Duke of Camellias

TWENTY

Christopher and Sammy had left, and when Blair came downstairs, Emmanuel was also no longer there. His breakfast had been untouched, even his steaming cup of tea and his crumpled newspaper, which never happened. Tea and news were Emmanuel's very source of life.

"Flemings," Blair called, "might you happen to know where Emmanuel is?"

"He's retreated to his room, sir," Flemings said. Blair frowned.

"Thank you. I think I'll go see how he is," Blair decided, and went up the stairs again, hurrying but trying his best to not run.

Finally he stood before Emmanuel's room. It was his first time there, now that he realized. Although Emmanuel had been to his room, he had never been to his. Slowly, he raised his hand and rapped at the door.

"Who is it?" The voice that spoke was husky, as though he'd just woken from a nap.

"It's me, Blair."

"Come in."

Blair opened the door and closed it behind him. The room was as he expected, full of gothic furniture and paintings Emmanuel done, some Byzantine silver, and baroque decors. The bed had deep blue sheets, and the table and two chairs were crafted of dark wood and there Turkish carpet of red and yellow beneath his feet.

He was surprised to see Emmanuel leaning over the table in his room, slack, and an empty wineglass and a bottle of wine on the table, much like that night in Blair's room.

Then he looked down and noticed an empty bottle at his feet. He had already began drinking.

"Are you drinking alcohol?"

Emmanuel looked up and smirked, lips red from the wine, and eyelids only half opened, giving him a curiously tempting look.

"No, Blair, can't you see, I'm drinking tea."

Blair bit his lips at the mocking, and then Emmanuel bursted laughing.

"Why, I'm kidding! Don't look so grim, Christmas is only five days away! Come, sit here. I was thinking that it was terribly lonely to be drinking alone at this time."

"You haven't even had breakfast."

"Breakfast? My boy, it's already time for luncheon! You slept so late. I suppose the ballet gave you nice dreams?"

"It did." Emmanuel's smile grew.

"I'm glad. Now, sit." Blair stood there, awkward, before he finally sunk to the seat and gently sat down, aware of Emmanuel watching him. Somehow, the air about Emmanuel had changed. Was it because he was drunk?

"Tell me," Emmanuel continued, "what did you dream of? A beautiful princess, maybe?"

"No," Blair replied flatly. "Anyways, Christopher has left. Did something happen?"

"Oh, stop talking about him." Emmanuel poured more wine, but he was obviously drunk, and burgundy spilled onto the table, and he laughed, seeming to find it funny.

"He left, what happened?"

"I said, stop talking about him!" Emmanuel glowered at Blair. "Didn't you get mad when I paid him more attention? God, I don't know what you want! You're so fickle, Blair."

"This isn't right," Blair whispered. "You have hurt him."

"What are you, my mother?" Emmanuel started to gulp down the wine, Adam's apple bobbing, then he slammed down the glass. "What do you want?"

"I want you to stop drinking," Blair replied. Emmanuel looked up and grinned.

"Why, sure, then you drink!" He poured more wine as Blair sat there, dazed.