“Not yet,” said Ix again, his eyes glowering. “Not until I say so.”
It was an order, the tone sending frissons across his skin, and Eric could only obey. He clutched at Ix’s shoulders tightly and held on as if riding a horse at gallop as Ix had his way with him.
Eric could tell when Ix was close; his grip on Eric’s ass tightened and his thrusts grew erratic, the muscles under Eric’s hands coiled and tensed. He panted, eyes wide as he watched Ix, the rise and fall of his chest, the ripple of the muscles in his torso.
“Come for me,” snarled Ix right as Eric felt the hot, sticky eruption inside of him. It tipped him freefall over the edge and Eric peaked for the second time, spilling over Ix’s bare chest with a strangled cry. The force of it made his mind melt for a moment, all thought leaking out through his ears, or possibly his cock. He came to a few moments later, still sprawled across Ix’s chest, Ix’s cock still nestled inside of him, his thigh and stomach muscles twitching with the strain of holding it all in to Ix’s command.
Eric swallowed. He should say something, probably, but had no idea what.
“In case you’re think of saying something, shhh,” said Ix with amusement. Rotating his head, Eric squinted at him. How had Ix known exactly what he was thinking?
Ix snorted, put a thumb under Eric’s chin and forcibly moved his head back into his previous resting position, cheek against Ix’s chest. They lay there for a while, Eric’s entire body feeling wonderfully floppy for the first time in forever. Ix’s body was warm, his skin soft where Eric’s cheek nuzzled it, his hands still languidly draped across Eric’s back, drawing soothing circles with his fingertips.
Eric was just starting to think that he could stay like this forever, but then his sweat started cooling and he started shivering; and his hips started protesting about this positionwhere he was still straddled across Ix’s enormous waist; and Ix’s softened cock slipped out of him and suddenly so did all of Ix’s – ahem.
“I should go clean up,” said Eric mournfully, trying to ignore the dripping sensation as Ix’s pleasure started pooling around his balls.
Ix waved a hand, and then stilled. “Here. Oh, hm.”
That was not an encouraging sound. “What is it?”
“Normally I would clean up with magic,” said Ix, which was great. So convenient for him. Eric usually had to make do with lukewarm water and a washcloth. “But I don’t appear able to do magic right now.”
CHAPTER SIX
ERIC HADN’T WANTEDto leave the bed, but Ix reminded him that he was meant to go see Petra. Had it only been yesterday at sundown his father had been executed? His body was all messed up, he usually never got up at sunrise. The last day felt like a fever dream, except if this had all been a fever dream then his ass would probably be less sore.
In lieu of the convenient magical clean up, Eric had indeed made do with some lukewarm water and a washcloth. He’d almost thrown himself back into Ix’s giant hot spring bath but he had a suspicion that he would never get himself out of it today if he let himself do that. That, and a full bath would wash away the lingering smell of Ix, which he occasionally caught a waft of and was trying not to think about.
Ixthan wanted to head to the Magisterium to demand answers about his magic, so Eric made the trek over to the family house alone. They’d probably have to talk about what just happened at some point but aside from not having the time, Eric wasn’t up to it yet. He wanted to cling to the memory, before Ix inevitably shattered the illusion and told him it had only happened because he’d lost his mind as a side effect of his magical trauma or something. He wasn’t ready for that.
Even though he and Petrella had only moved out of the manor a couple of weeks ago, the place didn’t feel like home anymore. Eric stood on the front step for a moment, before remembering he was waiting for a butler who no longer worked here. He’d never opened the front door himself before. What an odd thing to realize.
Eric could feel the eyes of the neighbors on him. Though he couldn’t catch anyone looking when he turned, he could feel the force of their stares behind their lace curtains, and he imagined he saw a few twitch when he turned to look around. These were people he’d known for over a decade. None of them wanted to associate with him or Petra now. He didn’t linger on the doorstep.
It was quickly evident that debt collectors and the King’s guard had worked quickly; everything presumably of value had already been seized, plus a fair number of things of no value at all, like the family portrait Petra had painted when she’d been a child.
Petra had got there a little before Eric had, and he found her standing in front of the empty space on the wall where the framed canvas had been with bewilderment in her eyes. A joke was on Eric’s lips, about how the debt collectors were the only people to really appreciate her art, but he swallowed it down before it could burble up. Not the time.
“I’m sorry, Petra,” he said instead, folding his arms around her for a hug. She squeezed him back until his chest hurt, or maybe his chest hurt anyway.
They walked through the mansion in silence, taking in the newly unfamiliar landscape. It wasn’t just the family portrait that was missing, all of Petra’s paintings were gone. The entrance hall felt enormous now the antique vases no longer stood in two rows on either side, the bouquets that had been inside carelessly tossed onto the floor and wilting. Eric hadnever noticed that the gilt wallpaper had faded until he could see the preserved rectangles of color where various paintings had protected it. Even the chandelier had been yanked down, only an ugly stump remaining after every last piece of usable metal and crystal had been torn from the flowered ceiling medallion.
Each new room they entered felt the same, stripped bare, but the worst was when they reached the personal items. The jewelry was all gone, along with the trinket boxes it had been kept in. The books had been taken, leaving gouges of empty space on the shelves. Most of the clothes and linens had been taken, certainly anything lace or silk or embroidered; Petra flinched when she saw that even her drawer of smallclothes had been raided. That sort of thing should have been off-limits, surely.
While Eric didn’t care if the King’s guard had rooted through his underclothes, he did stoop to tidy up everything that had been upended from his writing desk. Thankfully, the letters from their mother, written when she’d known she was ill and dying, were still intact, albeit some with imprints of careless boot prints on them. He carefully stacked those together to take with him back to the palace.
His collection of fencing swords was gone. At least most of his riding gear was kept at the palace stables, the debt collectors probably hadn’t thought to raid that too. Eric still had the one rapier he’d remembered to pack with his things, but of everything in the house, this struck him the hardest. Most of them had been gifts from Ixthan over the years, beautifully designed and more ornamental than functional, and he’d treasured them. And then there had been a couple from his father, too. He couldn’t decide how he felt about those being gone.
They were lucky, Eric reminded himself, to keep the house. Even if it didn’t feel that way right now. It had been in the family for generations, a three-storied mansion with eight bedroomsand full servant wing, not that there were any servants left to require it. He’d been harboring the idea that after the trial, he and Petra could move back in whilst they figured it all out, but the size of household they’d need to pay to maintain the place would be impossible now.
What Eric needed to do post-haste was to speak to the estate managers, the family employed to manage not just the legal but also commercial affairs for his father. He should have been doing it all these years as the heir apparent, except his father had barred them from speaking to him a few years ago and now he was woefully out of touch with their affairs.
After the walk through the house, Eric suggested that Petra head back to their aunt’s, at least for now. The only beds remaining were the ones in the servant’s rooms in the attic, probably because they hadn’t been worth the effort to maneuver down the narrow stairs, so he would have to get new ones. He could see how drained even one turn around the mansion had made her. They perched on the hallway stairs, the two of them sharing one step even though there was plenty of space for them to sit apart.
“I’ll go ask the estate managers to take a look through everything,” said Eric finally. He couldn’t face doing it himself, not when he could not even get his head around what was gone. It would likely be months of him realizing he wanted something and going to fetch it before remembering he didn’t have it anymore. The idea of moving back in was discomforting but it would be a long while before they had enough money for it to look presentable again. “Then we can catalog what we want to keep and what we might be able to sell on. Do you want to come?”
Petra laughed with no mirth. “Thank you, but no. Tell me. How bad was the execution?”
