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Occtis is tired of ending up like this.
He was never any good at social interactions in life—especially ones of a romantic persuasion—and there’s no reason to suspect he’ll do better in death. And yet, somehow, he keeps ending up in situations.
“Perhaps,” Lady Agata Clark is saying, one finger twirling a lock of her blond hair, “you might be more comfortable in my rooms.”
Occtis isn’t so naive to not catch her meaning. It isn’t his ability to sleep she’s concerned with.
His role here demands he should accept. He should follow her into her rooms, find out if she knows anything about the missing caravan, and make some excuse to slip out before she has opportunity to realize his appearance is not his own.
It’s what the others would do. Well, Julien and Thaisha would likely stay long enough to see Lady Agata to sleep, whatever that entailed. Vaelus too, perhaps, although he knows nothing of her preferences in this area. Lady Aranessa is too caught in her feelings for her late husband, but Occtis is sure she would do what needs done if there was no other choice.
It’s enough to make Occtis miss his days at the Penteveral. Murray’s watchful eye and the grind of the dissertation he’ll never write.
“I—I—” Occtis stutters, even though the man he’s impersonating would never do so. He has no idea what comes after the yes. How to get from this point to the information he’s seeking without giving himself away. “I’m quite comfortable at the inn with my traveling companions. I would not wish to disturb you.”
“If you insist.” Lady Agata steps forward, the red of her lips the same shade as blood. The thought shouldn’t be as strange as it seems. “Perhaps one drink, then?”
“I shouldn’t.” Occtis glances to the side, the swish of silver hair—so unlike his own black—is enough to remind him of the subterfuge they’re under in this particular house. “Sir Julien wouldn’t like me to dawdle.”
“Boy!” Julien’s voice is a whip-crack down the stone hall. Speak the demon’s name and he shall come. “I’m sorry, Lady Agata, I specifically instructed him not to bother you.”
“It’s quite all right, Sir Julien,” Lady Agata says and the snap of her composure back into place is a marvel to behold. One moment she’s fluttering eyelashes and an inviting smile, the next standing ram-rod straight like a proper noble with her chin raised and confidence in every line of her face.
It’s the sort of thing Occtis should find natural given his family lineage, but he never has. His father called it weakness. Thjazi called it heart.
“Still.” Julien smiles, his eyes unfocused like he’s been drinking again. “I apologize for our indiscretion. Your hospitality is most appreciated and it will not happen again. Let’s go, boy.”
Occtis glances back at Lady Agata—she winks at him and it’s a good thing he can’t blush anymore—but he has no choice but to follow Julien away from her home.
“I had that under control,” Occtis hisses once they’re outside and well out of earshot. “You didn’t need to rescue me or whatever it is you think you’re doing.”
Julien shoots him a sharp look over his shoulder, any sign of drunkenness gone from his eyes. Ah. So that was all an act too. Occtis feels a strange urge to take notes. “If that was under control, I’d hate to see what happens otherwise.”
“What’s the plan now? Are you going to see if you can take her up on her offer, then?”
“We have other business,” Julien says, flippant as though their whole purpose of coming to this town is meaningless. “I can’t take this anymore.”
“Take what?” Occtis doesn’t care if it comes out snappish. He didn’t ask Julien to make it his mission in life to follow him around while he waits for an opportunity to take his revenge on House Tachonis.
Julien doesn’t answer until they’re back at the semi-respectable inn Lady Aranessa found for their lodgings. Only when his hand is resting on the door to Occtis’s room does he say, “Take watching your flailing attempts at flirting. Either you’re going to need to lay low whenever we’re in company or—”
“—or what?” Occtis follows Julien into his waste of a room, not that he has any other choice. What’s he going to do? Pass the nighttime hours in Julien’s room instead?
The door closes behind them with a snap. Occtis tries not to think of the clanging latch of a metal cage. “Or I’m going to have to teach you how not to embarrass yourself.”
“I don’t need you to teach me.” Defensiveness rises up Occtis’s throat like teeth. “I’m fine. I know how to talk to people.”
“I’m sure you know how to talk to some people.” The admission looks like it pains Julien to come out of his mouth. “Fellow students and researchers. We’re not back at school anymore and anyone you meet is a potential danger. You need to do better.”
“My siblings used to say much the same.” There’s venom in every word. “It never stuck.”
Julien’s eyes flash with something that might be pity or might be understanding. It’s so hard to tell with him. “I won’t always be around to protect you.”
“Wasn’t that the whole point of where you go, I go?”
Julien’s hands flex like he’s weighing the possibility of wrapping them around his throat. “Occtis.”
“I know.” Occtis deflates, but he doesn’t relax. He never can when Julien’s around. “I don’t mean to be so terrible at talking to people. I just—miss a lot.”
“It’s all in the confidence,” Julian says like a person who has never had reason to doubt his own self-worth in his life.
Occtis blinks at him. “Yes, because I have that in spades.”
Julien ignores that in favor of sitting on the bed. He leans back on his hands, shoulders broad, legs stretched wide. Even knowing it’s a staged pose, there’s something inviting about it.
“What are you doing?” Occtis asks, approaching as he might a snake with unknown venom.
“Get rid of that damned disguise,” Julien pats the coverlet beside him, “and come here.”
Occtis doesn’t move. “I don’t know what you think this is, but I am not getting into bed with you.”
“I have no interest in fucking you—and frankly I’m not sure you could in your condition.” Julien raises one eyebrow and Occtis tries to ignore the uncomfortable swooping sensation below his navel.
“You don’t have to be a dick about it.”
“Would you rather the opposite?”
“No.” It comes out too quick to be convincing. There are a million reasons why bedding Julien would be a terrible idea, but that doesn’t mean some part of him can’t wonder.
“Relax.” Occtis has no idea how he’s expected to do that with Julien looking at him through those dark eyes. “This is a lesson, that’s all. You need to be more comfortable with implications of courting.”
“Does courting typically involve sitting on a bed?”
“In some situations, but not this one. I thought you might be more at ease if you sat down.”
That might be true if Julien were sitting anywhere else. “I’m fine standing.”
“Fine.” Julien stands again and that should be better but somehow it isn’t. Occtis is left with too much awareness of Julien’s bulk to feel like anything less than a cornered rabbit.
“Imagine I’ve invited you into my room—and do not say this is your room—and you’re trying to find out what I know. How would you proceed?”
“I…don’t know.”
Julien’s sigh is not kind. “You might start by accepting my offer of a drink.”
“You never offered me a drink. You told me to come to bed with you.”
Julien mutters something that sounds like a curse, shaking his head. When he looks back up, it’s with his hair partially in his eyes. “Occtis, why don’t you stay for a nightcap?”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Occtis bites out, shoving down the urge to keep winding Julien up. He should be grateful Julien’s taking the time instead of suggesting Occtis simply stay out of sight at all times when they’re near company. “What are we having?”
Julien mimes setting two glasses on the shabby desk, uncorking a bottle, and pouring. “Davinos vintage, of course.”
“You know I can’t drink,” Occtis points out as he takes the imaginary glass. “What am I supposed to do, dump this on the floor when you’re not looking?”
“Raise it to your lips but don’t drink. Take a sip if you must, but only enough to wet your tongue. Try not to swallow. The drink is merely an excuse. Get someone talking and they won’t even notice your wine isn’t disappearing.”
“Oh.” Occtis hates he hadn’t thought of that himself. He takes a pretend sip of pretend wine from a pretend glass. He tries not to notice the way Julien’s gaze darts down to his lips and then away, but it’s hard when they’re so close.
“Now what?” Occtis asks.
“Get me talking.”
“About what? I don’t know what I’m pretending to try to get from you.”
Julien gives him an exasperated look. “It doesn’t matter for this. The best approach is a side-long one.”
Occtis knows enough soldiers to understand the metaphor. He mimes another sip as he thinks. “Julien,” he says and the name tastes stranger than fake wine, “how did you fare on your travels?”
Julien’s eyes darken with the temptation of sarcasm but he restrains his tongue. “Uneventful, my lord Tachonis. Thank you.”
Occtis hates his title, hates his family, but there’s something about it spoken in Julien’s rumbling voice that sends a thrill through him. “I’m not…I’m not supposed to be myself.”
“That is for the best,” Julien says, but there’s no sting in it. “We can still pretend.”
“Isn’t the whole point of this so I don’t give myself away while disguised as someone else?”
Julien makes a grinding noise low in his throat. “You’re impossible.”
“I didn’t ask you to do this.” Occtis sighs and gives in. “I don’t know what to say next. If you were Lady Agata, I could ask if you’ve been well, but I already know the answer for you.”
Julien opens his mouth and closes it again. Occtis can practically see him tallying up the terrible ideas for conversation: The state of his family. News from Dol-Makjar. His career. House Royce.
Occtis comes to his rescue. “Perhaps I could compliment this estate and ask how you like living in this town.”
“My family has resided here for generations,” Julien says, wooden. “The quieter countryside suits me.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Occtis doesn’t even try to hide the laugh bubbling out of him.
“You aren’t supposed to insult me.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“If you’re out of ideas, you could always prattle on about your research until I beg for it to stop.” It’s a defensive jab but a weak one by Julien’s standards. His hands hang limp at his sides, the imaginary wine forgotten.
“I’m trying to make small talk, not torment you.”
That might be a tiny smile on Julien’s face. “Is there a difference with you?”
“Is this what flirting is meant to be like?” Occtis asks on the back of a soft laugh. “I’m not sure trading barbs is the way to Lady Agata’s confidence.”
Julien’s laugh is more of a hum. “Depends on the woman. If the opportunity arises to turn the subject where you want it to go, you take it. Compliment the wine and ask if a Davinos caravan has passed through recently. Inquire on news of the road, the Golden Orchard, any passing members of the Tachonis family. It doesn’t have to be complex.”
Occtis doesn’t point out that all conversations are complex. “Okay.”
“Do it.”
“This is lovely wine,” Occtis plays along, swallowing down a sigh. “Davinos, you said? Wherever did you get it?”
“It’s been in the cellar for ages, waiting for the right occasion.”
“I’m…flattered by the honor?”
Julien’s expression leans into coy. “You should be; this is the last bottle. I’d hoped to buy more when a caravan passed through a few days ago, but they were in a hurry.”
Occtis knows how to grab a rope when one is thrown in his face. “Oh? Did they say where they were headed?”
“I have not heard. They stayed only long enough to tend to their horses.”
Occtis deflates at the lack of leads. It isn’t like he can talk information out of someone when they don’t have it.
Julien glares at him. “You aren’t supposed to look disappointed. And don’t even think about giving away that your next move will be to speak to the stablemaster!”
“I wasn’t!” Occtis protests even though he definitely was. “And now more small talk, I suppose?”
“That would be ideal unless you want me to wonder what was wrong with what I said.”
Sun creeps in through the window, a comforting warmth he can no longer feel. “I’ll comment on the weather next. What a dry season we’ve had.”
Julien looks like he wants to throttle him, but he nods. “Not enough rain.”
“I should take my leave.” Occtis mimes putting his glass back on the table. “It is late and I wouldn’t want to involve my lady in rumors.”
Julien sweeps across the floor into Occtis’s personal space. He trails a finger from the hollow of Occtis’s collarbone down to the mess of his chest. He doesn’t have a heart to thunder anymore.
“What are you doing?” he asks, too frozen in surprise to move. “I wouldn’t let anyone this close or they’d be able to see through the illusion.”
“We should consider a more permanent disguise for you,” Julien says under his breath and Occtis has the sense he’s talking to himself. “Get you new clothes. Cut your hair. Perhaps dye it as well.”
“I am not a doll you can do with what you like.” Occtis steps back only to find he’s somehow too close to the wall. It presses against his too-prominent hip bones.
Julien doesn’t push closer. “If I were Lady Agata, how would you stop me from getting too close?”
“I already said I should take my leave. It’s late and I wouldn’t want her staff to ask awkward questions.”
Julien cocks his head and Occtis thinks he might be able to drown in the black pits of his eyes. “What if I insist? What if I say my servants have already retired for the night and won’t return to this part of the estate until morning?”
“I…” Occtis’s gaze fixes on the sinuous line of Julien’s throat, the curls of his hair around it. He swallows and Occtis has never seen the movement of a laryngeal prominence so close-up before. “I apologize for the confusion, milady, but I’m promised to another.”
“Perhaps they wouldn’t mind one night’s encounter?” Julien’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “Is it one of your traveling companions? We could invite them to join, if you’d prefer.”
Occtis presses his palms flat against the stone wall. The door has never seemed so far away. He’s certain bolting from the room would be weird both for this scenario Julien has concocted and for reality—but then everything about this evening is weird so maybe it balances out.
Except Julien is coming closer again, bracing his hands against the wall to cage Occtis in his arms.
Occtis’s brain scrambles for the right thing to say or do as though this is a puzzle with only one solution. He could cast a spell to incite fear, force Julien away so he can escape.
There might be consequences—Lady Agata could insist on their removal for her own protection. Not that Lady Agata has anything to do with this—it’s only—he’s starting to get lost in pretending.
He can’t remember what the point of any of this was. Julien’s trying to help him, to prepare him for this situation in the future so he doesn’t ruin everything. He doesn’t understand how it came to this: Himself pinned against the wall of his own bedroom with Julien’s body heat filling the air between them.
“Occtis?” Julien says.
Occtis blinks himself back to the present with no idea how long he’s been trapped in his own head as well as this room. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“Make a more convincing excuse and stick to it.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Occtis stutters out, trying to remember where they were. Julien was suggesting a threesome. “My partner—” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. There’s no reason to say it, but he can’t think with Julien so close to him. “He is one of my companions and I’m afraid Sir Julien doesn’t like to share.”
Julien’s inhale is so sharp it sounds painful. “I understand,” he says, refusing to meet Occtis’s eyes. “My apologies. I would not like to cause any trouble among your party.”
“Thank you.” Occtis waits until Julien eases his arms back before he begins to slowly creep towards the door. He hasn’t fully decided if he intends to leave, perhaps to seek out Lady Aranessa and ask her what the fuck is happening with Julien, but if he moves slow there’s plenty of time for that decision.
Or there would be, if Julien’s hand didn’t grab his wrist.
“What?” Occtis snaps. He feels exhausted—he always feels exhausted—but it’s the hazy kind that comes with far too much human interaction. He wants to be alone with the darkness behind his eyelids and Pin curled beside him. “Is that still not good enough for you?”
Julien’s fingers wrap easily around Occtis’s wrist. He lifts his hand, palm up, towards his mouth. Occtis’s fingers twitch but he’s too curious to find out what’s about to happen to pull away.
Julien kisses his palm, warm lips on cold skin. “I would not wish to overstep, my lord Tachonis. Have a good night.”
Occtis is—once again—frozen in place as Julien releases him. He has no idea what he’s meant to read in Julien’s expression or the wound-tight-tension in his muscles. He looks like he might be seconds away from launching into a fight and Occtis would prefer not to be a part of that.
“Uh,” Occtis says. “Good night?”
Julien sweeps from the room, leaving behind a faint smell of sweat and horses along with a deeply confused and unsettled Occtis. “So,” Occtis says as Pin crawls out from under the bed and sniffs at his boots. “What the actual fuck was that?”