by Vivienne Cox
He lingered over the candle at Lucian’s nightstand, hesitating.
Arms slid around his waist, and Ignatius jumped despite himself.
“Sleep, Ignatius.” Lucian tucked his face against Ignatius’s lower back. “Only that. You have my word.”
He breathed out sharply, hands falling to rest on top of Lucian’s. “I wasn’t worried.”
“So you say.”
Fine, so attempting to hide his emotional state from a vampire– let alone Lucian– was indeed a lost cause. “Not in the way you’d imagine,” he amended, and finally extinguished the last candle.
Lucian only hummed, retracting enough to settle back on the bed and make space for Ignatius.
It was no different than being folded into the sofa with him, an arm around his shoulders as he settled into the pillows next to the prince. Not really. The bed in itself had connotation, but it need not apply. And, letting Lucian bypass the arm around his shoulders and tuck him flush against his chest, this was nice.
Well versed in Lucian’s life as he was, he knew it wasn’t the first time the man had had someone in his bed. Donating blood led to forays of the sexual nature, certainly. Not often on Lucian’s behalf, but it had happened. Ignatius had never paid much mind, but now… now he was the one being held so warmly in Lucian’s embrace, and he was glad that it was him and not anyone else.
Jealous, he supposed. No, possessive was more apt. Unbecoming of himself to feel such things but then…
Ignatius turned his face, tucking his head beneath Lucian’s chin.
… he supposed he was permitted, these days.
“Goodnight, Lucian,” he murmured, and closed his eyes as Lucian held him tighter.
6
Chapter 6
“I’m not certain how you think this is funny.”
It was, honestly. Ignatius’s protest was only halfhearted, beckoned on by the blood staining along the front of his shirt. Ruined, undoubtedly. He couldn’t find it in himself to care much.
That asides, Lucian was laughing. Ignatius could think of several things that would have been better than one of his fellow servants walking into the parlor at the exact moment Lucian had him pressed into the sofa, teeth in his neck. Most things, in fact, given how they had been keeping both their feedings and their relationship secret, and Ignatius knew firsthand how everyone in this manor could talk.
“Your face. Her face,” Lucian amended, hiding a fanged smile behind a bloodied hand. “For being a vampire herself, she certainly looked as though she’d taken a fright to seeing the supernatural.”
“Yes, well, I am human,” he retorted, pressing a hand to the wound at his neck. “And, as far as they’ve heard and relentlessly gossiped over, wish to stay human and have never been bitten.” He glanced at the blood beginning to slick his hand, and Lucian grabbed his wrist to bring to his mouth. “She probably thought you were trying to turn me!”
“Her fault for jumping to conclusions.” Lucian licked along his palm. “Besides, if they know you as well as I do, they’d know you have no interest in being turned.”
“Of course they don’t know me as well as you do.” Ignatius breathed out sharply as his fangs brushed a fingertip. “You’re the only one who knows me this way.”
“Mm.” The prick of incisors replaced with the lightest pass of lips against his finger. “I enjoy that.”
“Do you?” Ignatius asked faintly, and very nearly gave into the urge to press his finger past Lucian’s lips and tongue and teeth. He did not, however. There was still blood on his hands and his shirt and his throat. The chaise as well. Praise the Six the fabric was dark to begin with. “The blood, Lucian–”
“Yes, yes. I’m working on it.” He took Ignatius’s hand in his own and moved back to his neck, mouthing along the blood and puncture wounds there.
“They’ll gossip tonight,” Ignatius said idly. “Everyone will know before dusk.”
“I swore her to secrecy.” Lucian’s reply was barely a mumble. “That asides, it wasn’t as though she walked in on us engaging in sex.”
Ignatius didn’t think it was possible to flush further, but he was continually proving himself wrong. His body felt like it was on fire, burning into ozone at the place where Lucian’s fangs sank into his neck again. He couldn’t help a tiny moan, and felt Lucian grin against his skin.
“Close enough,” Ignatius managed.
“Is it?”
“… perhaps?” he murmured, and felt Lucian pause.
“Perhaps,” Lucian repeated, and pulled away from his neck. His hand fell away from Ignatius’s, settled lightly against his chest. “May I, then?”
He breathed out slowly, and then inclined his head. “Please.”
Two weeks ago and he had said differently, but amazing how quickly an opinion changed. Or, perhaps, he thought, as Lucian set to mouthing a bruise beneath the bite on his neck, as a hand roamed over the blood-stained fabric at his chest, it was because of the intimacy of their existence together anyway. Or, most likely, the fact that Lucian could make him feel comfortable with anything, sneak past his walls and still make him feel endlessly protected.
Lucian’s fingers were nimble as they unbuttoned his waistcoat, and shirt, and Ignatius arched into the touch of his fingertips brushing his bare chest.
The fact was that it was Lucian, and he loved the man with every fibre of his being. He trusted him. He wanted to experience everything with him. At the end of the night? It remained as simple as that.
He’d thought about this sort of thing before– ashamedly, even before he and Lucian had started to court– both in passing and detail. It was different when it was in practice, however, the pass of Lucian’s cool hand against his chest. His fingertips brushing low over his stomach, tracing patterns that made Ignatius shiver, made him want to tip his mouth back to the prince’s and kiss him. It was in that moment that he allowed himself to, raising a hand to guide Lucian’s mouth back to his.
Lucian made a noise, sounding pleased. He kissed him for a moment longer and then pulled back to look down at him. “We’d be more comfortable in bed, Ignatius.”
“Yes,” he breathed. “Probably.”
“Only probably?” Lucian repeated in amusement.
“Yes,” Ignatius agreed, and slid his fingers into his hair.
“This is not the way to get us into bed.” Lucian’s voice was barely a rumble, lips dipping low against his skin again.
“Apologies,” Ignatius said idly, keeping ahold of his hair. Not guiding, merely… enjoying. The feel of silky soft strands beneath his fingertips, pleasure instead of duty and the feel of Lucian’s mouth against the hollow his throat. His tongue beneath a collarbone, drawing forth another tiny gasp.
The prince laughed. “Allow me,” he said. Hands shifted, lips removed from his skin, and the next thing Ignatius knew, he was being bodily pulled from the chaise lounge and pulled up into Lucian’s arms. He had to scramble for purchase, hurrying to throw his arms around Lucian’s neck.
“Ra–Lucian!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you moving anytime soon.”
“I’ll get blood on the bed.”
“As if it would be the first time.”
It was with a tiny, exasperated laugh that Ignatius hooked a leg around Lucian’s waist so not to fall, and then tilted his head back to be able to kiss him again. And again. Limitless, like every dream, and Lucian deposited him onto the bed and settled between his legs.
“You’re alright?” he asked. His head fell to the side slightly, and he swept his hair out of his eyes.
Ignatius nodded. “Yes. Thank you. This is…” He didn’t have the words. Truly. He didn’t know how to describe this exactly, skin prickling warm with embarrassment. Beneath the blood and bruises and nerves, oh Gods, those too– but it was good. More than that.
Lucian seemed to take his meaning, without him needing to say a word.
“My intentions,” he said, fingering at the buttons on Ignatius’s tr
ousers. “I’ll make them very clear. I intend to fuck you.” Astrals. “With your permission, of course.” Lucian braced a hand against the bed, leaning in to mouth against his neck again. A pass of his tongue against the blood drying there, and then he pulled back to look at him. “After all, a vampire can’t come inside without permission,” he said, and winked, and Ignatius dissolved into nervous laughter.
Astrals, the change in atmosphere. Was this what sex was meant to be like? Funny enough that he couldn’t imagine it any other way. Perhaps it was only for his own benefit, however. Lucian would surely know about his… lack of experience, and his prince had only ever tried to make him comfortable.
His fingers were back to tracing along the buttons. “Ignatius?”
“I–” He took a breath. “I assure you that I would deter you if I weren’t interested.”
Lucian grinned, fingers slipping a button free of the hole. “You don’t have to speak in that way, you know.”
“Which way is that?” He raised a hand to unclasp the cufflinks on his shirt. If Lucian noticed his hands trembling, he did not mention.
“Proper.” Another button. “I don’t think I’ve ever even heard you say ‘fuck.’”
I’d rather hear you say it, he thought blindly, and then tossed his cufflinks aside. “Fuck,” he repeated instead, and if he felt slightly ridiculous for saying it aloud, then the spark in Lucian’s mismatched eyes was all the more worth it.
“Oh, you could do that more often.” Lucian finished off the last of the buttons and hooked his thumbs into the belt loops to shimmy them down.
“So could you.” It was spoken without thought, alongside the rush of cold air over bare skin.
“Maybe you’ll fuck me next time.”
“Maybe,” Ignatius agreed, and grabbed a handful of his hair to pull him in for a kiss.
It was a hazy sensation, brought on by both blood loss and overstimulation, he thought. Or maybe it was mostly blood loss. Perhaps all of it had been some indistinct dream– but then, it wasn’t indistinct at all, and Ignatius had never had the problem of aching during his dreams. No, this was so very real, and infinite times better than any dream he might have ever had.
“I didn’t intend to do that. I forget how fragile humans are.”
Ignatius tensed as Lucian’s fingers settled, perfectly matched with the five points of pain pressed above his kneecap. Really, it was more sensation than pain, a helpful reminder to the past… well, time was a construct far too large for him to comprehend right now. Perhaps it had been ten minutes and perhaps it had been ten years.
“It’ll bruise.”
“Because my entire neck won’t be black and blue,” he mumbled. Then he cleared his throat and nudged Lucian’s hand away. “I don’t mind.”
“You’ll mind if you can’t walk tomorrow.” Lucian settled his arm back around his waist. “You can have the day off.”
Ignatius made a noise. “I don’t–”
“Just let yourself be compliant, Ignatius,” Lucian said, ducking his head to kiss his arm. “Now is the time.”
“I can do my job…” A halfhearted protest, truly. At present, Ignatius couldn’t imagine even leaving Lucian’s bed, let alone needing to work. The two barely mixed, business and pleasure, and he would… much rather bask in the pleasure for awhile longer.
Lucian was a solid presence beside him. Both of their clothes had been long discarded, only the silk sheets pulled up over his own waist. Lucian was still laying mostly on top of them, just this side of pale in the flickering light.
Ignatius stared blankly at a cluster of freckles upon the man’s hip, and then rest his hand on top of Lucian’s arm. “Thank you.” He still felt dazed. He felt like he could be dazed for weeks to come.
“For what?” Lucian grunted.
“… having me?” It sounded ridiculous– proven further by Lucian’s muffled laugh a second later– as though he were only expressing gratitude for the sex. But then it was far more than that, and he didn’t think he was in the correct state of mind to try and articulate that. “For having me,” he repeated, with a tiny bit more confidence despite the absurdity of it all.
“Thank you for having me, then,” Lucian retorted. “And for allowing me to take care of you for once in your life.”
“Fair,” Ignatius murmured. There was a lazy smile threatening to pull up his lips, but then that was more effort than he could expend as well. “Shall we call it an even trade?”
“Just so.” Lucian mouthed as his skin once more before pulling him in.
Ignatius allowed himself to be tucked up against his chest only after he had fixed the blankets, coaxing Lucian under them instead of on top of. Bad practice, that. He could still do his job. “Wouldn’t do to catch a chill, Highness…” he explained, and then allowed Lucian to curl around him, perhaps in a way that was as protective as it felt.
The tiny huff of exasperated laughter, and the way Lucian stayed in bed despite the moonlight shining outside, made Ignatius reiterate:
Yes, this was an even trade, indeed.
7
Chapter 7
“Call the Royal Healer! At once!”
The doors slammed against the wall, and Ignatius fumbled the drawer of dining utensils right out of his hands. The crash went unnoticed by the commotion from the foyer, and he only caught a glimpse of a white coat – stained red – before the gathered crowd bustled back through the doorway.
“Lucian…?”
The forks and spoons lay forgotten. Propriety forgotten as well, Ignatius stepped over the mess and sprinted into the foyer with Lady Allissa close behind him. He followed the noise and the trail of blood, dread slamming into him. It wouldn’t be the first injury, and not even the first attack, if it were a thing of that nature, but this was the first time Lucian hadn’t stalked in by his own accord. The first time the Healer had been called with such urgency, and the panic was threat to make him ill. Perhaps it was misguided. He prayed it was misguided.
“Your Highness!”
“Alert the Queen, immediately.”
“Lucian.” Ignatius slipped through the throng until even he couldn’t see through the bustle. “Sermo.” He squeezed in next to one of their friends, touching their shoulder for attention. “What has happened?”
“I heard it was an assassination attempt on the prince.”
Ignatius’s blood ran cold.
“From Jorrenheim, even. Someone mentioned the emperor having had a part in it!”
He was reeling already. Certainly assassination attempts were not uncommon, but rare that one even so much as landed as scratch. Not that that had ever been a good deterrent to the rampant worry on the matter, but now…
“How dire is it?” he asked.
“No doubt that he’ll heal, but it looked bad. I couldn’t say how long it may take for those kinds of injuries to heal…”
Gods above. “I need to see him.” He’d barely said the words aloud before he was deterred, as thin, delicate fingers clutched at his own.
“Ignatius, wait.”
It was reflex that nearly had him pull his hand away regardless, and instinct that saved him when he realized it was Allissa. “My Lady–”
“It is not safe for you now,” she said urgently. “Allow me to tend my brother in your stead.”
“I need–”
“We need not risk another life,” Luna interrupted. “It is not safe for you. Ignatius, please.” Stubbornly, she clung onto his fingers. “I will bring you details as soon as I can. For now, allow us to oversee his injuries.”
There was no real argument to the matter, and the longer he kept Allissa, the longer Lucian would be without someone familiar nearby. Even if he wasn’t conscious– was he conscious?– standing here, hesitating, wasn’t getting either of them any answers. And Luna barely looked more put together than he was.
“… yes,” he relented. “Of course, My Lady. My apologi–”
“No.” She squeezed his fingers, a
nd then let go. “No apologies. I’ll come find you soon.” She hitched her dress up over her calves, shouldering her way through the gathered crowd. “Excuse me. Allow me to pass–”
Ignatius watched her go, and clenched his fingers into fists at his sides.
It had been a grievous injury. Had it been anyone else, they would have succumbed to the wound. It would have been fatal to those not of pureblood status, but given the increased rate of strength and healing found within those of the Nox Florence’s lineage, Lucian had survived.
However… the wound wasn’t a foolproof one, and it wasn’t a minor scrape. What might have healed in a flash would not in this case, and the Healer worried over the state of Lucian’s left arm for the future. Ignatius couldn’t think about it. All he could think about was Lucian waking from his comatose– healing– state. All he could think about was that it could take ages, and that there was no guarantee that he would even wake up in Ignatius’s lifetime. While he doubted it would come to that, the possibility remained that it might.
And so the weeks would pass.
It was strange, to be without Lucian. So used to his presence was Ignatius that the manor felt utterly devoid of life, despite the fact that duty continued and there was still work to be done. And so they went, back and forth with the same old motions, Ignatius capping off each night to settle in next to Lucian’s bedside for the dawn.
And then it was back to the daily routine, tea in silence with Allissa and dodging the Queen’s inquisitive looks when she came to sit with her son. Lucian slept, and slept, and Ignatius felt like he didn’t sleep at all.
And then, apropos of nothing, Lucian woke, and Ignatius was bursting into the prince’s bedroom to find himself face to face with Sylva Via Florence herself.
They both were staring at him, Sylva with a look of shock that was quickly devolving to a reprimand and Lucian, beautiful, conscious Lucian, groggy and vaguely surprised.
“A–Ah.” Ignatius took a step back, but didn’t leave the doorway. “Forgive me, Ma’am, I wasn’t aware–”