Heirs of the Gods

Ch 48: Intoxicated

Small warning. There are no explicit scenes in this, but it's slightly NSFW-ish. (Nothing crazy, don't get your hopes up)

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Though Aedion had waited a good few moments to sober up before lapsing, he still knew it was by sheer dumb luck that he arrived in one piece at the castle. Granted, he'd been aiming for his bedroom, rather than the gloomy grand foyer, but he considered himself fortunate not to have ended with his limbs half in Gerrathea, half in the Barren Forest.

Lapsing--magic use in general--did not mix well with high levels of alcohol. He'd heard some nasty stories over the years, mostly involving missing limbs and squashed innocent bystanders. And so, Aedion resigned himself to walking the four floors up to his room, a fit punishment for drinking too much, he surmised.

By the time Aedion finally reached the hallway leading to his bedroom, he'd managed to knock into a grand total of three statues. Yes, he ought to have known they were there, but in his honest defence, he was sure they actually moved or sprouted out of nowhere. He constantly knocked into them, sober or otherwise. Curse whichever pompous Aeron ancestor had decided to build such an unnecessarily large castle, only to fill it with never-ending hallways and useless, enchanted marble statues.

He must not have been as quiet as he thought--drunk people never were--because soon enough, a door creaked open, and out popped a frazzled head of pale hair. Ella frowned and made her way over to Aedion, who was still muttering and glaring at a large sculpture of a horse.

"Oh dear, you've knocked into that quite hard," she muttered, as he massaged his shin. "Are you hurt?"

"What's it to you?" he grumbled, his plummy drawl deepening into an almost slur.

Apparently having realised his state, she pursed her lips and glared. "You're drunk," she hissed accusingly.

"Ding, ding, ding, we've got a winner," he leaned against the wall, enjoying the coolness. "Nothing gets past you, does it, detective Wen."

"It is three in the morning, where have you been?" she said tersely, crossing her arms. Then, a pretty blush covered her cheeks. "Bloody hell," she muttered to herself, "I sound like one of those barmy, nagging wives."

She likely hadn't meant for him to hear, but he still did. "I'd come home to you every night if you wore that to bed, princess." His attempt at a wink was subpar at best, but she still flushed.

She wore one of those silky chemises he'd seen in her wardrobe. A slinky thing that clung to her lithe body, its inky blue colour stark against the milky pale of her skin. The thin straps left her delicate shoulders and sharp collar bones exposed, revealing just the slightest bit of cleavage. It shouldn't have been such a tantalising sight, but it was.

It wasn't that it was too revealing, but it was certainly different than what he normally saw her wearing. In a way, it was almost vulnerable, the way he could have traced the delicate outline of her bones beneath her soft skin. Skin that was never on display, usually covered with heavy gowns. He wondered what it'd be like to drag his tongue from the hollow of her throat, over to the soft curves barely peeking above the silky hem.

Good gods, get it together, you absolute fool, he chastised himself. A couple of glasses of spirits, and he was already behaving like some sorry whelp, as if he'd never seen a woman before.

Now, Aedion was a man, one with two well functioning eyes at that. He noticed. Of course he did, how could he not? Still, he liked to think of himself better than some lecher who went about leering at women. Well, not random women. Just Wen. He seemed to have a concerning lack of self-control wherever she was involved.