Chapter Thirteen
ERIC HADN’T EVER thought he would be here with Ix.
From the outside, the building resembled a run down tavern that already had a few patrons, an establishment that catered to those degenerate enough to already require drink even though it was barely mid-morning.
However, Eric also knew that was only the surface of it, the inside of which catered to a very different sort of degeneracy.
“You’re sure this is the place?” Eric asked. Ix usually kept an eye on his brothers, both of them, from a distance using a similar spell to the one in Eric’s necklace, and he’d noticed before his magic disappeared that this was where Ceronzar had been holed up the last few months.
“If he hasn’t moved since I lost access to my spells.
He’s a prince and he attends this kind of place?
” muttered Ixthan as he got out of the carriage.
An ache struck Eric in the chest, though Ix wasn’t to know that Eric himself had been here before.
“Aren’t there any cleaner or classier taverns around? ”
Eric stifled the urge to laugh. “That’s your concern? It’s a front, Ix.”
Ix was dressed in his best approximation of civilian clothes, they both were.
But where Eric could ambiguously pass as a merchant with a plain shirt and unfitted breeches, Ix somehow still exuded the air of nobility.
It was pointless to tell him this because it was in the way he held himself, but then Ix was hardly the only noble patron this place had.
“You’ve been here before?” Ix glanced at him, and then back at the dingy room, and then back at him.
Eric shrugged. “Occasionally.”
A gleam of interest sparked in Ix’s eye, enough for Eric to know he was thinking lewd thoughts about him.
He snorted, and reached for the door. He’d have to spill the details of it later, since there was no chance Ix would forget to dig into it, but that was all right.
He wasn’t going to have much need for coming back now, he suspected.
“Give me your ring,” said Eric, gesturing at the band that lay on Ix’s pinky finger. The smallest of the amber set, originally sized for a lady’s hand. Ix raised his eyebrow, but pried the ring off his finger and dropped it into Eric’s palm as he headed toward the bar.
“A drink, sirs?” asked the barmaid as Eric took the lead.
“We’re looking for a room,” said Eric. The tavern part of the molly-house really was just a tavern, though Eric had no idea how the drinking patrons could remain ignorant to the other activities happening in the back.
The barmaid, who was actually a waifish young man skillfully done up in a dress and wig, raised his eyebrows. “It’s a bit early, sir. The entertainment won’t start for a few hours yet.” Code, presumably, to let him know the workers – the prostitutes – weren’t taking patrons yet.
“To be more specific, we’re looking for an occupant of a room,” said Eric apologetically.
Molly-houses operated on discretion. They kept themselves safe by using no real names and turning a blind eye to their guests, and it worked because the people who came here could trust the establishment not to rat them out.
Even inquiring whether someone else was here went against the way they worked.
“Afraid we don’t do that,” said the barmaid warily.
“I know,” said Eric quickly. “Hear me out. I understand you have an occupant with a standing reservation on a room. If he’s in, give this to him and ask if he wishes to take a visitor today.
And we’ll take two ales.” He pressed the ring into the barmaid’s hand, added a couple more coin than necessary, and smiled winningly.
The barmaid pocketed his extra coin after serving them at least, which was a good sign. Eric gestured to a booth in the corner, and steered Ix over so they weren’t left standing as he disappeared into the back.
“Have you just given away one of my royal heirlooms to a strumpet?” asked Ix curiously.
“He wouldn’t be working the bar if he were a strumpet,” said Eric primly, and sipped his drink. For some reason, Ixthan found that funny. Eric ignored the way the easy curve of his lips sent a warm buzz through his body. It was just the ale, probably.
“So you’re very familiar with this place then.” Ix wasn’t subtle.
Eric shifted in his seat. If anyone he knew spotted them and knew the tavern’s nocturnal activities, he would be exposed immediately.
It was why he’d picked this booth; it had a high back so none of the other patrons had a good view of them.
Still, he felt uneasy sat here, in broad daylight.
He’d never arrived earlier than midnight before.
From this angle at least, the only way someone might recognize them now would be if they were going into the back of the tavern, people who already knew about the likes of the molly-house.
“Somewhat. The downstairs is spectating only. I’ve never used a private room.
” One of the reasons Eric had never told Ix about this place was because he hated how he sounded when he tried to justify it to himself.
He’d never have taken anyone upstairs because that would have disrespected his unspoken arrangement with Lydia, but at least most people who visited prostitutes had the intention of fucking them.
Instead, he could come here and be anonymous in a dark room and just watch? Somehow, that seemed more pathetic.
Every time Eric came, he’d felt worse about himself and eventually having something to take the edge off his frustrations and desires hadn’t been worth it for the sense of shame it had given him afterwards. “And I haven’t – not recently.”
“Why?” Ix sounded curious, not judgmental.
“Why what? It provides a service, I availed myself of it.” Eric could feel the heat rising up from his back.
He’d always known that Ix was active in his pursuits, but Ix was free to be.
He was a prince, but cut out from the line of succession.
None of their neighboring countries would consider having their royal blood diluted with a part-demon so there had never been any marriage arrangements looming over his head.
As long as he was discreet and not fathering a dozen illegitimate children, no one cared what Ix was doing behind closed doors.
For Eric, on the other hand, it was complicated—
“Why pay? You’re titled, you’re sweet, you’re handsome, I’m sure you could find dalliances without resorting to a service.”
Eric’s mind was jolted out of his fast-compounding panic. “You think I’m handsome?”
Ix looked at him incredulously. “I didn’t fuck you with my eyes closed, did I?!”
“Shh!” Eric’s entire face was instantly hot enough to boil water as he looked around.
Thankfully, the tavern was still mostly uninhabited.
Even though they were in a molly-house, Eric still had trouble talking openly and here Ix was, broaching it as casually as the weather.
It felt as though Ix had slid his fingers under Eric’s ribs and cracked his chest wide open, spilling him on the sticky, beer-stained tavern table.
It lay somewhere between fear, and panic, and – and pride?
He wasn’t sure where that had come from.
Ix was looking at him with concern, not the genuine kind of concern but more the kind that wondered whether Eric was a blithering idiot and if it might be contagious, which made Eric laugh shakily.
That was so like Ix, and Eric was so fond of that look even when directed at him that he thought his heart might burst.
“You’ve never said that before,” said Eric, attempting to pull together what shreds were left of his dignity. It probably wasn’t working.
“Neither have I told you that the sky is blue and water is wet,” said Ixthan.
“Yes, well, that is beside the point. Since I’ve also never said so, I do too.
Think you’re handsome. You may have noticed.
” Eric cleared his throat. Why was it that complimenting Ix so directly was so difficult?
He didn’t have a problem saying things like ‘nice shot’ or ‘good form’ or the like while they were hunting, and yet the words stuck in his throat as if he’d chewed a mouthful of chalk.
“Hm,” said Ix thoughtfully as the compliment landed. He’d felt some certain way this time too, Eric saw it in the little twitch in his eyebrow as he mulled it over.
“I suppose,” said Eric. “I miss your demon features though.”
Ixthan turned, his brow furrowed and face too close to Eric’s. “Do you?”
“Well yes. Your pointed teeth and your beautiful eyes and–”
“My beautiful eyes?” Ix repeated incredulously, then laughed as Eric started to go pink.
“That’s what I get for being nice to you,” said Eric mulishly, pulling away. Though it was nice to hear Ix laugh again. He’d missed that sound.
“No, by all means, do continue. I didn’t realize you liked them so much.” Ix grabbed him by the wrist before Eric could pointedly shuffle down the booth. Even without the demonic strength, he was stronger than Eric by far.
“I’m sure you knew,” mumbled Eric, trying not to fall forward into Ix, except Ix curled his hand around Eric’s hip and suddenly it was too difficult to pull away. He glanced around surreptitiously, but the angle of the table kept Ix’s hand out of view.
“I knew of the attraction in general,” clarified Ix, his voice soothingly quiet now. “But not that you liked the demonic features in particular.”
A moment of silence. It would have been easy for Eric to move past it, to dismiss it as the offhand remark Ix had clearly meant it to be, but now it was starting to make sense. How Ix had said previously that Eric had never made a move, that moment of brashness after their first time.
“Did you think I liked you despite the demonic features? That they somehow detracted from your…” Eric waved vaguely up and down to indicate basically everything about Ix’s general physique.
Ix narrowed his eyes. “Hm. I see. I don’t like it when you’re so keenly perceptive. Only I’m allowed to do that.”