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Interesting. Certainly fits. “Broadly?”
“I painted quite a lot and played the harp. That was how I met Lucifer. He taught me himself.”
“Was that when you grew to love him?”
“Believe it or not, he’s very easy to love.”
“I believe it.” After all, Paimon has taken him and other courtiers to Pandæmonium with its high, swooping parapets and jeweled garnet and sapphire eyes on the walls and vivid tapestries of lush gardens. The court, centrifugal as Hell itself, with Lucifer shining on the highest throne. “I’m not sure if I feel love toward him, or...” Lauren?iu feels the chilly ice shard under his shirt. “I know that I can be icy. I’ve tried to be something else, but it’s hard to warm that numbness.”
“Your problem isn’t that you’re ice. Your problem is that you’re fire with no outlet. Fire burns.”
Evenly, Lauren?iu retorts, “Ice burns, too.”
Paimon pauses at that, and Lauren?iu soaks in his satisfaction at catching the King of Hell off guard. Always fun. See, he can enjoy himself, too.
“We should bathe, shouldn’t we? We’re a mess.” Lauren?iu sits up. “I’ve already sullied the sheets.”
“No, no, you haven’t. You can go first. Oh, and don’t forget to take some of those little soaps to go. I hear they’re complimentary.”
“Noted.”
Chapter 8
Paimon
Before they sleep, they have a conversation.
“You know that you can say no to me, don’t you?”
Lauren?iu pauses.
“It isn’t that I believe you won’t let me say no. It’s that I know that it isn’t...”
“Advantageous for you to say no?”
“Yes.”
The logic checks out.
He’s a king, and Lauren?iu is a courtier who seeks more because of ambition, because of that inherent need to survive when the entire world told him to curl into a ball and fucking die.
They might be more equal on Earth, where no one recognizes Paimon’s authority...
“I won’t punish you for saying no to me. I won’t do anything.”
Brusquely, Lauren?iu replies, “I understand.”
Lauren?iu doesn’t believe him.
Not too surprising. Trust and honest communication aren’t exactly virtues seen often in Hell, ruled by backstabbing kings and queens—and kings, like him, who were always happily a little bit of a queen.
After about an hour of messing with the TV and watching a tolerable sitcom until one in the morning, they retire for the night. Lauren?iu takes up a small amount of space at the opposite side of the bed, curling into a ball and positioning his back to Paimon.
Besides the brief spurt of muddy water when he took a shower and the faint, unidentified stains on one of the bathroom towels, Paimon relaxes easily and dozes off with his back to Lauren?iu. He especially enjoys getting to take his shoes off. He hates shoes. Thank goodness. Shoes, even nice ones, were a huge mistake. No one wore them in Heaven. Millions of humans (however many are left, he doesn’t care to count) wear shoes, but not cool cloaks? Tsk.
The bed is easily the most luxurious part of the room, which is really what counts. He faces the window, and the vampire faces the half-painted restroom. Sure, the place isn’t a palace, but it works with him as they recoup. Daisy snores at the end of the bed.
Normally, he does his best to avoid nightmares, though often they still come. Screams. Blood and melted faces on his hands, eyes popping like pustules.
