric was suddenly paying attention. Ix had mentioned it before, briefly, too briefly for Eric to take notice but he should have.
The texts on the demonic in the palace library had to be approved by the Magisterium.
If Ix had been getting unknown books from elsewhere…
hells, no wonder something went wrong. He could have been following the path of some smuggled volume from the Continent or black-market pamphlet incoherently written by some possessed madman.
Ix looked up from his tome and Eric struggled to keep his horror off his face. “You look vile. How’s Petrella?”
“I feel awful. Petra feels awful. And you also feel awful, it seems. We’re a good match for company,” said Eric as he threw himself down onto the sofa.
“How dramatic of you.” There was no sympathy to be had from Ix, which was refreshing actually.
It felt normal, as normal as Eric’s life could be right now.
And it was much better than Eric’s worst fear, which would have been Ix pretending that this morning had never happened and throwing Eric out of his rooms instead.
Eric decided to push his luck, listing sidewards until he could rest his head on Ix’s shoulder. From the look Ix gave him, it hadn’t been as subtle a move as he’d hoped, but he brushed his hair out of the way so it would be more comfortable for Eric anyway.
“My swords are gone,” said Eric to distract Ix. “Probably already pawned.”
Eric felt Ix’s shoulders stiffen under him. “How dare they?”
“I’ve been told there is a receipt of everything taken, somewhere in here. At least the paperwork is thorough,” Eric feebly lifted the flap of his satchel to show the pile of various contracts, documents and letters from Roger he still had to read through.
“When will you be moving back into the house?”
“Ah.” Eric closed his eyes. “About that. I don’t know if we will be. I might have to ask Aunt Gerry about moving into her townhouse as well. Or maybe we’ll move back to the country. It’ll be easier to oversee the estate from there.”
“Is it the neighbors?” Ix scowled, as if he might march over and punch some busybodies.
While Eric appreciated the sentiment, he had to shake his head.
Shame knotted in his chest, a tangibly solid lump that Eric had trouble breathing around.
He’d skirted around it, but it felt uncouth to discuss money matters, embarrassing to admit they would be struggling.
He willed himself to speak plainly, or Ix would never understand.
“It’s debtors. And the—” He couldn’t say ‘the King’s sanctions’ out loud, that was Ix’s father, “–the fines. And the estate’s not in great shape either, I need to investigate more but it doesn’t look good.
Father was doing something with the farmers to get more money out of them.
And I need to make sure Petra’s all right too, I know she’ll want a match in the next year or two. ” Eric sank his head into his hands.
“Oh. How boring, you need money,” said Ix. Easy for him to say. “How much?”
“What! No,” Eric protested immediately. “You can’t just give me money.”
Not least because the implications of the Demon Prince spending money on solving the debts of a traitor to the Crown were terrible.
“So what, you sell the manor?” said Ix critically.
“Maybe, yes. Unless you can think of anything else that would generate a large income very quickly,” said Eric with a wince. He hadn’t the faintest how to do that.
Ix was silent for a moment. “You don’t want to stay here?”
“What?”
“You mentioned moving to your aunt’s, or to the countryside. You don’t want to stay here?” Ix gestured around him.
Eric looked at him, bewildered. “I can’t impose on you indefinitely.”
“Why not?” Ix turned to him with fire in his eyes and Eric realized they were having a different conversation to the one he’d thought they were having. This wasn’t about money problems at all.
“Because–” And now that Eric had to give a reason, he couldn’t think of a single good one. “Because it’s not done. And you’ll be harboring the son of a traitor. People will talk.”
“People already talk about me,” said Ixthan pointedly, and Eric winced.
That was true enough; he’d heard enough gossip over the years that if he didn’t know Ix, he’d think he was a nine-foot monster who ravished maidens and tortured small animals, and was biding his time to brutally assassinate his human brother.
Worrying at a stray thread at his sleeve, Eric tried to take the idea seriously.
It would solve a lot of his problems surprisingly easily.
No more wondering whether the neighbors were spying on them.
No wondering how he could afford the house upkeep.
He wouldn’t even have to deal with the small headache of flipping the coin on whether he could afford a cab to the palace or make the walk from the house each day.
He’d be here for Court activities he would be required to attend as the new Earl, and what closer eye could the king keep on him than under his own palace roof?
And yet, part of Eric still resisted. It was too easy, surely?
Ix truly did know Eric too well, because just as Eric started to squirm away from the intensity of his eye contact, Ix reached out to grab his chin. “Eric. Don’t get any stupid ideas. You’ll stay here, in my rooms. Unless you wish to leave, to exile yourself to Marrawshire.”
“I couldn’t pay you rent,” mumbled Eric awkwardly. “I think your father’s sanctions…” He trailed off under the force of Ix’s incredulous stare.
“Did I demand you pay me? Why are you so hellsbent on going destitute?” snapped Ixthan.
“I’m not, I just, I just…” Eric was starting to get a headache.
People were depending on him. Petra and Aunt Gerry most importantly, and the earldom too after that but he’d upset Ix by making it about money again.
It was just so heavy at the front of his mind he was having difficulty seeing past it.
“I just want to do things the right way.”
It was futile saying these things to Ix. Just by being half-demon, Ix started life being considered an abomination. There was nothing Ix could ever do for people to think he was ‘doing things the right way’, and so he never saw the point in bowing to it.
“Fine. If your pride means you can’t accept without paying, then you can pay me in lieu.” Ix’s lip curled. “I’ll house you and feed you and clothe you and in return, I own you.”
Eric didn’t even know what expression he was making, only that his face tried to twitch in three different ways at once. He couldn’t hide any of it from Ix if he’d wanted to, not when Ix’s hand still gripped his jaw.
I own you. The words rang in his ears over and over. Eric could feel heat burning off the back of his neck and his throat closing up tight, his heart pounding, but somewhere amongst the wash of shame was a mean streak of desire, coursing through his chest and lower.
“I –” He croaked, and then stopped. Suddenly, his tongue seemed to fill his entire mouth, thick and clumsy. He blinked, and suddenly Ix’s face was right next to his, his thick dark lashes caressing the side of his cheek.
“Oh, you like the sound of that?” asked Ix, his voice dangerously low.
Eric could smell him again, that sweet vanilla and musk, bringing him back to the memory of this morning. A low groan escaped him before he could stifle it.
“Eric. Say yes. And thank you.”
Eric exhaled it. “Yes. And – thank you.”
“Good boy.” Pulling him forward by the chin, Ix pressed their mouths together.
Something in Eric’s mind melted at those words. He practically climbed into Ix’s lap, desperate to touch as much of him as possible, panted as Ix alternated between rough kisses and hard bites until his lips felt swollen and stinging.
This would have been even better if Ix’s teeth were still sharp.
The thought only fleetingly crossed Eric’s mind until Ix moved, pressing a smattering of kisses across his jaw down to his neck, and then bit down on the meat between his neck and shoulder.
Eric jolted as if he’d been stabbed. Ix did it again.
The pain of the bite, the wet warmth of Ix’s tongue laving over it afterwards, the gritty drag of stubble across Eric’s tender skin as Ix moved downwards and across his collarbones sent heat through Eric’s body.