“Yes and he’s in a foul mood because of it,” said Eric, his voice just loud enough that any half-demon pressing their ear to the wall might hear.
“Good. He has no sympathy whenever any of us catch something,” said Marty.
The boys stayed for long enough to catch Eric up. It had only been a few days here and there but he felt as out of touch as if he’d been missing from society for a month or more. They invited him to dine out with them at Crothsby’s after but Eric was meant to be in mourning and that gave him the excuse to decline. Remembering to relay Petra’s well wishes, Eric summoned a wan smile as they took the hint and left him alone after another round of well wishes.
Easing himself into Ix’s armchair for just a moment, Eric let himself rest his eyes. He hadn’t been like this before, he’d always enjoyed parties and group gatherings. He wanted to feel more annoyed that his father, a man who hadn’t spoken to him in years, affected him so much but honestly he was too tired to be annoyed. That small interaction left him drained and as though his head was full of bees.
Eric didn’t even recall falling asleep, only waking a little, just in time to hear Ix say, “Go back to sleep.” And so he did.
CHAPTER NINE
ERIC AWOKE INIx’s bed. He could tell by the sheer size of it and the way the covers swamped him. That, and the smell of Ix surrounding him. He recalled, vaguely, being scooped up off the armchair, his head lolling onto Ix’s shoulder. The memory of it in his refreshed mind, in the light of day, was embarrassing enough that he shut his eyes again.
“Are you pretending to be asleep? You’re not very good at it,” said the warm lump at his back, which was presumably Ix. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Eric fought not to roll into it. His body wanted to just relax into it, to fit itself against Ix’s chest and be surrounded by not just his smell but his body as well. And yet, he stayed where he was, muscles locked into place.
“Why are you carrying people into your bed without even a say so?” asked Eric, instead of dignifying that with a response.
“Without a say so?” Ix’s voice was closer then, the exhale of his breath tickling the back of Eric’s neck. “Do I need to ask permission to bring things that belong to me into my bed?”
His hand darted out, flicking the covers off, gripping Eric by the hip and rolling him onto his back. Ix was shirtless, his thick hair draping over them like a waterfall. The color was backin his face, and there seemed to be no weakness of muscle in the arm propping him up as he loomed over Eric. His tone was imperious, but his eyes were playful, familiar lines of laughter etched in the corners.
Eric batted his eyelashes coyly like a maiden. “Your Highness! Why, I can see your collarbones!”
“Ugh, don’t,” Ix drew back with a disgusted face until Eric dropped the act, snickering softly. It was well known that Prince Ixthan did not respond well to courtly ladies who attempted to force the prince into courting them. Ix lowered himself onto his side, face close enough to Eric’s that he could have kissed him just by turning his head. “No, I’d rather you were just you.”
Eric squirmed. This was rather more sincere than he was used to Ix being. He could match a little rough-housing in bed, but this was a different matter altogether. He was also shirtless, Eric realized suddenly. He raised his hands to cover his chest, as if he had any modesty to protect. Ix must have undressed him. He couldn’t make himself ask, the words stuck in his throat.
“Eric. I’ve seen you without a shirt since we were boys.” The most unfair part of falling into bed with his best friend meant that Ix knew exactly what he was thinking even if Eric couldn’t say it. Ix looked at him as if he were being ridiculous. Maybe he was. He wasn’t capable of thinking clearly this close to Ix.
“It’s different,” Eric mumbled.
Ix waited for him to give a reason, but Eric had none. Ix sighed, then got out of bed. “I suppose it is. I have work to do, make yourself comfortable.”
He was gone before Eric could summon the courage to ask him to stay. Eric groaned, and pulled the covers back over his head. They still smelled like Ix. He kicked them off again. If he’d been able to bend a little, Ix probably would have kissed him again. Probably would have even spread his legs and fucked him again. Might even, though Eric struggled to imagine thisone, have cuddled him in bed and continued to say nice sincere things about him.
Well, now he wasn’t in Ix’s proximity so he could think clearly, and his conclusion was that he was indeed an idiot.
By the time Eric got up – and he had to wander back to his own rooms practically naked because his clothes were nowhere to be found – and sought Ix out, he wasn’t in the parlor or the study. Eric considered looking in the library, but there was a letter for him on the desk. A reply from Lymond, agreeing to meet him if he was free today.
Eric chewed his lip. He’d have to talk to Ix sooner or later about, well, everything but if Lymond could be of any practical help in getting Ix’s demonic side back, Eric would put his unresolved feelings to one side for now.
An hour later, Eric decided to spare the cab coin and made the walk from the palace down to the river and then along the bank until he reached the right street. The weather was still brisk but there were patches of sunshine overhead, cautiously optimistic for the coming of spring, much like himself.
When Eric knocked on the door of a worn townhouse, there was such a long delay that he checked the address given in the note several times, wondering if he’d gotten mixed up. It was a respectable neighborhood but not exactly the sort of place he expected to be meeting a demon. Then again, he didn’t know what he’d expected.
Eventually, the door swung open, revealing Archie of Russex, panting slightly. “Good afternoon, terribly sorry for the wait!”
“Quite all right,” said Eric without thinking. “Are you well?”
“Yes, yes, it’s just the landlady is out,” said Archie apologetically. There were no servants, which was only noticeable because Eric waited for someone to take his coat butno one appeared. Oof, he was really going to have to get used to this sort of thing, he was in this same boat now.
Archie took him up two flights of stairs, long enough for Eric to fully understand how odd this was. He’d interacted with Archie here and there over the years since they ran in similar, if not overlapping, social circles, and were around the same age. He would have called Archie an amicable acquaintance, though not a true friend. Lymond in comparison, Eric felt much closer to despite having only spoken to him the few times he had joined Ix’s parties this season.
Even with Ix’s protective necklace and knowing the truth of Lymond’s demonic nature, Eric wasn’t completely immune to the effect of Lymond’s magic. He’d never thought too much about the difference in magical abilities but he was starting to see why Ix said Lymond was powerful.
“It’s not much, we’ve only just moved in. Tea?” said Archie somewhat apologetically as he led Eric into a simply furnished parlor. Evidently clear that two young bachelors lived here: there was nary a painting on the wall or a vase of flowers anywhere. The only furnishings were the sofa and armchairs and the bookshelf crowded with books.
“Please,” said Eric. Lymond was already here. Archie bustled away again, presumably to make tea, and he was left alone in the room with a demon.
