Prince Jasper, the only full-human prince and therefore the only heir to the throne, raised his eyebrow. “It’s the middle of the day. My brother barely sleeps at all, let alone at such hours. He must be even worse than I heard.”
“I’ve also never seen him ill this way,” said Eric reluctantly. He and Jasper were probably supposed to be friends. Young noblemen of Eric’s lineage, treasonous fathers aside, were exactly the sort meant for Jasper’s inner circle, but Eric had met Ixthan first and the tension between the brothers firmly drew a line between them. Eric liked Jasper, respected him and thought he would be a good future king even, but between them, he belonged to Ixthan. Though, the wordbelongfelt distinctly different now.
“I won’t go in then. He’d hate me to see him like this, and it will annoy him to no end that I’ve been considerate about it,” said Jasper airily. The princes were so petty between themselves. “Will you take a message from me? I’m about to set off for the Midwinter hunt and won’t be here for the next few days. I hope for his speedy recovery.”
Eric had forgotten entirely about the Hunt. He’d have to talk to Ix about it as soon as he woke up. Wisely, he decided to not comment on Jasper’s little machinations. As far as this sort of thing went, this was mild. A concession to Ixthan’s state then. “Yes, of course, Your Highness. I’ll convey your, uh, sincere well-wishes.”
“Excellent,” said Jasper with amusement, and sauntered off. The princes could be so alike sometimes. If they weren’t constantly in competition, Eric rather suspected they’d enjoy each other’s company.
Left with little to distract him, Eric went back to his own rooms. He’d entirely forgotten about his meeting, it seemed so long ago. But another stack of papers had arrived for him, marked up by the Wiliamses with direction where they needed him to sign something, to read something, or to consider and make a decision on something, and whether it was urgent. There was enough in the urgent pile that it gave Eric a headache just looking at it.
Eric read and considered and signed things until his head swam, and he only emerged when his stomach cramped for want of food. He hadn’t eaten all day. The regular food arrivals in Ix’s rooms had paused, presumably when the healers had been here, but he headed back over to see if they had resumed.
He found Ixthan hunkered over a bowl of porridge like an animal, still shirtless.
“Ix!” Eric turned shuffling sideways until he could grope for where Ix kept his robes. “Honestly, what is wrong with you?” He regretted it the moment he said it.
“I’m sick, Eric,” said Ix drolly. “Calm down, you’d think you were a virgin with the way you react.”
Eric didn’t say anything, just handed him a robe.
Ix looked at him curiously. “What, really? Why?”
“What do you mean, ‘why’?” said Eric crossly, and took a generous helping of the ham and leek pie he knew was Ix’s favorite.
“What’s the problem? You’re a nobleman’s son, an Earl in your own right now, you can hold a conversation and you’re shapely enough,” said Ix, waving a hand to encompass Eric’s body. He stuck his spoon into Eric’s portion of pie and ate it right off his plate. “Why is this so salty?”
“It takes the same as always. Your food is always salty. I thought it was a demon thing, like how you’re cold all the time. Eat it one tiny bite at a time and have some bread with it.”
Ix looked skeptical. “And you all just put up with my salty food?”
“And your achingly sweet desserts, and your potent wine that could knock out a mule, yes. In any case, thank you for the endorsement, I suppose,” said Eric peevishly. “I don’t think it was ever up to me. I presumed that Father would have the arrangement with Duke Questby finalized at some point and I do have some sense of propriety. I didn’t want to ruin Lydia’s reputation.”
“I’m not talking about the next Lady of Marrawshire, I asked why haven’t you ever fucked,” said Ix with a crude hand action. Ix’s brow furrowed as he if was thinking back.
“If you couldn’t tell when you fucked me, why does it matter?” Eric squirmed, trying to cut off that train of thought before Ix could get too far down it.
“I’m trying to think what I might have done differently,” said Ix. Infuriating, because he almost managed to make it sound considerate, as if he might have treated Eric with deerskin gloves or some such nonsense if he’d known.
“Well, don’t.” On the one hand, Eric was glad Ix was sounding more like himself. On the other, he wasn’t ready to have this conversation. He could feel himself getting defensive, his hackles rising, but it didn’t stop him from grinding out: “Besides, it’s not like you’ve ever mentioned it either, despite the amount of flirting you do.”
“That’s different,” said Ixthan immediately, but he didn’t elaborate why. Eric scowled. It wasn’t a very good argument if one of them refused to engage.
“Jasper visited when you were asleep,” Eric said, in a moment of spite. If Ix could make him feel so discombobulated, he knew just how to do it back. And then felt guilty about it immediately when Ix narrowed his eyes. He relented, explained the whole situation, right down to how Jasper showed his consideration in the most annoying way possible.
“Blast him. I’ve no doubt he wanted something and now I won’t be able to figure out what unless I ask him. And then he’ll be all smug that I had to ask. Gods, you and Petra are never like this.”
“He said he was about to leave for the Hunt. I didn’t realize that was tomorrow, I must have lost track of time,” said Eric.
The Midwinter Hunt was usually one of the largest celebrations of the seasons, put on by the King. Those who considered themselves mighty hunters would gather to hunt down demon-infested animals, which were often grotesquely disfigured after being possessed. Jasper attended every year and did well in it, the tales of his prowess doled out by bards each year.
Ix and Ceron notably did not participate in the Hunt. The official line was that the demon princes’ magic powers would give them an unfair magical advantage. But privately, Eric knew that the King wanted to separate the idea of his sons, though also demonic, from the creatures the nobles found in the woods. If Eric thought too long about how Jasper had demonic trophies mounted on his walls and any similarities they might bear to Ix, his blood started to curdle.
However, Ix did still partake in the revelry of the Hunt. He supplied the demon wine, warming in the chill winter air for those who preferred to spectate rather than join in. Their group of friends might put on a friendly duel or two for people to bet on and cheer, and the main event was Ix himself. It was the one time a year he opened himself up to challenges, for anyone who wanted to test their sword against him. It was all good-natured; other nobles liked to try, and occasionally some of the soldiers and guardsmen too.
Eric hadn’t seen him lose a bout yet. He usually made a small fortune betting on Ix at the Hunt. He snorted out loud.
“What’s so funny?” asked Ix.
