"Pity," James shook his head. He couldn't imagine what a "fierce" Davian would be like, but it was an interesting thought. James hadn't missed that Paxton had again deliberately skipped saying what Davian's exact sin had been to lose his horns. He was thinking on a followup question that would make the elder Rivera give him more details when Paxton's question hit James like a ton of bricks.
To his credit, James kept his composure. Mostly. He didn't know how Paxton had heard about that, or why, but there it was. James didn't keep that part of him a secret at St. Margaret's because things were different now. His father couldn't disown him now that his brother was dead. The man needed an heir and James had proven himself capable of taking over. Still, those old feelings of his sexuality nearly leading to him being sent off to England like a spent and gelded stallion rose up within the young heir.
The humiliation James had suffered at the hands of his boy-crush Bruce was the worst part, though. He'd thought he and Bruce were so alike. Their secret love affair was supposed to be mutual. Instead, Bruce had done what James should have done first and exposed him as being gay. In the society James had grown up in, traditional far right-wing white collar people, it was still a social death sentence.
He looked at Paxton with the first real expression of emotion in his eyes yet, then tore his gaze away. James shifted on his chair, snatched up the blood and took two big gulps. Then he carelessly took out Paxton's staged pawn piece with his bishop without checking for counterattacks it exposed him to. James, in a little tantrum, flicked Paxton's black pawn onto the floor and leaned back on his chair again, snapping out. "What my father thinks doesn't fucking matter anymore."