Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13334877.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Captive_Prince_-_C._S._Pacat
  Relationship:
      Damen/Laurent_(Captive_Prince)
  Additional Tags:
      Canonical_Character_Death, Canonical_Child_Abuse, Anal_Sex, Switching,
      Angst_with_a_Happy_Ending
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-10 Completed: 2018-02-04 Chapters: 18/18 Words: 49854
****** Captive Princes ******
by ArabellaFaith
Summary
     Only one fell, but two princes were killed at Marlas. The boy Laurent
     was died that day, and a new one took his place, formed by the
     Regent's unspeakable desires. Starting at Marlas and going beyond the
     end of Kings Rising, this is Laurent's story.
Notes
     Warnings for this story include non-con, incest, child abuse,
     grooming, and character deaths that all occur in the series. It shows
     Laurent's POV starting at the death of Auguste and continuing through
     the books. Early chapters are all set pre CP, but for later ones it
     may be a good idea to refresh your memory of the books, as not every
     single scene will be covered.
     Any recognizable dialogue is the work of C.S. Pacat, and only used as
     reference to where we are in the story.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Laurent knew he would never forget Marlas.  It was the first time he’d ever
been on the battlefield, and he’d felt honored to have been invited by his
uncle.  His father, out on the front lines, might not have approved, but at
thirteen, Laurent felt like he was ready.  Auguste had been trained for war for
as long as Laurent could remember, and he had carefully watched his elder
brother’s every lesson.  Riding out for war against Akielos, Auguste had looked
like a sun god.  His blonde hair tousled in the breeze, blue eyes clear and
steady, armor glinting brightly.  Laurent had thought his heart would burst
with love and admiration for his brother.
 
To be standing on the battlefield where Auguste was fighting for their nation
was beyond his wildest dreams.  He could already picture Auguste’s glorious
return from the front.  How surprised Auguste would be to see Laurent there
waiting for him, the stories he would tell of the glory of battle.  Songs would
be written about how decisive action on the part of the king and his eldest son
had saved many Veretian lives.  Laurent would sing them the loudest, joyous to
have been there, to have seen his brother make history.  No, he would never
forget Marlas.
 
***
 
The first messenger had been intercepted by his Uncle, so Laurent couldn’t
understand the stricken faces of those around him.  He thought, perhaps, the
worst.  Had his father fallen in battle?  It had been an unusual risk for him
to have ridden so open upon the field, but they had been assured no harm would
befall him by that point.  Or… or was it Auguste that had been injured?  Was he
being brought back to camp that very moment, bleeding on a stretcher?
 
A hush had fallen over the entire camp.  News spread like wildfire, always just
out of reach of Laurent’s ears.  Somewhere behind the royal tent, a woman began
wailing.  Laurent’s heart began to pound until he thought it might beat right
out of his chest.  He searched through the crowds, finally beginning to catch
snippets of conversations, horrifying bits that made him struggle to breathe
and hold onto hope.  -dead-  -both in the same day!-  -is lost without anyone
to lead-
 
“Uncle!”  Laurent burst through the crowd and staggered to his Uncle’s side,
fear making his voice tremble.
 
“Not now, Laurent,” his uncle barked, beginning to wave him away.
 
“Uncle, please!”  The beg, caught in a sob, stopped his uncle.  The older man
looked him over, taking in the welling eyes, heaving chest, shaking legs.  He
swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was gruff but patronizing.
 
“Terrible events have befallen us, Laurent,” he said.  Laurent shuffled closer
to his uncle, holding his breath and trying desperately to cling to hope.
 “Your father has fallen in battle on the western front.”  It was said with a
flat finality.  Laurent’s heart was gripped painfully, but his breathing began
to ease.  Perhaps it was his greatest sin, as a son, but his father’s death was
not the worst-  “And I have just received news that your brother has been slain
by Prince Damianos.”
 
Laurent stared.  He had no awareness of the noises around him, nor the feel of
gravel digging into his knees as he had fallen to them.  His uncle’s lips were
still moving, but all Laurent heard was those same words again.  Your brother
has been slain.  Your brother has been slain.
 
Your brother has been slain.
 
His vision was filled with grey as he heaved, his body curling forward with the
spasm.  The individual specs of gravel blurred together and then became
obscured partially with a brighter, more unnamable color as Laurent spilled his
breakfast back out onto the ground.  He was not aware of his uncle pulling him
back to his feet and away from the sick.  Not aware of the way he was being
cradled, his head pressed against a belly that was not hard with muscle as his
brother’s had been but softer, more accustomed to drink.  Not aware of how his
uncle’s breathing shifted from slow and steady to deep and ragged.
 
Time passed.  He knew, logically, that the world had not stopped.  There were
people moving around him, horses whickering and voices filling the air, but he
could not bring himself to understand what was happening.  When he tried to
focus, he realized his uncle was gone.  Though he was surrounded by attendants,
Laurent suddenly felt very alone.  Terror filled him.  His father had left.
 Auguste had left.  They hadn’t returned.  His uncle was his only family now.
 What if he never returned, either?  The panic began to eat at him, stealing
any reason that he might have retained.  He began screaming for his uncle,
fighting the attendants, kicking and clawing like a wild cat in his desperation
to get to him.
 
But his uncle did not come, nor was Laurent allowed to seek him out.  Someone
had to act, to take on leadership that Laurent was far too young to handle.
 That task fell to his uncle.  Eventually a physician broke away from tending
the wounded long enough to prepare a drink that was forced down the young
prince’s throat.  Haze stretched across his vision, then it went black and he
knew no more.
 
***
 
When he woke, it was dark.  He thought he felt hands on him and recalled the
times when he’d been young and had crawled into bed with Auguste.  His brother
had tickled him awake, teased him good naturedly for sneaking out of his rooms,
and would later tell him gently that he was too old to be coming to his
brother’s bed.  Laurent was grown up now, wasn’t he?  He should not be in a
man’s bed, then, even a family member’s.  And if anyone ever asked him to-  But
these hands did not feel like the teasing, loving touches of his brother.  They
were softer, differently placed… Laurent shifted, and they were gone as
suddenly as if they had never been.  He blinked in the darkness, wondering why
he had imagined such a strange thing.  His uncle was reclining on the bed
beside him, newly dressed in sleeping clothes.
 
The events of the previous day came crashing back to him and his eyes filled
with tears.
 
“Oh, Laurent.”  Strong arms caught him up and pulled him close.  Laurent let
himself be enveloped in the embrace.  Sobs wracked his small frame, his only
craig the solid chest of his uncle.  “I’m here,” was whispered in his ear
softly.  “I’ve got you now.”
 
Laurent cried until exhaustion took him once more.
 
The next morning, his uncle was gone and panic again seized Laurent’s chest.
 It wasn’t until the midday meal that he saw him again and finally felt as
though he could breathe.  His uncle was too busy to do more than acknowledge
him briefly, and Laurent felt utterly alone.
 
For three more days, Laurent was adrift in grief and fear.  His days were
torture.  It was only at night, when he was allowed to sleep in his uncle’s
tent, to share his bed, that he got any respite.  Uncle would comfort him, dry
his tears, hold him until the sobs eased.  He assured Laurent that even though
they only had each other, he would not leave Laurent alone.  No one could ever
love him the way that family did.  They couldn’t trust anyone but each other,
now.  Laurent could stay by his side and Uncle would take care of him.  Laurent
nodded to all of this, clinging to the only person who could understand his
grief, who would never leave him.
 
***
 
A week later, they returned to the palace.  That very day, Laurent’s throne was
placed in trust, his uncle appointed Regent, and the council reformed.  The
King and crown prince had been entombed, and the city would spend an entire
month in mourning for them.
 
The new Regent was aghast at the thought of taking his brother’s rooms, but as
leader of the country until Laurent came of age, it was expected.  He moved in
with grief and humility, all possible respect being given for the King’s
memory.  Laurent’s own rooms were on the other side of the palace.  It was a
safety precaution, to have the heirs far removed from the king’s chambers in
case of fire or treachery - despite the fact that no calamity had befallen the
royal palace in a hundred years.  To Laurent, however, the distance suddenly
felt like an ocean. It separated him from his only source of comfort.  When he
tried to sleep, terrible dreams stole into his mind.  He saw the barbarian
prince, huge and monstrous, driving a flaming blade into Auguste’s chest over
and over again.
 
The second night proved no better.  Exhausted, trembling, Laurent slipped
through the dark halls of the palace until he stood outside the doors to the
King’s rooms.  A fortnight ago, his father had slept inside.  Now, the Regent
was in his place.  Laurent raised a hand to knock softly, but the door opened
before he could.
 
“Laurent?”  
 
“I-”  Laurent’s words caught in his throat and he felt shame fill him for the
first time.  He was thirteen, not a little boy.  He should not be seeking
comfort in his uncle’s room at night.  Auguste’s words, faded with time but
still sacred as everything his brother had ever told him, rang in Laurent’s
mind.  He should not be in a man’s bed, even a family member’s.  His cheeks
flushed and he started to turn away.  How childish his uncle must think him.  
 
“Laurent, wait.”
 
A strong hand closed over his arm, drawing him to a stop.  He was pulled gently
back against his uncle’s body.  “Have you been having trouble sleeping?”  Still
ashamed, Laurent could only nod.  “Come inside, then.”
 
Laurent found himself drawing into the room even as he voiced soft protest.  “I
should not be here,” he murmured, eyes downcast.  “I’m not a child any more…  I
shouldn’t-”
 
“Shh,” Uncle pressed a finger to his lips to halt his words, then sat on the
bed and took his shoulders, squaring them so that Laurent was looking directly
into his eyes.  “You aren’t a baby any more, no.  You’re such a big boy now.”
 Uncle smiled gently even as Laurent cringed internally.  It sounded like
something a man would say to a toddler placatingly.  What a big boy you are.
 “But we are all each other has.  It is not wrong for us to seek comfort in
each other.  I, too, have struggled to sleep.  The grief is terrible, and now
that Penthos has left-”
 
“Why has Penthos left?”  Incredulity and outrage laced Laurent’s voice.
 Penthos had been his uncle’s pet, a sandy haired boy close to his own age,
pampered and doted upon as a father would a son.  The loss of him would have
greatly wounded the man who had cared for him so deeply.  For it to happen so
close to the death of his family was unthinkable.
 
“A distant relative of his was discovered in the North.  Since he had lost his
parents so young, how could I make him endure even one more night without his
kin?  When I have been so recently reminded of the importance of family…”
 Uncle shook his head, clearly regretting having to let the boy go.  “But I had
to do right by him, even at my own expense.  We are all we have in the world,
Laurent.”  He paused, studying Laurent’s nightshirt thoughtfully.  “No one
needs to know that you’ve sought me out.  You’re right, you’re big enough now
that they might not understand, might judge you for it…  But under cover of
darkness, then you can come to me.  I hope you do.  Let me comfort you,
Laurent, and let me find comfort in you in return.”
 
Slowly, Laurent nodded.  He so badly wanted what his uncle was offering.
 Needed it.  His head was still clouded with grief, his heart shredded.  He
could not be alone.  Accepting, he looked around for Penthos’ cot.  The boy had
shared Uncle’s room for convenience, but of course wouldn’t have slept in his
bed.  It seemed as if it had already been cleared from the chamber, though.
 “Where should I-”
 
“We are family.  There’s no reason for us not to share the bed.  It helped you
sleep in Marlas, did it not?”
 
Laurent cringed, the words reminder of the place where his brother had died, of
that fresh grief, lashing him.  It felt as though the loss was as raw as it had
been that first day.  Bonelessly, he let himself be drawn down into Uncle’s
bed.  He fell asleep listening to softly murmured words of reassurance.  “I’ve
got you, Laurent…”
***
After that first night, his uncle met Laurent’s soft knock at the door with a
glass of wine. He was technically too young for fermented drinks yet, but Uncle
just smiled softly and reminded him of how mature he was. If the crown prince
could not have a glass of wine before bed, then who could? Such a big boy, he
praised when Laurent drained his cup boldly. Laurent again stifled his cringe
at the phrase, accepting it because he so desperately yearned for the praise.
It wasn’t long after that his eyelids began to feel heavy. He must have been
more fatigued even than he had realized, because he could barely climb onto the
bed before sleep was taking him, his eyes closing on the sight of his uncle’s
smile.
In the morning, his head felt foggy, as though he had barely slept at all.
Uncle was shaking him gently awake, telling him that he needed to return to his
own quarters before the servants found them. Laurent struggled to rise, his
movements sluggish. When he stood, he realized his nightshirt had ridden up,
exposing his hips, and he pulled it down with embarrassment coloring his
cheeks.
“There is nothing to be embarrassed about,” Uncle said with a chuckle. “I saw
you naked as a child many, many times.” Still, Laurent was uncomfortable.
Perhaps he would speak to the seamstress about having more adult sleep clothes
made for him. After all, he was a child no longer. He did not say that to his
uncle, though, and let himself be ushered from the room.
The next night, he was met with another glass of wine. This one was smaller.
“I believe I gave you too much last night and it made it difficult for you to
wake in the morning,” Uncle explained. “You are so mature, so grown up, that I
forget your body is yet small.” Not wanting to fight the same confusion and
fatigue that had plagued him all day a second time, Laurent accepted the
smaller glass without complaint. This time, he was able to get into the bed on
his own power. He thanked his uncle gratefully, and fell into a sleep devoid of
dreams.
A week later, the wine was a different sort, the taste not as sharp. For the
first time, he did not fall right to sleep. While they laid in the bed
together, Uncle told him stories from embassaries and merchants. They had begun
to call Damianos the Prince Killer.
Damianos the Prince Killer.
The words echoed in Laurent’s mind, bringing his nightmares to sharp clarity.
The huge barbarian, demonic and bloodthirsty, slaughtering his brother. Laurent
had told his uncle of those nightmares. Thankfully, they had not returned since
he’d begun sleeping in his uncle’s bed. He worried that hearing of the man now
would bring them back, but did not say it. Uncle was showing faith in his
maturity, in his ability to handle the harsh reality of the world around them.
He would prove himself worthy of that trust. Uncle recounted the tales the
soldiers told of how it happened. Laurent refused to ask him to stop, as much
as he wanted it.
When sleep finally did take him, his fears came true. He was haunted by the
red-eyed demon, the prince-killer, stalked through his dreams, chased by his
brother’s tortured screams.
He woke abruptly, sweat pouring off his body and tears falling from his eyes
freely. Uncle was rising from the bed. Laurent scrambled to follow him,
clutching at him even as his uncle pulled away.
“Laurent, what’s come over you?”
How could he admit the truth? He was so ashamed, ashamed of the tears still
rolling down his cheeks, that he’d been having a nightmare like a helpless
child, that he was mindless with panic at the thought of his uncle leaving.
“Wh-where are you going?” he demanded, still clinging tight. Uncle backed up
another step, causing Laurent to fall off the bed and to his knees.
 
“I am a man, Laurent. I have needs. I cannot be coddling a child every moment.”
His voice was harsh, his lips twisted into a cruel sneer. Laurent wanted to
cringe away, but his terror was too great.
“Please,” he begged, uncaring of his pride. “Uncle, please don’t leave.”
“I have sacrificed my own personal comfort to stay with you for many nights. Am
I to be allowed no relief? To give of myself continually with nothing in
return?”
Where was the kindly man who had been helping him through his grief? Where was
the patient caregiver who had tucked Laurent into bed? He tried to calm
himself, tried to think rationally. “If you can just stay a little longer,” he
offered tearfully, “just until-”
“Until you stop being frightened of the Prince Killer? Until you stop dreaming
of him finding you here in the darkness and gutting you with his sword?”
The words brought Laurent’s terror back in full force. Panic began rising in
him so completely that he could not breathe. “P-please,” he begged again,
leaning forward the way a slave would in supplication. “Please, I will do
anything! Don’t leave me.”
“I am sure you are too young for what I need. Too innocent.” Uncle tipped his
head back so that he was looking down at Laurent haughtily. Laurent shook his
head.
“No, I can do it. I’m- I’m a big boy, remember?” The words stuck in his throat,
but he didn’t care, didn’t care what it took for his uncle to stay, as long as
he didn’t leave him alone-
“Are you sure, Laurent?” There was a hint of softness in Uncle’s voice again.
Relief began creeping into Laurent’s body. Uncle would stay. He wouldn’t leave.
Laurent nodded eagerly, trying to blink the tears from his eyes. Uncle’s hand
rose to caress his head, fingers running through the long blonde hair there.
“Alright. I’ll allow you to service me, then.” Laurent nodded again, uncaring
of what service his uncle would ask of him. The fingers tightened in his hair
slightly as his other hand rose and pushed down the hem of his sleeping pants.
His cock sprang free, already hard. Laurent gasped and tried to jerk away, but
was held fast. “Open your mouth.”
Laurent’s eyes flew up to his uncle’s in shock. Surely this couldn’t be what
Uncle had meant. This was… improper. Wrong. So wrong. He brought his hands up
and braced them on Uncle’s thighs, trying again to push back. “Uncle, I can’t-”
“Did you not just say that you would do anything?” Uncle demanded. The cruelty
was back in his voice, his grip in Laurent’s hair tightening to the point of
pain. Laurent whimpered softly. “Do you want me to leave you here for the
Prince Killer?”
Terror shot through Laurent so acutely that he thought he was going to be sick
with it. Damianos wasn’t here. He was in Akielos, hundreds of miles away.
Still, the terror did not abate. Tears once again fell from his eyes. “Open
your mouth,” Uncle ordered again. “Or I am leaving.” Laurent fought to draw in
a breath. He tried to think, tried to figure out- But then his uncle was
starting to turn away and panic had him gasping no! and opening his mouth.
Uncle smiled down at him. He stroked Laurent’s cheek softly, gently. “Good
boy,” he praised, then pushed his hips forward.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Laurent did not return to his uncle’s room the next night.  His throat felt
raw, both from the crying he’d done and from his uncle’s rough use of it.   All
that day he stayed in bed, telling the servants he was ill.  Concerned, they
brought him breakfast in bed.  The bowl of porridge had a dollop of cream atop
it.  He heard his uncle demand,  swallow it, Laurent .  He threw the bowl
across the room.  It shattered against the door.
 
His sleep that night was fitful.
 
The next day, he was summoned by his uncle.  When he tried to refuse, claiming
illness again, he was told that his uncle would not be refused.  He was to sit
in at court.  It was his duty as prince.  Slowly, he readied himself.
 
In the chamber, the Regent and the council sat around a table.  There was an
empty seat at the Regent’s side for the prince.  Laurent took it, not meeting
the eyes of the other men.  He ignored his uncle’s welcome and did his best to
ignore the business they began to discuss.  When they finished, hours later, he
rose to leave with the rest of the council members.  Uncle caught his arm and
held him back.
 
“I did not see you yesterday,” he murmured.  Laurent could hear the words he
didn’t say.   I did not see you last night .  “I was concerned for you.”
 
“I’m fine,” Laurent said.  He thought it would come out sounding petulant, or
worse, afraid.  Instead, the words were flat.
 
“You gave the servants a hard time when they tried to assist you.  Why must you
be so difficult to anyone who tries to help you?”  Again, the double meaning
was clear.  Laurent said nothing.  Uncle sighed.  “I worried this would happen.
 That you would become troublesome.  Bitter.  Lash out at those that love you.”
 For the first time since he’d left his uncle’s room the morning before, angry
and hurt, Laurent began to waver.  His uncle loved him.  They were the only
family they had left.  “Perhaps it would be better if I sent you away.”
 
The words rung in Laurent’s ears and he gaped, uncomprehendingly.  Uncle
studied him with calculating eyes and went on.  “There is a fort in the north,
on the border of Akielos-”
 
“Uncle, no!”  Laurent’s mind had finally caught up and he felt panic fill him.
 
“-and the Lord there has sons close to your age.  Perhaps it would be better-”
 
“Uncle,  please .  You can’t send me away!”
 
For the first time, Uncle reacted to Laurent speaking.  His eyes narrowed.  “I
can’t ?”  His voice was low, dangerously silky.  “I am Regent of this empire.
 I can do whatever I think is best for it, including sending the crown prince
to live only a few short miles from the Akielos border.  It might do you some
good.  Force you to grow up and stop acting like such a child.”
 
“Please,” Laurent begged, his voice cracking.  “I can behave.  I’m not a child.
 Please don’t send me away.  Don’t send me there.”  He had slid off of his
chair and was kneeling at his uncle’s feet.  There was a long silence.  Then,
just as suddenly as it had come, Uncle’s icy demeanor was gone.  He looked down
at Laurent tenderly.
 
“Perhaps my judgement was too hasty.  I can see you are eager to please.  We
will set aside this matter for now.”   He caressed Laurent’s face gently.
 Relief coursed through him so swiftly that Laurent nearly collapsed with it.
 
“Thank you, Uncle,” he breathed.
 
“I trust I will see you later on?”  His meaning was again clear.   I trust I
will see you in my rooms tonight .  Laurent nodded, the relief he felt becoming
twisted up with new fear.
 
“Yes, Uncle.”
 
***
 
That night, Laurent waited for long moments outside his uncle’s door, trying to
find the courage to knock.  In the end, he found the courage from cowardice.
 He was more afraid of being sent away, of being near the Prince Killer, than
he was of his uncle’s demands.  He knocked.
 
After a glass of wine, when Uncle ordered him to kneel, he did.  He trembled,
fighting the urge to jerk away, to run.  He thought of being separated from the
only family he had left.  He thought of being sent to live at the border, so
close to where Auguste had been slain, so close to the lands of the demon
prince that a stone’s throw could reach it.  “Open your mouth,” Uncle whispered
harshly.  Laurent thought of his nightmare, of the red eyed beast hunting him.
 Tears fell from his eyes.  He opened his mouth.
 
Laurent learned.  He learned how to pleasure his uncle with his hand and mouth.
 He learned not to fight when he was treated roughly, he learned how to breath
through his nose so that he didn’t choke.  He learned the quickest ways to
bring his uncle to completion, and he learned that sometimes Uncle would take
his time and there was nothing Laurent could do to make it end faster.
 
He was smart, and he learned quickly.  Uncle was pleased.  There was no more
talk of Laurent being sent away.  It was manageable.  And then his uncle’s
hands started to wander.
 
The wine was sweeter that night.  Laurent drank it in a single gulp and asked
for another.  Smiling, Uncle poured him a second glass.  When it was drained,
Laurent sat on the bed and waited.  Sometimes, his uncle liked to hold him
first.  Sometimes he liked to talk.  Sometimes Laurent was put on his knees
immediately.  This time, Uncle pulled him back on the bed and began stroking
his hands over Laurent’s body.  They lingered on his bare chest, low on his
belly, then between his legs.  To his horror, Laurant found his cock stirring.
 
He squirmed, trying to displace the hand that had gripped him and was beginning
to stroke, but was pinned to the bed.  His heart was racing, his blood pumping
too hotly through his veins.  Something was rising inside him, overwhelming
him, driving him beyond his limits- and then Uncle let him go.  Laurent
whimpered.  He closed his eyes tightly against the weak sound that had come
from his throat, his cheeks painted red with shame.  He ignored the sound of
his uncle grabbing something off the table by the bed, the shuffle of movement,
the slosh of liquid.  The tear between relief that his uncle had stopped and
the desperation for something else to happen ate at him.  He was about to open
his eyes, to find something, anything to say, when two slick fingers were
pushed inside him.
 
A cry was torn from him and his whole body began to struggle in earnest, trying
to get away from the harsh invasion.  It hurt, the stretch of it burning and
sharp pain jabbing him as his muscles clamped down.  Uncle’s other hand clapped
down over his mouth to stop the next cry that rose.
 
“Be quiet,” Uncle hissed.  “Do you want the servants to see you like this?  The
soldiers?”  Laurent forced his throat to still as mortification briefly
overcame the pain.  He was naked in his uncle’s bed, his cock hard and his
uncle’s fingers buried in his body.  No one could see this.  No one could know.
 “Good boy,” Uncle praised softly,  He lifted his hand from Laurent’s mouth,
but still kept him pinned to the bed.  “You’ll get used to it.  It’ll start to
feel good.”
 
“Don’t-” Laurent’s plea was cut off as his uncle began to move his fingers,
thrusting them roughly in and out.  He knew what was coming.  He’d seen
coupling between men.  Suddenly, amid the fear, Laurent realized just how
young  he was.  He wasn’t ready for this.  And this act between family members
was shameful.  “Uncle, please!”
 
“Now, now,” Uncle chided, his breath coming in harsh pants.  “I know you’re
frightened, but look at how much you want this.  Look at how your body craves
it.  You were made for this, Laurent.  Your body is so perfect, so beautiful…
 You were born to have a man between your legs.”
 
“No,” Laurent closed his eyes against the words, terrified to contemplate that
they might be true.  “Please stop,” he begged.
 
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.  There will be pain, but I’ll make you
feel good, too.  I have you.”  In a quick movement, the fingers were withdrawn
and Laurent was rolled to his stomach.  His legs were kicked apart.  Almost as
an afterthought, a pillow was pushed under his hips, canting them up slightly.
 Laurent had never felt so exposed.  So helpless.  His uncle’s hand clamped
down over his mouth again, in anticipation of a scream.  He lined himself up
and drove forward.
 
Laurent did, indeed, scream.  The sound was muffled against his uncle’s hand.
 Eventually, he ran out of breath.  He tried to inhale and found his nose had
been obscured as well.  Suddenly, the awful pain was not his only focus.  He
struggled, sobbing, trying desperately to gasp for air, his entire body
trembling in pain.  “Quiet, now,” Uncle commanded.  “I’ll move my hand, but you
can’t scream again.  Do you understand?”
 
He nodded, chest on fire with the need to breathe.  Uncle lifted his hand and
he took in huge gasps of breath, trying to stifle his sobs so that he wouldn’t
be cut off from air again.  Suddenly he had to grit his teeth not to scream as
his uncle drew back and thrust into him once more.  The pain was beyond
anything he’d ever experienced.  It burned and throbbed, stealing all rational
thought.  Escape was impossible with his uncle’s much larger body pressing him
to the mattress.  No amount of squirming could dislodge him.  He pulled back,
then drove forward again.
 
Laurent couldn’t think of anything but the desire for it to end.  He did not
know what pleas fell from his lips or how he begged.  His only thought was
escape, respite.  His uncle ignored him.  As his pace increased, he slipped his
hand under Laurent’s hips and grasped his cock again.  He squeezed and Laurent
had to bite his tongue not to cry out.  “That’s it,” Uncle whispered to him.
 “Take it.  It feels good, doesn’t it?”  Laurent gasped and shook his head
against it.  The pain was still immense, but to his horror, what his uncle was
doing at his front did bring pleasure.  He couldn’t believe it was possible.
 His uncle’s sure hand was working him towards a completion that Laurent did
not want, but there was no way for him to struggle.
 
Finally, with a wordless cry, an orgasm was wrenched from him.  It was dry, as
he was not yet old enough to produce fluid, but his uncle’s was not.  Wet heat
filled him, a small sensation amid the pain, but somehow the most shameful.  A
moment later, Uncle rolled off and caught his breath.  Laurent wanted to curl
up in a ball and cry.  He wanted to run from the room.  Instead, he lay as if
paralyzed, dazed by what had happened.  It wasn’t until his uncle moved closer
to him that Laurent shifted on his side so that they would not touch.  He
didn’t think he could bear to be touched.
 
“Good boy,” Uncle praised, his voice sickly sweet.  “You did so well for me,
Laurent.  Soon you’ll be able to take my cock without that useless struggling.
 You’ll come to crave it.”
 
“No,” Laurent whispered, horrified by the prospect.  Did his uncle really mean
to make him into a pet?  A whore?  As if he had read Laurent’s mind, his uncle
leaned forward and swiped a finger through the slick release that had dripped
onto Laurent’s thigh.
 
“Yes.  Only a true slut would come on their first fucking.  You really were
made for this.  You’ll be a perfect little pet.”  He shoved his finger into
Laurent’s mouth, depositing the tainted fluid on his tongue.
 
Laurent finally snapped.  He jerked back to hard that he fell off the bed,
landing on his hands and knees.  He retched, body eager to expel its contents.
 When the heaving subsided, he rose to his feet.  “No.  I’m not your pet.  I am
crown prince of Vere.  I am the king’s son.  You cannot treat me this way.  One
word of this is all it would take to have you executed.”  He wiped his mouth
with the back of his hand, staring defiantly at his uncle.  There was a pause,
then Uncle reclined on the pillows and laughed.
 
“You think anyone would believe you?  You’re nothing but a worthless brat.  A
foolish child, known for lies and mischief.  Tell anyone you want.  Not only
will no one believe you, but you’ll be branded a deviant.  Only someone with a
truly perverted mind would make up such a story.  They’ll wonder where you even
got the idea.  Whether perhaps your brother introduced you to such things.
 They’ll remember the way you idealized him, followed him like a lost puppy,
and they’ll wonder if you spread your legs for him.”
 
“That’s repulsive!”  Laurent could think of nothing more repugnant.  Auguste
had been pure and noble.  The idea that he would have even  thought  of
something like this was sickening.
 
“That’s what people will say.  Do you really want to tarnish your own
reputation and sully your brother’s name?”
 
It was only then that Laurent saw how neatly he’d been boxed in.  His uncle had
all the power.  There was nothing he could do.  “I’ll never let you touch me
again,” he swore.
 
“Oh, I think you will.  I think you’ll beg me to let you back into my bed.”
 
“Never.”  Laurent stormed out of the room.
***
He woke up the next morning sore and puffy eyed from crying. The horrible taste
had never truly abated from his mouth, and the pain between his legs bit him
viciously. A bath had been laid out for him, which he sank into immediately. By
the time he had finished soaking, he felt marginally better. It wasn’t until he
began his morning ablutions that he discovered the pain and humiliation were
not over. He had to bite his arm until there were bloody, crescent furrows in
it not to cry out in pain as he relieved himself. He thought of the palace
physician and the many salves and ointments he had that could soothe and numb.
But how could Laurent ever explain such a need? He was so alone.
After drying his eyes, he left his room, determined not to hide inside it like
a coward. At first, he did not notice anything amiss. Servants bustled about,
soldiers lined the courtyard. It wasn’t until he entered the banquet hall for
breakfast that he realized the Regent’s guard were gone. His uncle had left.
Had Laurent thought himself alone before? Had he thought himself cast off and
helpless? No, that was now. Now, when the only family left to him had deserted
him. Now, when there was no one there to comfort him. All the horrors that
passed between them on his uncle’s bed fell away and for a moment the only
thing he could recall was how his uncle had been the one to piece him back
together after Marlas. How kind his words had been, how steady his presence.
Laurent needed him.
He sought out a council member to demand to know where the Regent had gone. The
answer sent a bolt of terror straight through his heart. He’d ridden north,
intending to inspect some of the forts. They weren’t sure when he would return.
He’d said there was a matter he’d needed to attend to. A family matter.
After that, Laurent did not think himself a coward for hiding in his room the
rest of the day. Or the one after. He closed himself inside with his fears.
Uncle had left him. He was alone. Not only that, but he’d gone north, toward
Akielos. Was the barbarian prince killer stalking the border, waiting for his
chance to kill the only remaining member of Laurent’s family? Or had his uncle
gone to one of the forts to make arrangements for Laurent to be moved there?
Was he planning to send him away? The thought stole his breath.
By the end of the week, the Regent still had not returned. Laurent crumbled
further, collapsing into himself. By the end of a fortnight, he could not eat
or sleep. When he saw the red banners of the Regent’s guard, he wept. At the
welcoming banquet that night, his uncle ignored him completely, leaving Laurent
trailing after him pitifully all evening. Then, when Laurent knocked on his
door after the rest of the palace was asleep, it was many long minutes before
the door was opened. His uncle stood tall, arrogant, unyielding. Laurent felt
very small under his cold gaze.
“Please,” he whispered softly, “please let me in.”
“I won’t waste my time with crybabies and nasty little sluts who can’t keep
their mouths shut.”
“No, Uncle.”
“Are you truly penitent?”
“Yes, yes, please-”
“Prove it. Get on your knees and beg.”
Laurent fell to his knees. He lowered his forehead to the floor. “Please,
Uncle, please forgive me. Please let me back into your bed.”
There was a pause, as if the Regent was considering. Then, his booted foot was
thrust forward. “Kiss it,” he ordered. Shame scalded Laurent so hotly that he
thought he would be burned alive with it, but he lowered his lips to the
leather and kissed his uncle’s boot. “Good boy.”
The door was finally opened enough to allow Laurent to crawl inside. He climbed
onto the bed and waited, relief and fear twisting him up inside. He’d begged
entrance into the viper’s pit. Now, the viper himself was slithering towards
the bed with a lecherous glint in his eye. “Take off your nightshirt,” he
ordered, stripping off his own clothes, “and turn over.”
Laurent trembled. He reminded himself that this was the way it had to be. There
was no other choice. He did as he was told.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
All the pieces of who Laurent had been fell away that summer.  The open
affection he’d been known to show, the occasionally shy, bookish nature, his
sweetness, were all banished.  Instead, he became determined.  He had always
been good at learning, and now he threw himself into it headlong.
 
The mock training he’d received in his youth was replaced with real lessons,
and woe to the instructor who dared go easy on him.  He studied strategy,
negotiation, every form of double-play that there was.
 
The autumn after his fourteenth birthday he learned about drugs and poisons.
 He demanded that the palace physician explain every known type to him.  The
ones that would render a man unconscious, the ones that could freeze his limbs.
 The aphrodisiacs that rendered a man helpless to his lusts, and how they could
all be masked in wine.  He never took another drink his uncle offered him, and
could never be forced to orgasm by his hand again.
 
Free of the drugs, he learned rigid control of his body.  It maddened his
uncle, drove him to threats and rages, but Laurent had begun to learn the art
of working around him.  If his uncle cast him out of his rooms one night,
accusing him of being frigid or not working hard enough to please him, Laurent
allowed it.  He accepted his uncle’s acrid words.  He anticipated the threats
of being turned out of the palace, of being cast away.  Then, the next day, he
would gaze a little too long at the handsome servant who brought breakfast.  He
would linger, just a moment more than was necessary, sucking a drop of juice
off his thumb as he ate a piece of fruit.  He took his horse from the stable
when the Regent was in the courtyard and let himself be seen riding her.
 Galloping across the flat plain, moving in perfect rhythm with her, straining
towards their goal.
 
Those nights, when he went to his uncle’s rooms, there would be no further
threats.  He would spend the day that followed sore from abuse, but his
position would once more be secured.
 
***
 
Laurent did not like what his uncle did to him.  He took no pleasure from it-
not even forced pleasure now that he knew not to drink the drugged wine.  He
often fantasized that one day he would walk into his uncle’s rooms and discover
that the old man’s dick had rotted off in the night.  He hated that something
so pleasurable for everyone else had been utterly and permanently ruined for
him.  It was possible that he’d simply been born a frigid bitch, but now he
would never know.
 
At fifteen, he was nearing the age when other boys were beginning to explore
sex.  He was sure that if he  was to orgasm now, it would no longer be dry.
 Though he was still slim and pale and well formed, areas of his skin that had
once been bare were beginning to grow fine, golden hair.  In another life, he
might have been proud of those changes.  Instead, he noticed his uncle curling
his lip in disgust at them.
 
His advancing age heralded the end of his uncle’s sexual interest in him.  That
elated Laurent.  And yet, he still felt a strange pang of resentment at his
body’s changes.  He was going to be cast aside.  Not from the palace, not from
his uncle’s company, no, but from his bed.  A bed Laurent did not want to be
in.  So why did he stare down at his body as if it was betraying him?
 
Now that he knew his uncle’s proclivities intimately, he knew that the pets
that had come before him, the perfect youths that had been his companions, had
warmed his bed.  Whether willingly or coerced, Laurent wasn’t certain.  All of
them had left his service before their fifteenth birthdays.  The regent did not
waste himself on burgeoning men when he could purchase the perfect bloom of
youth.
 
Perhaps Laurent should have taken it as the ultimate compliment that he was the
oldest boy his uncle had fucked.  He’d lasted the longest, whether from the
added taboo of incest or the beauty of Laurent’s form - even in the cusp of
adulthood - or just because he took malicious delight in raping and humiliating
his nephew.  Still, it wouldn’t last forever.  It couldn’t.  Laurent had been
counting down the days from the moment his voice had broken.
 
Which is why he expected it when the Regent found a boy to distract himself
with at one of the forts.  He’d stayed back, unwilling to go closer to
Akielos.  When he’d heard that the Lord there had young sons, he’d thought this
might be it.  And when his uncle had not returned that night, he had not been
surprised.
 
What had surprised him, however, was the crushing feeling of loss.
 
He was relieved.  Of course he was.  To not be the one his uncle was forcing
his cock into night after night was bliss.  And yet, Laurent felt unwanted.
 Unloved.  Alone.  The only man who’d ever touched him - the only man that ever
would, Laurent swore vehemently - was no longer interested in him.  He was
spoiled fruit, over-ripe and only fit to be thrown away.  He wanted to cry.  He
wanted to be held.  Beyond all reason, he wanted to be comforted by the very
man whose clutches he’d been trying to escape for years.
 
It was so twisted.  He was twisted.
 
Tainted.
 
Perhaps he was just as deviant as his uncle.  The shame of it ate at him.  It
made him question everything he’d come to know about himself.  It made him hate
himself as surely as he hated his uncle.
 
Three nights later, the Regent had returned from the fort and the royal
procession had gone back to the castle.  That night, Laurent did not go to his
uncle’s rooms.  He fought his own demons, his self-loathing, and then when he’d
finally fallen asleep, he’d fought nightmares of a demon prince chasing him,
its huge form turned marionette with his uncle pulling the strings.
 
At breakfast, he did not look at his uncle.  He did not speak to anyone.  When
the meal was over, he rose to leave swiftly.  A strong hand on his arm pulled
him back.  The rest of the room emptied, and Laurent turned his cool, impassive
gaze to his uncle.
 
“Were you ill last eve?” he asked with deceptive concern.
 
“I was,” Laurent answered with a sneer.  “A vision of you and some lowly lord’s
quivering son turned my stomach.”
 
“Are you jealous, pet?”
 
Laurent scoffed.  The idea was insane.  He was not jealous.  Who would be
jealous that their rapist had chosen a new victim?  It made no sense.  None at
all.  “Relieved, is more like it.  Just because I’m glad to know that I’ve
outgrown your taste doesn’t mean that the idea of you fucking some other little
boy isn’t still sickening to me.”  He turned to stalk from the room, but he was
caught back again, this time in a bruising grip on his wrist.
 
“You might be getting too old to be a decent lay any more, but that mouth of
yours is still pretty, and I’ve trained it well.  I haven’t finished with you
until I say I’m fucking finished with you.  I expect to see you tonight.”
 
Frustration and anger and the smallest, slightest sliver of relief rose in
Laurent and he ripped his wrist from his uncle’s grip.  “While your dick is
still wet from your new toy?  I don’t think so.”  He walked away from the
table.
 
“Tonight, Laurent.  You’ll come to me on your knees, or you can go meet my new
toy yourself.  Isn’t it about time you did border patrol, anyway?”
 
Fear quickened Laurent’s pulse to the point of pain.  “You wouldn’t.”
 
“On your knees,” the Regent repeated flatly.
 
That night, when his uncle opened the door to his rooms, Laurent dropped to his
knees, broken.  “Good boy,” Uncle murmured to him, drawing him inside.
 
***
 
By Laurent’s sixteenth birthday, he was stronger and better in battle than his
uncle.  He had formed the Prince’s Guard, and though they were still a motley
bunch, they were talented and loyal.
 
There was no reason for him to continue going to his uncle’s rooms.  He did not
go that night.  If he expected censure for it in the morning, he was proven
wrong.  The Regent barely seemed to notice his presence.  The morning after
that gave the same results.  It seemed that Laurent finally had outgrown his
use.  He struggled with the same feelings of self loathing and confusion that
had plagued him half a year earlier, but this time he was better prepared for
them.  He accepted that he was twisted, damaged beyond repair.  His uncle still
loved him, and a part of Laurent needed that love.  Despite all the sickening
games, they were still family.
 
He hated his uncle.  He did not love him.  But they were all each other had in
the world.  What a pair they made, two repulsive, blackened souls.  A matched
set.
 
By the time the Regent selected a new pet, Laurent found that he harbored no
jealousy for the boy.  Not even in the darkest pits of himself, where ugly
things lived.  Occasionally, when he got too out of hand, his uncle let himself
into Laurent’s room at night and disciplined him.  It was about humiliation,
not sexual gratification.  He did not raise a hand to defend himself, but he no
longer went to his knees.  He’d sworn to himself that he never would again.
 Nothing, no power on the earth, could make him revoke that vow.  He had grown
strong enough, smart enough, to take that gamble.  
 
The new pet did not have that luxury, and he would be gone long before he ever
had the chance to gain it.  No, Laurent only felt pity for the boy.
 
Laurent’s audacity, his refusal to kneel, brought back the threats of being
sent to the border. This time, Laurent called his bluff.  Despite the Regent’s
recommendation to the council, the prince was old enough now that he could not
be forced to such things.  It was their first real sparring, and Laurent came
away with the win.
 
Over the next two years, they continued to circle each other like dogs after
the same bone.  They played intricate, cold games.  The Regent was a master
manipulator and a brilliant strategist, but Laurent had learned from the best.
 More than once he thought it again- a matched set.
 
Just before he turned eighteen, Laurent won another spar.  His uncle was
furious.  Not only had Laurent gained a new holding, he’d disrespected the
Regent in front of the council and there hadn’t been anything he could rebut it
with.
 
That night, he entered Laurent’s rooms without knocking.  The prince had been
expecting him.  He was still wearing his clothes, covered in tight cloth from
neck to toe, reclining in a chair by the fire.
 
“Insolent little brat,” Uncle hissed at him, knocking the book he’d been
reading from his grasp.  “How dare you speak that way to me before the
council.”
 
“Oh dear, Uncle,” Laurent said in mock concern.  “Did you lose face with your
conspirators?”
 
“Shut up!  You’re going to regret trying to make me look like a fool.  I’m
going to fuck that nasty mouth of yours until you can’t speak any more!”
 
“You’re not tall enough for that,” Laurent observed dryly.
 
“You still think you’re above kneeling for me?”
 
“I’m not above anything, Uncle.  But I’m still not getting on my knees for
you.”
 
They stared at each other, feeling their resolves.  “Fine,” the Regent finally
conceded sweetly.  “I’ll bend you over and fuck you until you can’t sit for a
month.  You just make things more painful for yourself in the end, nephew.”  He
jerked Laurent to his feet and shoved him against the mantle, forcing his head
down so that his hips were slightly cocked back.  He kicked Laurent’s legs
apart as he’d done a thousand times before.  With clawing fingers he shoved the
tightly laced breeches down.
 
Laurent looked back over his shoulder, eyes cold.  The firelight cast him in a
glow, making his hair appear more golden, his skin slightly darker.  For a
moment, the Regent saw not Laurent, but Auguste.  He quelled.  Still, the rage
that beat in his veins would not be ignored.  He forced himself to look again,
to see that this wasn’t the dead eldest prince, but his younger, fairer
brother.  The boy he’d fucked and broken years before.  Studying Laurent
restored his courage, but it also reminded him that there was no boy before him
any longer.  Laurent was a man, strong and agile.  Leaning against the mantle
he was a perfect picture of restrained power, coiled and capable of exploding
at any moment.
 
Laurent’s eyes traveled down to where his uncle had exposed himself.  His cock
was soft, innocuous against his thigh.  “Can’t get it up?” he asked casually.
 His uncle snarled at him and shoved his head back down, staring at the pale,
flawless flesh before him.  Flesh that was attached to a lean, well muscled
back.  That led to powerful arms.  The Regent did not face men more powerful
than he.  His only interest was in those weaker than himself.  Laurent was not
weaker.  He could not get his cock to rise.
 
The prince laughed derisively.  He turned and pulled his breeches back up,
lacing them into place.  “Get out of my rooms,” he ordered.  The Regent
seethed.  Hatred stole through him like a poison.  His hand rose and thick
fingers wrapped around Laurent’s throat.
 
“One day, you are going to kneel for me again, slut,” he swore.
 
“I would destroy myself and  anyone around me before ever kneeling for you
again.  There will never be anything that could make me.”  He jerked his neck
out of the Regent’s grasp, the move quick and easy.  “I told you to get the
fuck out of my rooms.”
Chapter End Notes
     Foreshadowing, anyone?
     The next chapter will be the start of where the books begin!
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     Here we are folks, the start of the series. This chapter covers the
     events up to the pet show, in which Damen fights Govart.
     In future chapters, I will include a short summary of what happens in
     the books and what parts I don't cover here in case you haven't read
     them in a while, but aside from specifics of conversation, most of
     the plot is addressed.
     Enjoy!
They had been playing their games of treachery for years now, but this time,
Laurent felt his uncle had gone too far.  Whatever treaty he’d made with the
bastard Akielos king, having a barbarian sent as a slave to the crown prince
was an outright insult.  The handler of the ship had already told him that the
‘pleasure slave’ he had been gifted was not trained as the others, but a wild
brute.  They’d had to keep him drugged to control him.
 
Still, despite the insult, Laurent was surprised at his uncle’s error.  Did he
think that Laurent was yet a little boy who would be frightened of an Akielos
soldier?  Did he think that Laurent was still haunted by nightmares of Damianos
the Prince Killer, red eyed demon wielding a fiery sword?  It was foolish of
him to have made such a mistake.  Laurent would break the slave and then send
him away.  The rumours of his frigidity would grow.  He didn’t give a damn.
 
When he walked into the viewing, he was prepared to face a big, dumb brute.
 Govert came to mind.  Darker skinned, perhaps.  Laurent had even prepared
himself for the possibility that the man would look like Damianos.  They were
of the same race, and even of a similar build by the sounds of it.
 
What he hadn’t prepared for - could not have expected, never in a thousand
years would have thought it possible - was for him to come face to face with
Damianos himself.  He felt his face blanche white and his vision swam.  Terror
the likes of which he hadn’t felt in years swelled inside him.  The prince
killer was in the palace, huge and deadly as Laurent’s childhood nightmares had
always made him out to be.  The man who’d slaughtered Auguste was right in
front of him, less than a hand span away.
 
In a beat, Laurent composed himself.  He hadn’t slipped like that in a long
time.  Nothing but the shock of such ultimate sabotage could have caused it.
 Suddenly, he understood that his uncle had not made a mistake.  It had been a
coldly calculated move.  One designed to win him not just a battle, but the
war.
 
Laurent would not allow that to happen.  He formed his own plans quickly,
steeled himself, then spoke to his brother’s murderer.
 
***
 
Despite the fact that Damen had been chained down at his feet, Laurent could
admit that he’d still felt a frisson of fear in the man’s presence.  Damianos
of Akielos was a study in uninhibited power.  He was huge, his body sculpted
with training, one of his hands big enough to wrap around Laurent’s neck and
snap it.   Still, when Laurent allowed himself the luxury of privacy to think,
he realized that his new slave was far from the nightmarish beast that had
haunted his childhood.  The figures were the same, yes, but Damen had
intelligent brown eyes, not mad red ones.  His hands were bound in slave’s gold
and heavy chains, not armed with a flaming sword.  He was virtually powerless.
 
There ought to have been some comfort to that.
 
Instead, Laurent found himself further maddened by it.  This was not how he’d
envisioned meeting Damianos of Akielos.  This was not how he’d thought he would
face the prince killer.  It seemed… wrong.  The man chained in his harem - a
name given to that room as a joke by his guards, as no whores were allowed near
Laurent at any time - was the same man who had destroyed his life.
 
If Auguste hadn’t died, nothing would be the same.  Laurent had realized, years
ago, that his older brother knew of their uncle’s proclivities.  He also knew
of his interest in the younger prince.  Auguste had been protecting Laurent.
 He had said something or done something that had made their uncle stay away,
and he had tried to warn Laurent of the danger as well.
 
You are too old to be getting into bed with a man, Laurent, even a family
member,   Auguste had said.   And if anyone tries-   There, Laurent’s memory
had for so long failed him.  It hadn’t been until much later that the rest of
the words had come back to him.   And if anyone tries, you run away and come
straight to me.  I will never let anyone harm you.
 
At the time, it hadn’t made sense.  What harm could come from being in bed with
a member of his family?  So he’d dismissed the promise, not realizing the depth
of Auguste’s words.  Not until it was far too late.
 
If Auguste had lived, the Regent would never have laid a hand on Laurent.  That
thought tormented him.  His life would have been so different.  And so he hated
Damen, not just for Auguste’s death, which was enough to want to slaughter the
prince outright, but for the death of the man Laurent would have been, as well.
 He’d murdered them both in a single stroke.
 
Laurent lifted his water goblet to his lips and realized his hands were
shaking.  He forced away bravado and cunning and faced the barest truth of
himself.  He was afraid.  He did not want to be anywhere near the demon of his
nightmares, even stripped of his flaming sword.  The thought of facing him in
flesh and blood chilled Laurent to his bones.  He felt the loss of his brother
all over again.  He felt the pain of the loss of his innocence as acutely as if
it had happened moments ago instead of years.  Damen brought those things back.
 Panic clawed up Laurent’s throat.
 
He could not face his brother’s killer like this.  He refused.  So he did
something he had not done in a very long time.  He ordered a glass of wine and
downed it in a single drink.  In only moments, the alcohol was singing in his
veins.  A second glass followed the first, sickly sweet on his tongue and
nauseating.
 
After the third, he rose and went to face his new slave.
 
***
 
The liquid courage had taken him further than he anticipated.  He’s spoken to
Damen.  Insulted him.  Pointed out the scar that Auguste had given him.  He’d
even taken a page from his uncle’s book and ordered the slave to crawl to him.
 The request had left a sour feeling in his stomach that he’d refused to
acknowledge.
 
All in all, he’d been doing well.  Better than he’d anticipated.  And then, his
uncle had arrived.  Having the two men responsible for his torment in the same
room was stifling, constricting.  He had to purposely slow his breathing so
that it wasn’t apparent he was struggling for air.
 
When his uncle had waved the treaty in his face, Laurent had wanted to strangle
them both.  Did the Regent really expect him to be made a toy again, this time
by his brother’s killer?  The idea was ludicrous.  There was nothing that could
entice Laurent to agree to it, not even the threat of the border, which Laurent
now feared for a different reason.
 
But no, his uncle knew that he could not corner Laurent into that.  He only
expected the slave to remain alive.  Laurent could not dispose of him, could
not seek vengeance for his brother’s death under the guise of killing a slave.
 Those were the Regent’s orders, and they could not be disobeyed.  With one
final, scathing look at Damen, Laurent agreed.  He needed to get out of the
room, needed space to think, to breathe-
 
His face a mask of scorn and casual impatience to hide his desperation to
leave, Laurent fled the room as quickly as he could.
 
***
 
That night, Laurent once again had nightmares of the Prince Killer.  This time,
he was not chasing him through the halls of the palace, armed with his flaming
sword.  Instead, he waited in opulent chambers while Laurent went to  him .  He
crawled, head bowed low to the floor and body shaking.  Laurent was the one in
slave’s cuffs.  Damen studied him, then ordered him to rise.  Suddenly they
were both naked.  Laurent felt vulnerable, exposed, terrified of what was to
come.  Damen bent him over the bed and kicked his legs apart, then leaned down
to whisper in his ear.  “Be a good boy and scream for me.”
 
He woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest and his head nearly
splitting.  He was hungover, furious, and determined to exact revenge on the
man who’d starred in his nightmare.
 
There was a pet show that afternoon, and though they filled Laurent with
horror, he thought it only fitting that Damen be subjected to it.  It felt like
some small recompense.  An eye for an eye.  And since Damen was bigger and
stronger than Laurent had been at thirteen, he added one more factor to the
mix, to make the recreation of his own suffering accurate.  He arranged for
Damen to meet his rape drugged and helpless.
 
He expected to feel relief when the arrangements were made.  Glee, even.
 Instead, his stomach churned.  By the time he walked into the pet show, he was
nearly sick with what he was going to have to watch.  Still, he would not turn
back.  This was fitting.  For his brother, for the boy he’d been all those
years ago, he would endure it.
 
Instead of watching the show as the pets wrestled each other for dominance,
Laurent watched Damen.  Saw the exact moment he realized what the pet shows
were for, and what he would be subjected to.  He wanted to witness dawning
fear.  Instead, he saw disgust crawl over the barbarian’s face.  Was he really
unafraid of being violated, or did he think himself unbeatable?
 
Even when his opponent was revealed, what Laurent saw on Damen’s face was not
the terror that had surely been evident on his own just before his struggle had
begun, but calculation.  He was looking at every angle, seeing how to win the
fight.  When the two men circled each other, there was no pause in his steps or
tremor in his body.  In fact, if not that he’d given the order to have Damen
drugged himself, he would think that the Akielos was fighting unhindered.
 
Suddenly Laurent was struck with the desire to see how he fought at full
strength.
 
Just when it seemed Govert would get the upper hand, Damen brought his slave
cuff up against Govert’s temple, knocking him unconscious.  The crowd
collectively sighed in disappointment.  They’d been eager to see the Akielos
slave mounted, stripped of his dignity.  Or at the very least to see Govert,
who many of them despised, fucked into the dirt.   
 
Only someone who has seen a gladiator sway the opinions of a crowd and was
smart enough to learn from it could have done what Damen did next.  He crawled
forward, the very picture of a broken, docile slave, and dedicated his victory
to Laurent’s name.  Having him on his knees at Laurent’s feet, feigning loyalty
in such an overt display, made something dark and ugly stir in Laurent.
 Perhaps it was his position, on his knees.  Perhaps it was the frustration of
his plans to see Damen humiliated and violated.  Perhaps it was simply because
he was, like the’d always thought, just as twisted as his uncle.  When he had
returned on his knees after that first act of defiance, Uncle had put him
through an exercise in abject humiliation.  Slowly, Laurent extended his foot,
seeking the same.
 
“Kiss it.”
 
There was a moment when Laurent thought he was going to refuse.  He thought of
how it had shamed him to do that very thing, prince of a nation, on his knees
kissing a boot.  The greasy feeling in his stomach wasn’t sympathy, it was
justice.  This was fair.  Because of the prince killer, Laurent had made the
humiliating kiss.  Now, the prince killer himself would do it. Slowly, he
leaned forward and pressed his lips to the leather.  Laurent had to fight not
to jerk his foot away.  He kept his face perfectly impassive, as always.  The
room cheered.
 
When Councilor Guion congratulated his success in breaking the rabid slave,
Laurent brushed it off.  Now that the spectacle was over, he wanted to get
away.  He wanted to hide and collect himself.  He wanted away from the games of
his own making that he was beginning to find distasteful.  In another moment,
he would claim fatigue and sweep from the room, ordering his slave chained in
the harem once more to wait his orders.
 
Then the unthinkable happened.  Audin wanted to offer the slave a reward.
 After all, he reasoned, the crowd’s expectations had been disappointed.  Why
not give him a slave to mount so that they could still see him perform?
 Laurent felt bile rise in his throat.  The slave at his side was Nicaise.  His
uncle’s latest pet.  So young.  Smaller even than Laurent had been at that age.
 Against his will, Laurent’s eyes flicked to Damen’s cock, lying flaccid
between his legs.  Even soft, it was in monstrous proportion with the rest of
his size.  It would split the boy in half.
 
His mind raced, forming and discarding ideas to get him out of this without
losing face.  He could not risk angering the crowd, not with councillors and
supporters alike there.  He would need many of these people later on.
 
Could he really watch Damen rape Nicaise?
 
The boy’s chest was heaving in fright, his eyes stark.  He was careful not to
turn them to Laurent.  Again, Laurent fought the need to vomit.  Had he thought
the night would be a recreation of his own torment?  He’d been more right than
he’d realized.  He would get to see it first hand, would get to watch his
nightmare played out.  Was he really so cowardly that he would sacrifice
Nicaise for his own future?
 
“Do whatever you want to me.  I’m not going to rape a child.”  The words were
spoken with finality, a wealth of disgust in them.  Laurent turned to the man
he’d believed untold horrors of.  The man he hated even more than his uncle.
 The man who’d just forfeited his life for the sake of a boy he didn’t know.
 The man who’d just proven, beyond a doubt, that he was better, more honorable,
than either the Regent or the crown prince of Vere.
 
It had never occurred to Laurent that Damen would refuse.  He hadn’t thought
the slave and his uncle were cut from the same cloth, no, but the prince killer
was a barbarian.  A murderer.  Akieloss had no morals, no shame.  Except this
one did.  He could have kept the approval of the crowd by taking the boy.  Why
should he refuse?  After all, there would be no pain for him.  If his
reputation was to be believed, he was a powerful, virile lover.
 
He had refused.
 
Laurent quickly schooled his features, slipping into the cool, unaffected mask
once more.  Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “why not?”  He needed to know.
 Damen’s eyes swung to his full of revulsion.
 
“ Why not ?” he echoed the question, slipping into his native language at his
outrage.  “I do not share your craven habit of hitting only those who cannot
hit back, and I take no pleasure in hurting those weaker than myself.”  The
words hit Laurent like a physical blow.  It took all of his willpower to stay
steady.  He was reminded, starkly, of how his uncle could only find pleasure in
hurting and  humiliating boys so much smaller than himself.  He thought of the
day, two years ago now, when he’d ripped down Laurent’s breeches with the
intention of fucking him, only to find that he was incapable.  In the face of
strength, of power, of someone who could fight back - even if they wouldn’t -
he was unmanned.
 
For a reason he did not want to examine too closely, Laurent felt a lash of
shame strike him.  Then another.  When he was asked what the slave had said
translated the gist of it, declining on Damen’s behalf.  Then he rose to leave
the room, calling for his horse as he went.  His only thought was of escape.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     First, let me just say that I've been utterly blown away by the
     amazing reviews you all have been leaving. Every author dreams of
     getting this kind of in depth feedback on their work, and I am so, so
     grateful to each and every one of you!
     And now, on to the story! We pick up at the end of the pet show
     (chapter 3, page 51 in the US paperback version) and go through to
     Laurent's punishment for flogging Damen (page 94). You'll notice that
     i leave a lot of the political stuff out, Mostly because I feel that
     it's explained enough in the books and because I tend to write more
     character centric stories than plot centric. Hopefully there's no
     confusion : )
The horse moved beneath him in perfect synchrony with his body, powerful
muscles bunching and flexing as they flew across the flat expanse of land.
 Auguste had broken this horse for him.  She’d been a present, sleek and
beautiful and pliant as clay beneath his touch.  She was a living link to his
brother, proof that he could use gentleness and affection to train rather than
fear and the lash.
 
At the moment, Laurent felt ashamed to be riding her.
 
His mind turned again to the look in Nicaise’s face when he was offered up as
the slave’s reward.  It made him shudder.  He tried to lay aside everything
else and be totally, brutally honest with himself.  It was something he’d been
able to do in the past, despite the answers not always being the ones he
wanted.  Now, he asked himself if he really could have allowed Nicasie to be
raped for the crowd’s amusement.
 
He thought of the first time he’d seen the boy in the palace, frightened and
unsure of his place.  Two weeks later, Laurent had been headed to the kitchens,
unable to sleep, when he’d found Nicaise trying to break into the physician’s
storeroom.  The boy had been sobbing in pain.  At the sight of the prince, he’d
begged for Laurent not to tell the Regent.  Laurent hadn’t said a word to him.
He’d opened the storeroom, dropped the salve he needed into the child’s hands,
and walked away.
 
Nicaise had never asked how Laurent knew what he’d been looking for.  Perhaps
he assumed that the crown prince had seen evidence of his uncle’s abuse on his
pets before.  Or maybe, with those intelligent eyes of his, he saw the dark and
terrible truth, that Laurent had once been in his place.  They never spoke of
it.
 
A month later, Nicaise had found his way to Laurent’s rooms.  He’d been
limping, trying desperately to compose himself, shaking so violently that he
could barely stay upright.  Laurent had admitted him without a word, tended to
the boy’s injuries, and held him until the sun rose.  That as well, they never
spoke of.  In public, as his security in his position grew, Nicaise became
almost unbearably haughty and petulant.  He was a brat.  Spoiled.  He showed
disdain for everyone and everything, especially the prince.  It was only in the
dark of night, when he was totally overcome, that all those facades fell away
and he sought comfort from the man who could understand and would not judge
him.
 
It had been months since Nicaise had come to his rooms.  The verbal abuse
Laurent had taken from the boy in the time between should have been enough for
him to be uncaring as to Nicaise’s fate.  But Laurent knew the words for what
they really were, bravado and bitterness.  He could not fault the boy when his
own reactions had been so much the same.  They were kindred, he and Nicaise.
 Laurent could not save him, but he had wanted to protect him the only way he
could.
 
Could he really have let him be raped by Damen?
 
The honest truth was that Laurent didn’t know.  He would have thought of
something, would have found some clever ruse to deny the request.  But if there
had been no possibility of evasion, if the choice really had been sacrifice
Nicaise or risk his future, Laurent wasn’t sure what he would have done.  He
didn’t think he could have watched, didn’t think he would have had the strength
for it.  But he didn’t know.  That thought disgusted him.
 
The barbarian murderer had known.  He’d made his choice.  It had been instant,
without need of thought.  Sacrifice himself to save the child.   Do whatever
you want with me , he’d said.  There had been no ploy, no game, no ulterior
motive.  Simple honor and sacrifice.
 
Laurent felt as though the world had been shifted beneath his feet.  This was
the man that Laurent had sworn vengeance against.  The one he’d longed to kill,
slowly and painfully.  The one who’d plagued Laurent’s nightmares.  Now, he
knew that the Prince Killer would not have stalked him through the halls of the
palace after his brother’s death.  He would not have hunted Laurent and laughed
at his fear, his pain.  Laurent had been even younger than Nicaise.  Damen
would not have harmed him.  Damen would have defended him.
 
Suddenly Laurent wondered what Damen would have done if he’d seen, back then,
what his uncle was doing to him.
 
The answer seemed obvious.  And yet it changed everything.  It made Laurent
unbearably angry.  He hated Damen all over again.  He was not supposed to make
Laurent question everything he knew to be true.  The world was easier in black
and white.  Shades of grey created painful confusion.  Laurent did not want to
be confused.  Damen was his brother’s killer.  He was a barbarian, a beast,
deserving of just punishment before he was put down like a rabid dog.  He was
not supposed to be honorable.  He was not supposed to have morals, to protect
those weaker than himself, even if they were his enemy.
 
It was an affront to Auguste’s memory.  And as the rage boiled within him,
Laurent made plans to make him pay for it.
 
***
 
He had to wait nearly a week before all the pieces fell into place.  But his
patience paid off.  The Regent left to hunt.  There was no one left in the
palace to question Laurent’s authority.  He sent his orders, then made his way
to the baths.  Every step closer brought fear rising in his throat that he
struggled to force down.  Perhaps this was his own punishment, forcing himself
to face his oldest fear, to offer himself as bait.  But he did not balk.  He
reclined against the wall of the baths and waited.  In moments, Damen entered,
alone.  They were the only ones inside.  The unease in Laurent spiked, but he
refused to let it show.
 
They bantered.  Damen reminded him again that he had more moral fiber than the
leaders of Vere.  Did he realize that he was only baiting Laurent further?
 Perhaps he enjoyed flirting with danger.  Well, Laurent was not to be outdone.
 He ordered the slave to strip, meant as both a humiliation for Damen as well
as a test of his own courage.  Damen let his clothes fall, unabashedly, to the
floor.  Then, at Laurent’s bidding, he began to removed the prince’s clothes.
 Slowly, one piece at a time, Laurent’s skin was exposed.  No one other than
his uncle had seen him like this.  He forced himself not to tremble.  This was
the plan he’d chosen.
 
Damianos the Prince Killer didn’t fuck boys, but his reputation preceded him,
and he was known to be drawn to blondes.  Laurent removed his undershirt last
and stood before him naked, vulnerable.  For a moment, he felt as powerless as
he had standing before his uncle all those years ago.  The size difference was
almost the same.  He pushed the thought aside and forced his voice not to break
when he ordered, ‘wash me.’
 
It started out impersonal enough.  The water splashed down on him, and Laurent
pretended that the pleasantly warm water did not feel scalding hot against his
skin.  A soft, soaped cloth pressed against his back and he forced himself not
to shrink away from it.  Slowly, the pressure slid lower until it was against
the small of his back.  It slid lower still.  Laurent forced himself not to
move a single muscle, despite the ever rising panic.  He looked down and saw
that Damen had grown hard, his cock distenting, lengthening and curving up from
his body.  Laurent had no doubt that given the chance, it would break him.
 
“Don’t be presumptuous,” he bit out.  Damen’s hands stayed where they were,
cupping Laurent’s ass intimately.
 
“Too late, sweetheart.”  What Laurant heard was,  good boy .  He raised his
hand to strike the slave, rage suffusing him, only to have his hand caught.
 Strong fingers gripped his wrist.  The fear beat a tattoo under his skin.
 Against his will, he tried to jerk away.  He might as well have been pulling
against iron.  Panic, true and absolute, held him immobile as Damen’s eyes
raked over his naked form.  He was utterly helpless.  So complete was his
terror that Laurent forgot the guards at the door, forgot his plan.  Damen
could do anything he wanted, and it was obvious what he wanted.
 
Damen did nothing.  His gaze landed on Laurent’s cock, soft against his thigh,
broadcasting his lack of interest.  Laurent couldn’t help but feel that it also
broadcasted his fear.  At the sight of it, Damen’s erection flagged.  The heat
fell away from his eyes.  Laurent felt his world shift again, and he could not
stop himself from saying, “but my voice has broken.  That was your only
prerequisite, wasn’t it?”  Damen wasn’t going to try and take him.  Laurent did
not want it, and so Damen had no interest in forcing him, not to get his
revenge, even though he was attracted to Laurent, even though Laurent was not a
helpless child.  Laurent did not want it, and so Damen did not, either.  When
he heard the implication of Laurent’s words, he released him immediately, as if
the very thought was abhorrent to him.
 
For the first time in many years, Laurent thought he was going to cry.
 Instead, he backhanded Damen across the mouth with all his considerable
strength.  “Get him out of here,” he ordered.  Again, he was going to run away.
  Coward .  He needed respite, needed to think, needed to calm his racing
heart.   Coward.   He stopped.  Damen would not make him quell.  He embraced
the adrenaline that had flooded him, turned it to coldness, and ordered his
slave to the cross.
 
***
 
What followed was a blur.  It had been a fault of Laurent’s for a long time
that he lost himself in the clutches of a rage.  It was perhaps his greatest
weakness.  Once he fell to the anger, it needed to burn itself out.  He thought
of his own confusion, of the resentment he felt that this man could make him
question everything.  Then he pushed those thoughts aside.  No matter what he
felt about himself, what doubts he had, there was one core truth that was
unchanged.  Damianos had killed Auguste.  For that alone, he deserved the worst
the cross had to offer.  As each lash fell, he thought of the sword strikes his
brother had likely taken.  The pain he must have felt.  Had he been afraid, at
the end?  Had Damen toyed with him, drawing out the fear, the knowledge that
his death was coming?
 
From what Laurent knew of Damen, he thought not.  Damen would have seen that as
beneath him.  Dishonorable.  He signalled the whipping to stop.
 
“I should have done this to you the day you arrived.  It’s exactly what you
deserve.”   For murdering my brother .
 
“Why didn’t you?” Damen asked him.  Despite himself, Laurent was a little
surprised that the slave could even speak.  His back was in tatters, the pain
must have been unbearable.  And yet, Damen bore it.  Laurent’s estimation of
him as an opponent grew.  “You are cold blooded and honorless.  What held back
someone like you?”
 
And just like that, the anger which had burned itself away reignited.  Damen
was right.  Laurent was cold blooded and honorless.  Just like his uncle.  A
matched set.  He ordered the whipping to start up again.  Even when it was
done, even when Damen was on the cusp of death, the anger was still there.
 Damen wanted to be dealt with honorably?  Then he should have left alive the
prince of Vere that  had  honor.  Instead, Damen had slaughtered him.  It was
his fault.  All his fault.
 
“Don’t let him die yet,” Laurent demanded.  Then he left.
 
***
 
Laurent kept himself in his rooms, mourning the death of his brother as if he
had never really stopped.  This was only the beginning of what the Regent had
planned.  He hadn’t expected Laurent to recognize Damen on sight, so he’d
wanted the slave to get under his skin, possibly to bed him, and  then  for him
to realize who Damen was.  He wanted that pain brought to the fore, to have it
lay Laurent low.
 
And lay him low it did.  It was only fortunate that it was happening while
Damen was recovering and the Regent was away.  He had a week.  Seven days to
let the grief swamp him and then be set aside.  To accept the truth about the
man who was now his slave, and what that truth meant to him.
 
When the Regent called court and Laurent was ordered to attend, he was
prepared.  He knew that his uncle had been to see Damen, that he’d brought
council members with him as witness.  He sat, poised, as Damen was brought into
the room wearing the full dress of a slave.  There was a kind of beauty to it,
his dark skin gilt, his most sensual features accented by paint and jewels.  A
chain extended across his chest, held in place by clamps on his nipples,
puckering them to the sight of the room.  Laurent smirked, fully in control of
himself. This was what his uncle wanted, so it was what he would get.
 
When he was called forward, Laurent went willingly, ready for battle.  The
regent played his hand, eager as ever to throw Laurent’s refusal to go to the
border in his face.  Laurent listened calmly as he was stripped of land and
money, all except what legally could not be taken from him.  His uncle was
trying to back him into a corner, but it would cost him.  Now, not a single
movement Laurent took was not calculated.  When he was ordered to kiss the
slave, he almost smiled.  The Regent had taught Laurent well.  Not only did he
know what to expect from him, but he could use the same tools that had been
used against him.
 
He hooked his finger under the chain attached to Damen’s nipples and pulled him
forward by it.  He slid his hand into Damen’s jewel adorned hair, tilting his
head down so that Laurent’s lips would reach his cheek.  He did as he was bade
and kissed the slave, the barest brush of skin on skin, the most he was capable
of.  And while his lips were still close to Damen’s ear, he spoke.  “You look
like a whore.  Filthy painted slut.  Did you spread for my uncle the way you
did for Kastor?”
 
The words, inaudible to everyone but Damen, had the exact reaction he expected.
 He’d reacted almost the same way when those words had been directed at
himself.  The violence which he’d shown in his recoil shocked everyone in the
room.  The smeared paint on his cheek stood out like an accusation.  When he
spoke again, Laurent had the attention, and the sympathy, of every noble in the
room.
 
He accepted the Regent’s punishment - now seen as unfair to the crowd - humbly.
 The proceedings ended.  Laurent had won.  The triumph of success surged
through him, followed by a wave of exhaustion.  He wanted to get away, to
disappear for a while until his emotions were better under control, but there
was one more performance to make before his show was done.  He led Damon by the
flimsy gold chain through the chamber and out into the gardens.  There was
barely a moment for him to compose himself, to breathe in the cool night air,
before he was verbally sparring with his slave.  He broke the fragile chain
just before Councillor Herode arrived, and the show began again.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     We pick up here at page 94 (US paperback) and go to 130, through the
     infamous garden scene with Ancel and to Laurent discovering how the
     slaves are being treated. No big plot points are skipped, but we are
     laying groundwork for the next chapter!
Laurent’s perfect groundwork was paying off.  Herode was on his side.  With
little swaying, he could have two others on his side as well.  His uncle’s
favorites would not be swayed except in the face of irrefutable evidence -
which Laurent did not have - but if things came to a head the way he thought
they might, he wouldn’t need the united support of the council.  Partial would
do.
 
Relieved, he returned to where he’d left Damen, only to find him surrounded by
nobles and slaves alike.  His patience was at an end, his temper frayed almost
beyond repair.  When Ancel began throwing himself at Damen to try and gain the
prince’s attention, he nearly snapped.  But to misstep now could mean the loss
of Vannes support and that would be catastrophic.  Instead he listened to her
advice.   Perhaps it is time the slave learned his place .  How fitting.  A
display of strength and control in front of Vannes would not go amiss, and
Laurent was tired of feeling as though Damen had come out the better for their
sparring.  Despite his pouting demeanor, Ancel was no child, so the show would
not hurt Damen’s delicate sensibilities.
 
The masters sat back while the slaves began.  Lashed tightly to the bench,
Damen at first showed no signs of cooperation at all.  It was clear that his
control over his body was astounding.  Laurent was reminded of what had
happened in the bath.  He’d grown aroused looking at Laurent’s nudity, but when
he saw that Laurent was uninterested, his body had quickly come to heel.  A
small spark of something that felt dangerously like guilt flared, but Laurent
smothered it.  Instead, he decided to use the fact that Damen was attracted to
his body.  He crossed to sit at Damen’s side and began instructing Ancel how to
pleasure him.  The moment Damen’s eyes strayed to Laurent, he was lost.  His
breathing sped up, his pulse began to pound.  Laurent knew exactly what to do
to drive him right to the edge.  He’d learned these lessons with the bite of
terror as his guide.
 
Damen was close.  Laurent could see all the signs, could read Damen’s body
easily.  Instead of looking away, as he’d expected, Damen kept his eyes on
Laurent.  He stared him down, inscrutable, still somehow proud despite his
humiliation.  “Finish him off,” Laurent ordered casually, walking away without
looking back.  He heard the harsh breaths, the bitten off groan.  Then it was
done.  Laurent barely paid attention to what was being said around him.  He
felt very lost, and angry because of it.
 
It wasn’t until Nicaise came to the garden that he found some of his composure
again.  He dismissed the others and called for refreshments, trying not to
think too much about the internal struggle he’d had so recently about Nicaise.
 He offered wine, wondering if the boy hated it the way Laurent did.  Had his
uncle drugged Nicaise the same?  Or perhaps, as a pet, Nicaise hadn’t needed
the same… persuading that Laurent had.  Nicaise proudly declared his age and
insisted that he could drink wine, so Laurent doubted he had been drugged as
much.
 
“Have you thought about what you’ll do, after?” he asked casually.  He reminded
Nicaise that the Regent’s attention would only remain on him for another year
at best, which caused the boy to turn scarlet.  Perhaps his body had already
begun to go through its change.  If so, his time was shorter still.  “I’ll
offer for you, if you like.  When the time comes.  I wouldn’t want you in my
bed, but you’d have all the same privileges.  You might prefer that.  I’d
offer.”  It was as close as Laurent had ever come to saying he would help
Nicaise.  In all the time they had spent together, wordless, hidden, this had
never been mentioned.  Until that exact moment, Laurent had never even thought
to say it.  The idea of having his uncle’s discarded whore serving him should
have repulsed him.  It didn’t.  Perhaps it was the guilt of his recent moral
quandary.  Perhaps it was having been shown to be less honorable than a killer.
 Perhaps he simply wanted just one of the boys his uncle used and threw away to
have some kind of happiness.
 
Nicaise stared at him and for one brief moment, Laurent caught a flash of the
boy he’d been when he’d first come to the palace.  Innocent, frightened,
searching desperately for a friend.  Then it was gone, and Nicaise was sneering
at him, reminding him that he had no money to offer with.   “I don’t need you.
 He’s promised. He’s not going to give me up.”
 
“He gives them all up.  Even if you’re more enterprising than the others have
been.”  It was true.  Laurent was the one who’d held his attention the longest.
 All the others had been replaced at the earliest turn of youth.  The Regent
had made that hollow promise to the others.  He had always broken it without
care.
 
“He likes me better than the others.”  Nicaise laughed, the sound forced and
brittle.  He seemed on the edge of hysteria.  Perhaps Laurent had pushed him
too far.  He would let the subject drop, would try to-  “You’re jealous.”
 
If a flower petal had dropped to the grass in the garden, the sound of it would
have been deafening in the otherwise absolute silence.  There it was, laid out
as it had never been before.  Nicaise knew.  He knew, and he’d accused Laurent
of being jealous.  In a heartbeat, he realized the magnitude of his error.
 He’d overstepped, crossed the lines of the delicate treaty between them.  It
was an ugly thing to say, and Laurent’s horror at just the thought must have
shown on his face for Nicaise to react so strongly to it.  Suddenly, he paled.
 “You’re going to tell him you want me.”
 
In spite of the slap he’d just received, Laurent drew back in shock at the very
suggestion.  If he told his uncle that he wanted Nicaise, it would cosign him
to torment at best and be his death warrant at worst.  If the Regent thought,
even for a moment, that Laurent would bed Nicaise, then he would take great
pleasure in meticulously, methodically destroying every physical thing about
him that Laurant might use.  Then he would happily send the ruined husk to
Laurent with his blessing.  Worse, if he thought it was out of sympathy, or
because Laurent cared for the boy, then the Regent would gladly slaughter
Nicaise just to hurt Laurent.  “Oh, No.  Nicaise...no.   That would wreck you.
 I wouldn’t do that.”  Was he really so cold that Nicaise thought him capable
of that kind of betrayal?  It hurt him, more than he cared to admit.  
 
Instead of trying to explain further, he reassured Nicaise and took him from
the garden, leaving Damen behind.  In the end, perhaps it was better that
Nicaise think the worst of him.  If things did not go his way, he would make a
terrible enemy in the Regent if he dared defend Laurent.
 
Keeping that in mind, he encouraged the pet to stay while his uncle verbally
flayed Laurent for his insolence in front of the council earlier.  Laurent was
too tired to argue.  He did not care what his uncle had to say, and there were
as yet no threats he could carry out.  He listened the way one listens to a
small dog yapping uselessly.  When it was over, Nicaise took his position at
the Regent’s side smugly, staying behind as Laurent was dismissed.  If Laurent
didn’t know otherwise, he would think that smug smile was a true show of catty
superiority.  Instead, Laurent could easily see it for what it was.  Bravado.
 As soon as the doors were closed, the Regent was going to do to Nicaise all
the things he could no longer do to Laurent in punishment.  It would be a long
night for the boy.
 
Laurent collapsed into bed exhausted, but still thought to set out a numbing
salve, just in case he had a visitor in the night.
 
***
 
The next two days were so full of activity and preparation for events to come
that Laurent barely had time to think of Damen or Nicaise.  His rooms were
being moved in accordance with his recent cut of funds, a smaller section of
them closer to the center of the palace.  He hadn’t even had time to think of a
way to casually let Nicaise know where his new rooms were, and relied instead
on the boy’s ingenuity to figure it out on his own.
 
The ambassador from Patras arrived, and Laurent immediately began to slowly woo
the man.  It was absolutely vital that he be in Laurent’s side in the coming
months.  It seemed as though it was going to be pitifully easy.  Torveld was a
good man, interested more in peace than in money or power.  He obviously had a
strong sense of justice, and if he was to be made aware of certain facts at the
right moment, the alliance Laurent needed would be assured.  All he needed was
an opening, something of value that could quietly and innocently change hands
that could tip the scales in his favor.
 
He was sitting before the fire pondering what he could use when a guard came to
inform  him that his slave had requested his presence.  He could have waited;
it was bad to set a precedent of going promptly when summoned by a slave, but
Laurent found himself intrigued by what Damen could possibly want.  He finished
his drink and made his way to the slave quarters, ignoring the slight pinch of
unease at being reminded how close they now slept.
 
As soon as he entered the room, Damen fell to his knees, then pressed his
forehead to the floor in a show of submission.  Laurent was so stunned that he
could only stare.  He found himself intensely grateful that Damen’s eyes were
on the floor, or he would have witnessed Laurent’s flash of emotion.  He
scolded himself for such a lapse.
 
“This is new,” he said, trying to sound bored.  Damen didn’t move to raise his
head.
 
“There’s something I want.”
 
“Something you want.”  Of course there had been some kind of angle.  Laurent
would have been more surprised - and suspicious - if there wasn’t.  But for it
to be stated so openly, so plainly, with no games or guessing, took him off
guard.
 

 “You get something in return.”
 
Laurent fought the urge to scoff.  The barbarian was trying his hand at
something Laurent was master of.  There was no way Damen would come out the
better of this.  “Are you misguided enough to try and bargain with me?  What
could you possibly offer that I would want?”
 
“Obedience.”
 
It was said so plainly, so simply, that Laurent struggled for a moment to
comprehend his meaning.  In absence of an immediate answer, Damen went on to
enumerate the extent to which he would submit.  It was obviously an ill guided
attempt to escape.  What else could be worth the pride of the prince?  He made
his position - and rejection of Damen’s ridiculous offer - clear, then turned
to leave.  Damen’s head came up, and there was impatience stamped across his
features.  For a moment, Laurent thought he was going to be cursed at.
 Instead, he was again shocked.
 
“I don’t think the slaves in your uncle’s care are being treated well.  Do
something about it and the bargain is made.”
 
Why did it feel, any time he and Damen faced off, as though Laurent was
standing on ground that continually shifted beneath his feet?  He’d learned
much about the Akielos prince’s sense of honor and justice, but this was too
much to be believed.  He scoffed.  “The slaves?  Am I supposed to believe that
you care for their welfare?”  The idea was ridiculous.  He said as much,
including his scorn of Akielos traditions of slavery, and prepared to leave.
 He planned to continue on his way out, no matter what Damen said to try and
convince him otherwise, but was again stopped.  The story he told, of the
slaves being ‘tested’ with branding, sounded very much like something his uncle
would watch.  He would have taken sick pleasure in it, laughed at their pain.
 
“To abuse someone who cannot resist - isn’t that monstrous?”  The words, so
emphatically spoken, struck Laurent to the core.  There was no way for Damen to
know how much that sentiment would impact Laurent.  None.  And yet it wasn’t
possible for the man to truly be this self sacrificing.  No one was this good,
this pure.  “Please.  They’re not like me.  They’re not soldiers.  They haven’t
killed anyone.  They’re innocent.  They will serve you willingly.  And so will
I, if you do something to help them.”
 
He pushed every button perfectly.  Despite the good he knew to be inside Damen,
Laurent could excuse his treatment of the Prince because of what he’d done to
Auguste.  That wasn’t the case with the slaves.  There was no excuse for their
torment.  Laurent struggled to think, trying to see what Damen could be trying
to win from this.  “You overestimate my influence  over my uncle.”  Damen
started to speak again, but Laurent cut him off.  “No, I-” he stopped, still
uncomprehending.  He felt strangely exposed.  “You would really sacrifice your
pride over a handful of slaves?  Why?”  The word came out strangled and raw,
the most unguarded thing Laurent had in years.
 
Damen didn’t seem to notice.  “Because I am stuck here in this cage and have no
other way to help them!”  Anger and frustration rang in his tone, an underlying
helplessness catching at Laurent and tugging uncomfortably.  Was it possible,
truly possible, that Damen really was so self sacrificing?  That he cared so
deeply for his people, even slaves, that he would rather submit himself to
danger than they?  Were there really such people in the world?
 
Laurent wondered what Auguste would have done.
 
The very thought made his heart clench tightly.  Damen was not half the man
Auguste had been.  He was a killer, a barbarian, perhaps with a small measure
of honor, but his nobility did not extend this far.  It could not.  Laurent
turned and questioned Radel, then had him summon the guard from the garden.
 
They waited for the guard, Damen trying to convince Laurent all the while that
this wasn’t a trick.  When he veered too far into insolence, Laurent reminded
him of his place and took pleasure in seeing Damen grudgingly apologize.  The
guard finally arrived, and Laurent fully expected the ploy to be exposed.
 Damen was not a strategist the way Laurent and his uncle were.  His
machinations would be easy to see through.  He was not surprised to hear that
Govart had been in the gardens that night.  His uncle’s thug.  Of course.  No,
he was not shocked.  He was… disappointed.  It made him all the angrier.  He
turned to leave.
 
Damen stood to his full height, the only thing restraining him the shackle at
his wrists.  Even with his hands behind his back, he was imposing.  He seemed
powerful enough to simply yank the chain from the floor and attack them all.
 The guard who had been advancing on him stopped.  When Damen insulted Laurent
by comparing him to Govart - which mattered very little to Laurent, it was so
far from the truth - the guard found his courage again and drew his sword.
 Damen looked at him as though he was no more than a bumblebee that had flashed
its tiny stinger.  His anger turned to the guard, accusing him of allowing it
to happen.
 
“What was he doing?” Laurent asked the guard, wondering just how much more of
this would unfold.  The guard shrugged.
 
“Raping one of the slaves.”
 
It was only years of practice that kept Laurent from flinching.  Govart had
molested one of Damen’s subjects in front of him.  Perhaps that truly was
enough to make a man like him offer this kind of bargain truthfully.  The idea
made Laurent uncomfortable.  He tried to brush it off.  Claim he did not care
what Govart did to the slaves.  Taunted Damen.  Then, when Damen called his
bluff about still not believing him, Laurent ordered the guards from the room
and rounded on Damen again, anger flashing in his eyes.
 
He had never felt so much like his uncle when he threatened to kill the slaves
just to make Damen suffer.  He had total control of the man and he knew it.  He
flaunted it.  He made it look as though he reveled in it, all the while his
self loathing grew.  Then he left Damen with nothing but uncertainty over the
future of his people.  
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter starts with a scene that we don't see in the books but
     would happen right after Laurent leaves Damen on page 130 and goes
     through to the hunt on page 176. The main events not seen are the
     feast, Erasmus' show, and more politics.
     I also want to note that there is fairly graphic violence in this
     chapter, and an animal in mortal distress. It was difficult to write
     and will likely be difficult to read. Just a heads up.
Instead of returning to his rooms, as he would have liked, Laurent turned
towards the slave quarters.  He needed desperately to decompress, to think
through the events of the day, but first he would speak to the slave himself.
 He no longer doubted Damen’s account of what had happened, but if the plan
slowly unfolding in his mind was to succeed, he should warn the slave of what
was to come.
 
He was met at the door by his uncle’s appointed slave keeper, and admitted
without comment.  It was highly unusual for him to seek out slaves, or even
pets, but as crown prince, nothing was denied him.  The Akielos slaves were
easy to spot, separated from the rest, huddled together as if for protection,
or comfort.  With a few words of Akielos, the slave in question stepped
forward, then immediately prostrated himself again at the prince’s feet.
 Laurent bid him to rise and follow.  Erasmus, as he said he was called, obeyed
at once.
 
They settled in a small, private room, chosen by Laurent because it had no
fireplace.  He hoped that would provide some small comfort to the slave, but
his body still trembled with fear.  He had no reason to expect anything else
from Laurent.  From the moment of his arrival in Vere - and indeed, even along
the way - he had suffered nothing but pain and torment.
 
“My name is Laurent,” he said gently.
 
“Yes, Exhaulted.  I- I mean, Your Majesty!”  His face flushed and he fell to
the floor, horrified at the cultural slip.  “This slave begs your forgiveness,
Majesty!”
 
“You have nothing to apologize for, Erasmus.  You have committed no wrong.
 Please rise.”  He held out his hand to assist, and the slave flinched from it,
then dutifully took Laurent’s hand.  “I am not going to hurt you.  I know you
have no reason to trust that, but I swear that it is true.  I want to ask you
some questions, and I would like you to answer them as honestly as you can,
even if you feel that I won’t like the answers.  Do you think you can do that?”
 
“Y-yes, Majesty.”  He sat slowly, eyes still wary.
 
“Last night, you were with a pet named Nicaise who came searching for me, yes?”
 Erasmus nodded.  “He brought you in the garden to another slave.  A slave also
from Akielos.”  For a moment, Erasmus’ eyes softened.  Whatever had happened
between them had obviously had an effect on the slave.  “Will you tell me what
you spoke of, after Nicaise and I left?”
 
“Th-this slave said that his master, that your Majesty, was kind.”
 
Laurent could not hide his smirk, and it made the slave nervous.  “I’m sure he
doubted you.”  Erasmus said nothing, not certain how to answer without angering
Laurent.  “What else?” he prompted softly.
 
“He… he was kind to me.  Praised me.  Asked about my life before being given to
the Regent.  And about my treatment after.  That-” he stopped, eyes resolutely
on the floor, then found the courage to go on.  Laurent was impressed with the
boy.  “That was when he saw my scars.  He was… upset.   When he asked, I told
him of how I had been given them and what had happened since leaving Akielos.
 Then, he promised to find a way to help me.  I knew it was impossible but-”
 
Here, he stopped, unable to go on.  “But you wanted to believe him,” Laurent
finished for him.
 
“Yes.”
 
“Is that all that happened?” Laurent asked, knowing that though this part of
the story had likely been difficult for Erasmus to tell, the rest would be even
harder.  The slave shook his head.  “Go on,” he urged softly.
 
“A man came looking for me.  He spoke to the other slave, but I could not
understand what they said.  He lifted me by my collar, and I was unable to keep
from making noise, so he punished me-”
 
“Punished you?”
 
“As this slave deserved,” Erasmus added quickly.  Laurent shook his head.
 
“I mean, how did he punish you?”
 
“He slapped me.  The other slave, he tried to interfere, but he was chained.
 Then, the man…”  Erasmus struggled to find the words.
 
“He took liberties?”
 
“Yes,” Erasmus let out a soft sigh of gratitude at the delicate phrasing.  “I
did not struggle, but something the man said angered the slave.  He tried again
to interfere.  I thought… I thought the iron holding him was going to break.
 The noise drew the guard.  I do not know what they said, but the man left, and
took me with him.”
 
There was such a long pause that Laurent realized the slave had no intention of
saying more.  “What happened next?”
 
“This slave lives to serve.”  His face was red, hands trembling.  Laurent could
guess the rest.
 
“He had you  serve  him?”
 
“Yes, Majesty.”
 
The story was just as Damen had told it.  He was no longer surprised by that.
 What he felt instead was anger.  For once, it was not directed at Damen, or
even himself.  It was directed at his uncle, the Veretian nobility, and Govart.
 Despite his personal views on slavery, he could see that his country had
failed these slaves.  It had taken something they considered sacred and made a
mockery of it.  It was, as Damen had said, monstrous.  
 
“Erasmus, before you were-”  Laurent floundered for a moment, unused to trying
to speak in euphemisms and caution.  “Before,” he finally settled on, hoping
the slave would understand his meaning, “were you… was your body ... prepared?”
 
The slave flushed red again and slowly shook his head no.  Laurent felt a surge
of sympathy.  He let out a breath and laid his hands gently on Erasmus’.  The
slave looked up at him in shock.  “I am going to have the physician sent to you
and the others that have been harmed.  He will see that your injuries are
tended.  You will be cared for.”
 
“Thank you, Majesty.”  He bowed his head as low as he could without dislodging
Laurent’s hands.  “This slave does not deserve your consideration.”
 
“You have it nonetheless.  And there is one more thing.  Tomorrow, the pet who
left you in the gardens, Nicaise, will fetch you again.  He is going to make
you perform before the court.  It will be terrible for you.  But if you are
very brave, something good will come at the end of it.”  He rose and began
ushering Erasmus back to the slave rooms, already thinking of rousing the
physician and suggesting what medicines he would need to bring.  At the door,
he paused.  He didn’t know why he said it.  It was unimportant, and it meant
nothing to the slave.  He wouldn’t understand.  “You do not know it yet, but
that slave kept his promise to you.”  Then, he turned and left.
 
***
 
The next day went better than Laurent could have hoped.  Every piece fell into
place with ease, from his subtle flirtation with Torveld, to Nicaise’s blunder,
to the transference of Erasmus to Torveld’s care.  By the following morning, he
was both elated by his successes and expectant of something to go horribly
wrong.  The Regent would not let such a win go unanswered, even if he did not
understand why the events were such a win to Laurent yet.  Laurent wondered
what his uncle’s counter-play would be.  Strip him of more power, deny him a
place in court, humiliate him before the council?
 
He was on guard when the hunt began, ignoring Damen in favor of calming his
horse.  She skittered sideways when he urged her forward, danced when he pulled
her to a stop.  It was unusual to say the least.  When Auguste had given her to
Laurent eight years ago, she had been totally docile, eager to please.  Just
yesterday, she had been as gentle and obedient as that first day.
 
As soon as they started riding out, she began to sweat, and foam appeared
around her bit.  It wasn’t until the boar was spotted and the hunt took its
most dangerous turn that Laurent realized the awful truth.  She had been
poisoned.  A glance toward the Regent showed his uncle’s steely grey eyes
focused on the stumbling horse.  The boar turned towards them, maddened with
bloodlust.  Laurent’s horse sidled wildly and her back hoof caught a root.
 There was a sickening pop as her back leg collapsed, her ankle shattered.
 Shocked to his very core, Laurent again looked at his uncle.  The Regent
smiled maliciously.
 
Time seemed to slow.  There were so many things going on around him, his horse
trying to keep upright, the boar bearing down on them, hunters and dogs twining
around each other in chaos, but Laurent saw none of that.  He only saw his
uncle’s smile.  The man who’d comforted him after his father and brother’s
deaths.  The man who was his only family.  The man who, despite all the
terrible things he’d done, Laurent still thought something of.  He was trying
to have Laurent killed.  After everything, he wanted to see his nephew dead.
 And just like that, Laurent’s future changed.  He was no longer playing for
revenge or his position.  He was playing for his life.
 
The world rushed back into focus around him.  He dug his spurs hard enough into
the horse’s flank to draw blood, forcing himself to ignore her shriek of pain.
 She jolted forward, broken bones crunching sickeningly.  The boar was almost
upon them.  Another brutal kick of his spurs had her leaping over the beast,
just barely clearing razor sharp tusks.  She tried to go down as she landed,
but Laurent could not let her.  The boar would circle back any moment, and he
could not be caught on the ground.  Again he urged her up, forced her forward,
tears filling his eyes as he listened to her screaming in protest, praying
anyone who noticed would think it was the wind making his eyes water.  They
shot towards the boar, and with all of his strength, Laurent thrust his spear.
 
 
His aim was true.  It pierced the boar’s heart.  As soon as it dropped, he
released the spear so that his horse could continue her momentum forward.  She
staggered.  Laurent leapt off of her, foolishly wanted to catch her as she
collapsed.  She fell in the dry leaves of the underbrush, whinnying in pain,
her flanks heaving and legs trembling in agony.  “Where are the dogsmen?” he
demanded without taking his eyes off of her.  If his voice had been shaky, if
it had broken slightly, or sounded almost hysterical, anyone would have
attributed it to exertion or the close call he’d just had.  Only one man in the
group knew exactly what he was feeling.
 
A foot-huntsman stepped forward.  His eyes widened as he took in the state of
the horse.  “Saint’s mercy,” he swore.
 
“Put her down.”  Laurent said the words flatly, back in control of his voice.
 The huntsman paused, still taken aback at the state of the horse.
 
“But sire-”

“Are you deaf?” Laurent snapped at him.  “Or perhaps a brute that takes sick
pleasure in the suffering of animals?  You have your sword.  Put it in her or I
will take it from you and put it in  you! ”  The huntsman flinched, blanched,
then drew his sword and thrust it into the neck of the horse.  Her whinny
gurgled, then went silent.  Laurent stared impassively at the last gift his
brother had ever given him, dead at his feet.  When he looked up, he saw grey
eyes on him.  He felt the blood in his veins turn to ice.  Yes, the game had
turned to murder, but Laurent reminded himself that it was still about revenge.
 And he would have his.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     This chap picks up at page 176 after the hunt and continues on to the
     end of Captive Prince. most of the events are covered, but there is a
     small time skip at the double line of asterisks from where Laurent
     talks to Damen just after the Regent leaves, telling him that Damen
     is to stay locked up while he is gone, to the next conversation they
     have a few days later (starting on page 224) where Damen convinces
     Laurent that they should go to Delfeur. Enjoy!
That night, Laurent ordered a small group of soldiers and servants into the
woods with instructions to bury his horse.  The leader seemed confused, but
Laurent snapped at him, and the little group fell  into line.  When they
returned, Laurent locked himself in his room and sat in a chair before the
fire.  There were no tears in his eyes.  Frigid.  That’s what everyone called
him.  They had no idea how right they were.
 
The emissaries from Patras left the next day.  Laurent saw them off, noting
with some satisfaction the way Erasmus stood tall beside Torveld.  The other
slaves seemed in much better spirits as well, with the slave handler keeping a
close watch on them.  Some good had come from provoking his uncle.  He reminded
himself of that when grief again pricked his heart.   It’s just a horse , he’d
said to Damen.  The words had cut, but he’d taken savage satisfaction in the
ones that followed,  I’ll have my uncle buy me a new one .  The price would
come out of his flesh and bone, and he would suffer as much as the horse had.
 
The day after the departure was a quiet one in the palace.  The servants were
putting the guest quarters back to rights, things were getting back to their
usual routines.  Laurent wrote letters.  He looked at a map of Vere and tried
to study it like a chess board.  The Regent was out for blood, and he was
already thinking ten steps ahead.  Laurent would need to be even further ahead
than that.  He could think like his uncle, could anticipate and parry, but that
would only take him so far.  He needed a wild card.  Something that could give
him an advantage his uncle wouldn't count on.
 
He thought of his guard, their ranks loyal, members talented, but numbers
small.  He thought of Nicaise, smart and cunning but still caught in the
Regent’s thrall.  He thought of the alliances he’d made, the councilors he’d
swayed.  None of it would be enough.  Already, he anticipated another attempt
on his life, but he could not see how to forestall it.
 
A headache began to form between his eyes and he dropped onto the reclining
couch.  His eyes strayed to the books on the table before him, but he shook his
head and drank deeply of his water goblet instead.  His answers would not be
found in scrolls or any knowledge to be learned from philosophers.  He would
need to be inside his uncle’s mind for any chance of success.  Or he would need
to be very, very lucky.  Laurent did not like to leave anything to luck.
 
Anticipation coiled in his belly, making him feel sick with it.  He wondered,
for a moment, if he might not be contracting some illness because of how shaky
his limbs felt, how sluggish his thoughts, but he dismissed the idea.  He was
just over-tired.  In the morning, his head would be clear again.  He let his
weight fall to the side and tucked his feet under him, trying to push aside the
feeling that he was thirteen again.  Perhaps he would read the book after all.
 He was so unsettled, strangely taut like an over stretched harp string waiting
to be plucked-
 
The door to his room swung open.  Startled, he tried to jerk his gaze up only
to find that his lids stayed at half mast.  His eyes struggled to focus, and
when they did, he found Damen standing before him, totally unshackled.  Three
unfamiliar guards stood beside him.  Laurent’s heart rate rose, and he noticed
there was blood pooling in his groin.
 
Then, he knew what had happened.  His eyes wanted to stray to the water goblet
but he daren’t take them off the men facing him.  Slowly, he stood, taking
stock of how much his body protested, how stiff his limbs had become.
 “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked as he moved to the best position in the room.
 There was only one factor that he could not calculate, and it would be the one
that decided his fate.  If Damen sided with the assassins, Laurent was dead.
 If he did not- well, then there was a chance, slim but there, that he could
walk away from this.
 
“I don’t think the prince is in an amorous mood,” Damen said carefully.  It
told Laurent none of his intentions.
 
“I take a while to warm up.”  The words were unnecessary, nonsensical, but he
was still trying to see what would happen, still trying to fight the fog
filling his mind with only one thought,  completion .  There was a pregnant
pause.  Laurent felt it stretch, had the time to force his mind and body to
heel.  He remembered how this drug felt, remembered with startling clarity what
had happened to him last time he’d been given it.  For one terror induced
hysterical instant he wondered if they would pass him around like the tavern
slut or if only Damen was meant to rape him.
 
The room exploded into action.  Two of the men started for him, the third
stayed by Damen.  There was hardly even a hesitation before Damen attacked him.
 One of the men coming after Laurent turned back.  He swung his sword, and
Damen crashed into him.  Laurent didn’t see what happened next because suddenly
the first man was on him.  He feigned right and then struck from the left,
forcing his body to obey him in spite of the drug streaking through his blood.
 He kicked out, knocking the man over a small table and sending it splintering
to the floor.  From across the room, one of the men hissed, ‘he’s the prince’s
bitch, kill him!’  Laurent had no time to appreciate the irony of that
statement.  The man before him staggered up again and Laurent knocked him down
again, then slammed his heel against the back of the man’s neck hard enough to
hear it snap.  Two steps had him at the first dead guard’s body, retrieving his
knife.
 
When he returned to the center of the room, Damen was holding the second man
still, one hand in his hair and the other keeping his arm bent behind his back.
 “What do you want me to do with him?” Damen asked.
 
“Hold him still,” Laurent ordered.  Then in one smooth move, he slit the man’s
throat.  Damen dropped him as though burned.  The assassin gasped, gurgled,
then toppled forward.  Damen and Laurent’s eyes met.  This was the Prince
Killer’s chance to live up to his name.  Damen shifted forward, Laurent
automatically changed his grip on the knife, expecting to have to defend
himself.  An instant later, Damen’s body collided with his.  Strong fingers
gripped his wrist.  Laurent thought of the way Damen had held him similarly in
the bath.  Was it cosmic irony that he was facing the same fear now that he had
been then?  Damen tried to twist his hand so the knife dropped, but Laurent
resisted.  If he lost the weapon and Damen turned on him, there would be no
second chances.  Damen was bigger than him, stronger, and just as well trained.
 With the drug still pounding in his veins, there wouldn’t be anything he could
do.
 
“Let go of my arm,” Laurent ordered softly.  The longer Damen stayed pressed
against him, the more Laurent’s body betrayed him, and the higher his panic
rose.
 
“Drop the knife,” Damen returned.  Was that it, then?  Had he made his
decision?
 
“If you do not let go of my arm, it will not go easily for you.”  It was a
struggle of herculean proportions not to let his voice shake with fear.  He
felt powerless, stripped of his dignity as his unwillingly erect cock pressed
against the waistband of his sleep pants and his body screamed at him to submit
to the coming attack, to beg to be invaded, anything-
 
One more twist of his arm and the knife clattered to the ground.  Damen
instantly let him go and stepped back.  Fighting every urge of his body,
Laurent stepped back as well.  Damen hadn’t lunged at him, hadn’t knocked him
to the ground.  That was a start.  Still, it was a far cry from safety.
 
“You seem to vacillate between assistance and assault.  Which is it?”  His mind
was too hazy to try and read Damen’s intentions.
 
“I’m not surprised you’ve driven three men to try and kill you, I’m only
surprised there weren’t more.”
 
“There were.  More.”  Laurent watched him carefully.  Color rose to Damen’s
cheeks.
 
“I didn’t volunteer.  I was brought here.  I don’t know why.”
 
Could he really be so simple-minded?  Did he not see why the Regent would
assume he would take the opportunity to cut down the man who had tormented him?
 “To cooperate,” he clarified.
 
“Cooperate?  You were unarmed.”  The simple disgust in that statement reminded
Laurent again the type of man he was facing.  Some of his fear began to ease.
 He was going to speak, but Damen went on.  “Like the man you just killed.”
 
“In my part of the fight, the men were not helpfully killing each other.”  It
seemed an easier explanation than the truth, which was that if any of the
assassins had lived, there would be war.  Whatever Damen had been about to say
next died on his lips as the Regent’s men entered the room and surrounded them.
 Laurent realized that Damen had automatically fallen into a fighting stance by
his side.  He didn’t know what to make of that.
 
In short order, the soldiers had restrained Damen and were planning to leave
with him.  Laurent couldn’t let that happen.  Not only would it play into his
uncle’s plans, but now Laurent owed the man a debt.  He’d saved Laurent’s life.
 
After everything, he’d saved Laurent’s life.
 
With his tongue sharp as ever, he ordered Damen released, had the men set to
removing the bodies from his room, and had arranged for the privacy he so
desperately needed.  He’d collapsed against the wall as they worked, trying to
make the movement seem like a casual lean instead of alerting anyone in the
room to the fact that he could barely stand.  Then, it was Damen and Laurent
alone in the room once more.
 
Laurent watched him warily, reminding himself that everything he knew of the
man before him said he would not take advantage.  Still, that was no guarantee,
and this was not something Laurent wanted to gamble with.
 
“You’re wounded.”  Damen looked like he wanted to step forward and search out
the wound, but Laurent’s gaze kept him pinned in place.
 
“No,” Laurent said tersely.  “If you mean excluding your attempt to break my
arm.”
 
Damen did mean so.  He finally took a step forward, then stopped again at
whatever he’d seen flash in Laurent’s eyes.  “I would prefer you to stand
further away.”  He would prefer if Damen’s movement forward hadn’t made his
heart nearly burst with terror.  He would prefer if his erection wasn’t
throbbing painfully, slowly stealing his reason.
 
“Not wounded.  Poisoned.”  Damen had finally seen the goblet.
 
“You can restrain your delight.  I am not going to die from it,” Laurent said
flatly.  He wondered how long it would take Damen to figure out exactly what
he’d been drugged with.  And what would happen when he did.  As if reading his
thoughts, Damen lifted the goblet and inspected it.
 
“It’s an Akielon drug.  It’s given to pleasure slaves, during training.  It
makes them-”
 
“I am aware of the effects of the drug,” Laurent cut him off icily.  He did not
need the symptoms his body was currently suffering listed off.  There was a
strange pause, and then something stole over Damen’s face that Laurent hadn’t
seen before.  It was something close to glee.
 
“It wears off.”  He paused, barely suppressing a smile.  “After a few hours.”
 There was another pause. Laurent had no intention of engaging him, not when he
was like this.  Not when Laurent was so utterly vulnerable and Damen seemed so
volatile.  “Think I’m going to take advantage?”  He took a step forward, and
Laurent felt his stomach churn.  Rational thought abandoned him.  “I am.”
 Terror took hold.  Already, his body was going boneless, readying for what was
to come.  “It was good of you to clear your apartments.”  The world threatened
to swirl away, and Laurent was inclined to let it.  He did not want to be awake
for this.  He did not want to face the brutal lust of the man he’d thought had
saved him.  “I thought I’d never have the chance to get out of here.”  Damen
took another step, this one slightly to the side.
 
Laurent realized he was not advancing, but going towards the door.  He’d read
it all wrong.  Damen had no intention of taking advantage of him, only of the
situation.  He was going to try and escape while there were no guards to stop
him.  Laurent’s relief was so palpable that he almost didn’t realize that
letting Damen leave now would be a virtual death sentence.  By now, the
Regent’s guard would be everywhere.  If the slave involved in the altercation
fled, there would be no chance to try and foil the Regent’s plan.  Damen would
be judged guilty on the spot and killed.  Waylaid by the drug, Laurent wouldn’t
be there to stop it.
 
In that moment, the man before him wasn’t Damianos the Prince Killer.  He was
the unexpected savior of Laurent’s life.  Laurent found himself calling out,
stopping Damen.  Trying to explain.  “I can’t… protect you, as I am now.”  Even
to his own ears, it sounded ridiculous.
 
“Protect me,” Damen repeated, incredulous.
 
“I am aware you saved my life.”  When the admission didn’t have any effect,
Laurent tried again.  “I dislike feeling indebted to you.  Trust that, if you
don’t trust me.”
 
Even before Damen spoke, Laurent could see it was a lost cause.  Damen would
not miss his chance to escape, especially on the word of the man who’d kept him
captive.  Laurent could not physically stop him.  He wondered, briefly, if
stripping off his clothes and begging for Damen’s cock like a bitch in heat
would give him cause to stay.  Laurent laughed, realizing just how lost he was
to the drug.  “Go, then.”  Damen paused, looking back at him for a moment, then
turned and left.  
 
As soon as the door was closed, Laurent collapsed.  His back slid down the wall
until he hit the floor, uncaring of dignity or grace.  Now that he was alone,
the death-grip he’d had on his control slipped.  He felt a flush spread across
his entire body.  He ached.  The need was so acute that he thought he would go
mad from it.  A small whimper escaped his throat.  The sound was pitiful and
weak.  It was exactly how he felt.
 
For the first time in his life, Laurent considered taking himself in hand.  The
very idea had always seemed repugnant.  Everything involving sex disgusted him.
 He had no sexual desires beyond his body’s occasional natural inclinations,
and those he suppressed with an iron will.  But this desperation… he was
helpless in the face of it.  He just needed to relieve a little of the
pressure, needed to clear his head enough to plan.  He would need to wake the
council members if he stood any chance of saving Damen-  When he looked down,
he saw his hand had slid inside his pants and was so close to his cock that he
could feel the heat of it.  Slowly, against his will, he closed the distance.
 His long fingers wrapped around himself and gripped.
 
He thought of his uncle’s hand on him this way and his stomach heaved.  When he
shook his head to clear it, another thought replaced that one.  Not Uncle’s
hand, but Damen’s.  It was almost as abhorrent.  Damen had killed his brother.
 Damen had taken away the only thing standing between Laurent and his uncle.
 
Damen had saved his life.  Damen had refused to rape a child, even at risk to
himself.  Damen had looked at him in the bath, had grown aroused while he had
Laurent alone, but had stopped because Laurent hadn’t wanted it.  Damen had
sacrificed his pride the the sake of a few slaves.  Damen had fought by his
side, protecting him.  Damen had known Laurent was helpless to a pleasure drug
and hadn’t thought to use that for sexual gratification or even revenge.  
 
Laurent’s hand was sliding over himself now, stroking instinctively.  He
thought of how Damen had looked after the match with Govart, glistening and
triumphant with success.  Of the gentleness with which he’d treated Erasmus.
 Laurent thought of Damen’s seeming boundless strength, restrained to
tenderness, used not with violence but with-
 
He cried out as his body pulsed and the nightshirt he wore was suddenly
streaked with white.  There was barely a pause before his stomach clenched,
heaved, and he vomited on the floor.  He clawed desperately at the shirt,
ripping it off and tossing it away in revulsion.  On shaking hands, Laurent
crawled away from the mess and then curled up in a ball on the floor.  He would
allow himself a moment to be weak.  To hate himself, hate the world around him.
 The tears fell unchecked.  Just a moment, that was all he could have.  Then,
there was work to be done.
 
***
 
The drug still lingered in his system as he sent servants to rouse the council.
 Herode arrived first, and after the discussion they’d had so recently, it took
little persuasion to get him to give the guard his medallion and send them
after Damen.  Herode’s support wouldn’t last long, but it would be enough to
keep Damen from being executed on sight.
 
As the other councillors arrived, Laurent let the coming discussion play out in
his mind.  He foresaw the moves his uncle would make, what he would do to
counter them, how he would be boxed neatly into a corner.  He allowed himself
to be bitter that Damen’s refusal to trust him had forced his hand this way.
 He’d needed more time before things got this far, hadn’t made all the
preparations he’d wanted yet-  But he could not blame Damen for running.  Was
there anyone in this world that Laurent would be willing to trust?
 
The group was gathered, and the battle between uncle and nephew commenced, the
council standing as unwitting spectators ready to side with whoever drew the
most blood.
 
By the time Damen arrived, it was nearly finished.  The Regent saw, after two
foiled attempts, his chance to finally be rid of the prince.  He moved in for
the kill.  There was nothing Laurent could do to prevent it.  Revealing the
truth behind the attacks would result in war.  Refusing to go to Delfeur would
strip him of all support from the council.  Trying to drag the negotiations any
longer would cost Damen his life.  The pieces moved across the chessboard.
 Laurent’s fell.  Check.
 
“Come,” the Regent extended his hand, eyes glittering with dark satisfaction.
 Laurent knew what he wanted.  He would not give it to him.  Instead, he
dropped a single knee and bowed his head.  Denied, but still gloating, the
Regent presented a ring on his hand.  “Kiss it.”  Bile rose in Laurent’s
throat, but he lowered his lips to the ring and pressed them, briefly, to the
stone.  It was not a boot.  It was not a cock.  He could survive this.  His
breath came in slow, even draws that were hard earned.  The hand rose, then
stroked through Laurent’s hair.  He froze.  If he moved even a muscle, he would
reach for his uncle’s throat.  The horrific touch continued, lingering as soft,
slow words were spoken.  The last of them rang in his ears over and over again.
  You were such a lovely boy .
 
He felt as though his shame was on display for the entire room to see.  As if
they could tell how low Laurent had been brought back then, what unspeakable
things had been done to him.  What he had submitted to.  Then the Regent pulled
his hand away and reality came rushing back.  No one knew.  No one could ever
know.  Not only for his own dignity, but for his uncle’s sake as well.  His
secret was safe.
 
The room cleared, leaving only Laurent and Damen.  Laurent wanted time to
compose himself further.  Wanted to put everything aside until the distaste of
kissing his uncle’s ring was washed away.  Instead, he rounded on Damen.  He
and his slave had things to discuss.
***
***
Laurent wondered later, as Damen’s words bounced around inside his head, if the
very thing which the Regent had hoped to break Laurent with might be the piece
he needed to gain an advantage.   If you could beat your uncle on your own, you
would have done it already.   The words were true.  He’d won battles, over the
years, but the Regent seemed impossible to defeat.  They were, at best, evenly
matched.  They would circle each other until someone made a mistake.  Like
that, there was no way to predict who would win.
 
The events of the last months played in Laurent’s mind over and over again.  It
distracted him from precious time he could have spent planning, plotting,
seeking support.  Instead, he was focusing on Damen’s actions.
 
Laurent, a man who’d never wasted time on supposition or idle daydreams,
wondered if Auguste and Damen might have been friends had their nations not
been at war.  In many ways, they were alike.  They saw the path to truth and
justice in a straight line, treated others with a rigid sense of honor, and
prized integrity in all things.  Perhaps they could have been lovers.  But no,
Auguste had preferred women.  What would Damen have thought of Laurent, then?
 Would he still have been attracted to him, his friend’s younger brother?  If-
If Laurent had not been ruined, he might have been softer, sweeter.  He might
have been flattered by Damen’s interest.  Damen could have courted him, in that
straightforward way of his, and because there would be no reason to doubt,
Laurent would believe him if he said that he cared.  Damen might have been the
one to take his innocence.  Gently.  Lovingly.  There would have been nothing
to fear, despite Damen’s power.  It would have been used to bring him pleasure,
not pain.
 
For the first time not under the influence of a drug, Laurent had an erection.
 He slammed the door on those foolish thoughts and fought waves of nausea at
his body’s reaction.  That was not the world they lived in, and it never would
be.  It did not matter in what ways Damen and Auguste were alike because Damen
had killed him, and that forever separated Laurent and Damen.  Laurent was
frigid, and it was Damen’s fault.  If they ever fucked, it would be because he
was pretty, not because Damen cared for him.  It would not be done gently and
lovingly.  Damen would bend him over and take his pleasure.  He wouldn’t try to
hurt Laurent, no, because he was not that kind of man, but that would be the
extent of his consideration.
 
Perhaps… perhaps that was the best someone like Laurent could hope for.
 
Frustrated with himself for circling back to that thought again, Laurent stood
and paced his rooms.  Even here, which had always been an untouched place for
him, was now saturated with thoughts of Damen.  If he looked closely, he could
still see the bloodstains on the floor from when he’d been attacked.  Damen had
protected him.  It had been thoughtless for him.   Laurent had been unarmed,
alone against three men, so of course Damen had defended him.  They were
enemies; Laurent had seen Damen flogged within an inch of his life, debased
him, forced sexual activity on him, humiliated him for no other reason than it
was fun.  And Damen had defended him.  Because it was the  right  thing to do.
 
Laurent’s thoughts again turned to Auguste.  Pain struck him, and he pushed it
away.
 
Damen was a powerful tool.  He was strong, smart, and a leader of men.  He was
loyal and honest.  Laurent could not trust him, no - he trusted no one.  But he
could trust that Damen would do what was just, and what was right for his
country.  For now, that meant helping Laurent.
 
Maybe, just maybe, if they could work together, they stood a chance of success.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chastillon held nothing but bad memories for Laurent.  The last time he’d been
in the fort, his uncle had brought him with the object of carrying out some of
his more depraved tastes in relative privacy that the palace did not afford.
 They had come several times, those first two years.  Before Laurent had grown
cold, before he could no longer be made to squirm from pain.  
 
When he heard that he was to be housed that night in the Regent’s chambers,
he’d nearly demanded they find him a different room.  He’d spent enough time in
his uncle’s rooms for a lifetime.  He would never again enter them willingly.
 But the Regent was back in the capital, and there was nothing for Laurent to
fear in that bed.  No one was waiting for him in it.  In a flash, he had
decided it was time to start reclaiming.  He needed to stop thinking of his
uncle as the monster that haunted his dreams, but instead as a man that could
be beaten.  Laurent would not let their past affect his actions now.  
 
After what seemed like hours of trying to get Govart to tell him whatever
blackmail it was he had on the Regent, Laurent returned to the fort.  In the
Regent’s rooms - Laurent’s rooms, now - Damen was waiting for him.  He
dismissed the guard and sat down, knowing that he would be getting no sleep
this night.  Just because he was going to stay in these rooms to prove a point
to himself, did not mean he would be in any way capable of sleeping in that
bed.
 
Damen studied him, seemed surprised that Laurent was willing to be alone with
him.  It was an expression of trust, not in the man himself, no, but in trust
of his character, that Laurent handed him a knife.  Or perhaps, it was some
reckless self-destruction.  If a man like Damen could kill him like this, it
seemed the polite thing to do was walk into the blade.  But of course, Damen
was unwilling to hurt him.  They seemed to have called a truce of sorts.  They
couldn’t trust each other, didn’t like each other, but for the moment they were
allies in a common cause.  When it was over, when they reached the border,
things would be different.  Then, when Damen was handed a blade, Laurent would
have one of his own.
 
He wondered, idly, why the thought of killing Damen unsettled him so.  His
uncle and even the guards had said more than once that they thought him
infatuated.  His head turned by his first taste of cock.  The Regent had even
had the audacity to claim that Damen had taken his innocence.  Laurent wondered
if it wasn’t the opposite.  Damen never took.  He only seemed to give back, and
when no one would have blamed him to act otherwise.
 
When the time came, his will to live and desire to see his uncle fall would
have to war with his self-hatred and his steadily growing care for the
wellbeing of the man who would be fighting him.  
 
***
 
The trek north was far different than it might have been, had Damen not come.
 The Regent’s men, who had no respect for Laurent, at least respected the
strength of Damen.  And Laurent’s own men gave him grudging support, despite
what they assumed he was doing with their prince.  If not for the interference
of Govart - on the Regent’s orders, of course - they might have stood a chance
of becoming a decent troupe.  Instead, they were struggling to keep at a steady
pace.  
 
Laurent did not want to kill Govart.  At least not until he discovered whatever
blackmail he had on the Regent.  Still, that was a single endgame that would be
worthless if Laurent got killed at soon as they reached the border.  Something
would have to be done sooner.
 
The servant from the keep had been eager for gold, even if Govart was not a man
she would have gladly bedded otherwise.  Laurent sent her to the stable and
waited.  Then, he had Govart summoned.  He had a show to put on.
 
Provoking the thug had been simple enough.  Govart  hated Laurent.  The fact
that Auguste’s honor had been called into question grated on Laurent’s nerves,
but he would soon have restitution for it.  He wondered, as he circled Govart
and let him grow more and more foolish in his fighting, how many of the men in
the troupe thought he had fucked his brother.  Just because they weren’t all
suicidal enough to say it out loud like Govart, didn’t mean that they weren’t
thinking it.  He remembered years ago when the Regent had used spreading that
rumor as a threat.  Laurent would have done anything to prevent it.  He  had
done  unspeakable things.  And still, the idea had spread insidiously through
the army.  He wondered if Damen suspected it.
 
Later, after he’d beaten Govart and had him turned off,  Damen found him and
voiced his suspicion that Laurent had arranged the spectacle.  Laurent didn’t
see a reason to deny it.  Honest, straight-forward Damen was aghast.  “You
broke a man today.  Doesn’t that affect you at all?  These are lives, not chess
pieces in a game with your uncle.”
 
“You’re wrong.  We are on my uncle’s board and these men are all his pieces.”
 Laurent knew Damen didn’t understand that, could not conceive the twisted way
the Regent thought, how little he valued life - even that of his own family.
 
“Then each time you move one of them, you can congratulate yourself on how much
like him you are.”
 
Laurent froze.  He knew the truth of those words.  He’d thought them himself
many times.  They were cut from the same cloth, a matched set in depravity and
cold-heartedness.  So why did it hurt so much to hear Damen say them?  Why did
it feel like the cut of a knife that Damen thought he and the Regent were the
same?  
 
Damen did not know the extent of the Regent’s actions.  Then again, even if he
did, perhaps he would still think they were the same.  He likely thought
Laurent had fucked his brother, so why not his uncle as well?  Something dark
and bitter churned in his gut.  He wanted…  If things were different, then
perhaps he could be more like Damen.  He could do as Damen went on to suggest,
earn the men’s loyalty, let them come to trust him naturally, but-
 
“ There isn’t time .”  Not to gain the men’s respect, and not to change all the
things about himself that they both hated.  He wanted to scream at the
unfairness of it, but that wouldn’t change a damn thing.  “There isn’t time,”
he repeated, then tried to explain, imparted a little of his plan to Damen.  He
didn’t owe the man any explanation, but he found himself wanting to give it
anyway.  In the end, Damen agreed to help him, but it was clear he wasn’t sure
Laurent was up to the task.  Laurent was determined to prove him wrong.
 
***
 
The next day, Laurent addressed the men.  He appointed Jord new Captain and
bought himself two more weeks to prepare the men.  Jord wasted no time putting
the soldiers to work, training them hard that day.  Laurent worked right
alongside them.  No one would have any reason to claim the prince was shirking
his duty or taking it easy.
 
That night Laurent, Damen, and Jord sat together to discuss what they had
accomplished and what yet needed to be done.  It seemed possible.  After Jord
left, Damen floundered for a moment, as if unsure he was welcome in the tent,
despite the fact that they had been sharing a sleeping space since leaving the
palace.  He said something about going out and tending his armor, but Laurent
told him to bring it in instead.  Damen obeyed, sitting down and keeping his
eyes steadily on the straps he was inspecting.
 
“What do you think of Jord?” Laurent asked suddenly.  Laurent had known the man
far longer than Damen, but Damen was a natural leader of men.  The fact that
he’d suggested Almeric be the one turned off instead of Lazar after their
altercation told Laurent that he was a rational judge of soldier, even when
other choices would be easier.
 
“I like him.  You should be pleased with him.   He was the right choice of
Captain.”
 
Simple, honest words.  Damen spoke his mind without artifice.  That alone
proved what Laurent said next.  “No, you were.”  Damen was shocked.  The men
wouldn’t follow him because of his nationality, he insisted.  And it was partly
true.  The soldiers respected his strength, but that didn’t mean they would be
willing to take orders from him. Not yet, anyway, and there wasn’t time to
surpass that hurdle.  Still, he wished that he could use Damen to his best
advantage.  When he said as much, Damen seemed taken aback.  He claimed that
Laurent surprised him, that he continued to do so.  Laurent laughed and
returned the sentiment.
 
There was a comfortable pause before Damen asked what the second reason Laurent
could not appoint him captain was.   It took Laurent a moment to be able to
answer that one in the same detached tone he’d spoken of everything else in.
 
“The men think you bend me over inside this tent.  It would erode my authority.
 My carefully cultivated authority.”  It was true, and Damen had to know it,
but the look on his face was one of shock.  Surely he knew Laurent was aware of
what the men thought.  “Now I have really surprised you.  Perhaps if you were
not a foot taller, or quite so broad across the shoulders-”
 
“It’s considerably less than a foot,” Damen interrupted him.  Did talk of
fucking Laurent make Damen uncomfortable?  Good.  Laurent didn’t like being
thought of that way, either, but he still had to live with it.  They could both
be uncomfortable with the scrutiny their unconventional relationship received.
 
“Is it?  It feels like more when you argue with me on points of honor.”  It
did.  Always.  Damen had the habit of reminding Laurent continually that he was
the bigger man, both physically and morally.  It was exhausting, almost as much
as the daily physical fatigue he received training along with the men.
 
Again, the uncomfortable look was back on Damen’s face.  “I want you to know,
that I haven’t done anything to encourage the idea that I- that you and I-”
 
Laurent scoffed and dismissed the idea.  Damen would have found it
dishonorable  to try and use the rumor to discredit Laurent, and it never would
have occurred to him to lie just to be cruel.  That knowledge was what gave
Laurent the courage to make his next request.  He rose and asked Damen to
undress him.
 
The confining laces that were his everyday armor came off far easier with the
help of another, but that wasn’t the reason he’d begun asking Damen to attend
him.  Originally, it had been a test of them both.  Of Damen’s honor, and of
Laurent’s control of his fears and willpower.  Yes, there was still a thread of
degradation in it - Damen doing the work of a slave undressing his master - but
that had long since fallen away.  Somehow Damen never did anything the way a
slave would.  Even serving Laurent, it felt more like the way a lover would
than a slave might.
 
When he was down to his undershirt, Damen turned away and Laurent took the
unobserved moment to try and ease the tension in his shoulders.  He felt as
though he’d spent the last seven years in a state of perpetual tension.  All of
that had culminated in the last several weeks, and though there was some
release in the honest physical exertion of training, there was also pain with
it.  Laurent was not naturally physically capable like Damen.  He had to fight
tooth and nail for the strength he’d gained.  It wore on him, just like
everything else.
 
With effort, he schooled his features once more and turned to Damen.  The
pseudo-slave was glaring at him as if Laurent had offended him.  What, he
wondered, could he have possibly done in the thirty seconds since they’d last
spoken?  Laurent had been open and honest with him, moreso than he was with
almost anyone else.  What more could Damen ask from him?
 
His freedom…
 
Laurent pushed the thought aside.  He would have to face it soon enough, but in
the meantime, Damen was still his slave, and Laurent refused to quell at
Damen’s glare.  He returned it with one of his own, got into bed, and forced
himself to get the sleep he so desperately needed.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
     We pick up here at page 62 and go through to page 167. Youre going to
     notice that we start making bigger and bigger jumps in the book, as
     most of this part of the story is politics and war, which is written
     in depth in the books and doesnt need expanded.
     A quick run down of events in this part of the book: Aimeric and Jord
     hook up, Laurent and Damen ride into town and they visit the brothel
     then the tavern, Damen meeting up with Charls, the troupe being
     ambushed (and Orlant being blamed), more travelling, arriving at
     Acquitart, Laurent and Damen being smuggled into Vask, and some
     sexytimes had by Damen there.
The two weeks extra they had to train the troupe went by precariously fast.
 Laurent’s plans were falling into place, but not without effort.  He and Damen
had needed to go into the closest town to meet with the messenger, and then
subterfuge was the only way to do so without being followed.
 
Laurent was surprised, in spite of all the ways Damen had proved himself in the
past, at how readily he complied with Laurent.  How well he protected him.
 There was no telltale fear being alone in the room with Damen, even in the
rough-and-tumble tavern where no one would come running if he were to scream.
 He and Damen could… talk.  
 
It was a novel thing for Laurent, who’d not had a confidant since Auguste’s
death.  The irony that it would come again in the form of Auguste’s killer was
not lost on him.  Still, he was weak enough to take his respite where he could,
and their conversation flowed easily.  Listening to Damen talk about his
brother’s betrayal sent a strange bolt of sympathy through Laurent.  There was
no sense in comparing the two situations, and doing so would only bring
bitterness, but Laurent could admit that in so many ways, losing a beloved
brother to betrayal was worse than losing him to a war.  Auguste had died, but
Laurent had never doubted his love and loyalty.  Having to accept that his
brother had betrayed him, killed their father and then sent him away to a fate
worse than death… Laurent knew he would not have survived such a thing.
 Perhaps he hadn’t survived his own fate - not in any way worth surviving - but
he had his brother’s memory, and that was worth more than his own life.
 
The conversation turned, and this time, Laurent was glad it did, even though
the subject turned to sex.  Usually he avoided talk of sex at all costs, but he
supposed all things were relative.  And Damen’s question seemed drawn from
honest curiosity rather than any attempt to gain advantage or taunt.
 
“I’m not a virgin,” he said, feeling ridiculous for even having to clarify even
though he understood why Damen might wonder.  If only he knew…
 
“I wondered, if you reserved your love for women.”
 
Laurent’s brows drew together at the flawed logic.  “No, I-”  Of course that
was what Damen would have thought.  Not that Laurent had been born frigid, or
that all sensuality had been raped out of him by his deviant uncle.  Just that
he preferred women instead.  Laurent almost wished he did.  He looked over
Damen and had the fleeting thought that had anything of his old self survived
those years in his uncle’s bed, Laurent would likely have preferred men.  And
he might have preferred men like Damen.  What a ridiculous notion.  He laughed.
 “No.”
 
“Have I said something to offend you?  I didn’t mean-”
 
“No.”  It was so innocent, his hesitance at the thought that he might have hurt
Laurent’s sensibilities in some way, that Laurent decided to offer him what
small consolation he could.  He explained that Jokaste had picked Kastor not
because of any flaw in Damen’s character, but because it was strategic.  It was
what he would have done, if the situations were reversed.  Pick the easier man
to control, the weaker man.
 
Damen protested - Laurent didn’t know Kastor, he couldn’t be sure that was why.
 But Laurent didn’t need to know Kastor.  Knowing Damen was enough.
 
As if shocked into silence, Damen didn’t say anything more.  Laurent got
himself more comfortable in the bed, watching Damen settle against the pallet
of blankets he’d laid by the fire.  He thought back to what he’d just said -
that he would have made the same choice Jokaste had.  And wondered if that was
really true.  If he didn’t know Damen as he did, if he wasn’t sure of his sense
of honor, of justice, if he hadn’t seen first hand the strength of him and the
fortitude of the man, then maybe he would have picked Kastor.  But now that he
did  know Damen…
 
If he had to pick between submitting himself to a treacherous fool for behind
the scenes control and security, or standing beside Damen and fighting with him
as an equal… it seemed that perhaps he would make a different choice, after
all.
 
Several hours later, when they were trapped on the balcony of the room next to
theirs, listening to the men sent after him mistake the local drunk and the
tavern prostitute for the two of them, Laurent could only laugh.  He was
pressed against Damen’s body, adrenaline and something that might have been
mild hysteria coursing through him.  He felt… almost…  aroused .  He kept
shifting against the solid wall of Damen’s body, taking an almost sick glee in
being able to do so without worrying that Damen would take advantage.  Had he
ever been that comfortable with anyone other than Auguste?
 
No, he hadn’t.  It was liberating.  Twisted, terrifying still, inappropriate
considering the very real danger they were in, and yet he almost felt giddy
with it.  He felt Damen’s cock stir against him and wanted to provoke him
further.  Wanted to see just how far he could push-
 
Perhaps the constant strain and exhaustion was getting to him, addling his
senses and robbing him of reason.  Still, the fact that there was a person at
all whom he could feel that way with was a revelation to him.  When it came
time for them to split up, Laurent was almost reluctant for them to part.  He
knew, logically, that Damen could have left several times if that had been his
plan.  There was nothing tying him to Laurent but good intentions and a desire
to thwart war.  Those things wouldn’t change if they were parted, and yet,
Laurent didn’t want Damen to leave his side.  Had he become accustomed to the
other prince’s presence?  Had he come to find some strange sort of comfort in
having the hulking man constantly by his side?
 
Foolish, foolish sentiment.  He sent Damen away and continued on, forcing
himself to acknowledge that despite this new and unexpected discovery, nothing
had changed between them, and the plan had to proceed uninterrupted.
 
***
 
The night in the Vaskian camp brought Laurent’s confusing jumble of feelings
into more startling, and relieved, clarity.  He’d watched from across the fire,
as Damen bedded first one, then two, then half a dozen of Halvik’s women.
 
Not one of the encounters looked anything less than pleasurable for everyone
involved.  Damen seemed exactly what he was rumored to be - an open, giving
lover.  Eventually, Laurent had felt the heat of watching Damen work travel
down to his groin, and he’d excused himself to his tent.  It wasn’t as
surprising, this time, to find that he could be attracted physically to Damen.
 The sheer masculine beauty of him, combined with his inherent sense of honor
and generosity, was enough to stir Laurent’s blood.
 
No, he’d never expected to find anyone who could rouse him, and no, he’d
certainly never expected it would come in the form of his brother’s killer.
 But in those moments, it was easy to forget all the tarnished history between
them and think of Damen simply as a man.  One who had looked like some carnal
god of lust with his body moving in the firelight, a sheen of sweat making his
skin glisten as his muscles bunched and flexed.
 
It was impossible, of course.  Nothing could ever be between them. Perhaps that
was why he felt no petty jealousy for the women Damen bedded that night.
 Instead, he only felt a vague kind of joy that he was still capable of those
thoughts at all.  He was  grateful  to Damen for giving him that, for letting
him see that - though he could never act on it - he was not totally broken.

He laughed when Damen returned to the tent, drunk and sated.  They laughed
together, the banter light and easy.  Laurent’s final joke,  take me to bed ,
was met with more laughter, and he marveled at the ability to make light of
something that had for so long utterly repulsed him.  It was a change he’d
never imagined, and one he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but grateful
for.  As always, being near Damen left him feeling that the ground beneath him
was shifting, and this time, Laurent was willing to let himself be carried
along.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
     The last chapter was a little short because this one is a beast, and
     contains one of the scenes I was most looking forward to... Sexy
     times between our boys! We start at page 200 (skipping over the
     troupe arriving at Ravenel, meeting Guion, and the general dick
     waving of the men there, the attacks on the border, and jump right to
     Damen and Laurent scouting the border). I touch very briefly on the
     events after Damen saves Laurent's life (which are covered in pages
     209-304) then get back into it through the end of their first tumble
     on page 343 and bonus chapter 19.5. Its a huge chunk of the book to
     cover in a single chapter, but when you skip the battle scenes and
     arguing between various leaders, it can be distilled down to the
     important interactions between Laurent and Damen.
     Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!
The next shift left Laurent reeling, despite how accustomed he was becoming to
being surprised by Damen.
 
The chaos after the attacks at the border had left little time for any personal
revelations.  Now, he was in full battle mode, planning his every step.  He
could not make a single error at this point, or all would be lost.  They were
too close to the border, too close to the cusp of war, for anything less than
perfection.  He could only trust that Damen would continue to see serving
Laurent as the best thing for Aklieos.  And Damen had indeed lived up to that
hope.
 
The arrow that had been meant for his throat missed by inches.  If the horse
hadn’t reared when she did, it would have killed him.  Instead, he’d been
spared, only to find himself on his back in the river bank, watching his death
approach with a sword.  He had no time to roll away, no time to draw a weapon
to defend himself, no time to do anything but have a single, unfinished thought
of regret.  Then, just when the sword should have fallen against his neck, the
man standing over him was sent flying to the ground, pinned there by a
broadsword through his chest.  
 
Damen’s  broadsword.  Laurent had a moment to look up, see that Damen had
thrown  it like a javelin across the river, and then Damen was crashing to his
side, eyes wide with something like terror, his concern palpable.
 
“I saw you fall-”  His voice was low and urgent, his hands already moving over
Laurent, seeking injury.  “Are you hurt?”
 
It took Laurent a moment to reply.  He couldn’t find the words.  Damen had
killed a man for him.  Not an assassin, not another Veretian, but one of his
own countrymen.  A member of his  own  army.  Damen had put his sword through
the man’s chest because he’d been about to hurt Laurent - who he still had
every reason to want dead.  He felt shaken to his very core.  “No.  No, you got
him.  Before.”  What else could he say?  He felt his hands trembling and
castigated himself for it.  This was nothing.  So his sworn enemy had killed an
ally for him.  So his first concern had been for Laurent’s safety.
 
And yet, it was everything.  When they were taken captive that night, he could
only think of keeping Damen safe.  When Halvik offered her women to Damen
again, he couldn’t help but refuse in his stead, wanting foolishly to keep
Damen to himself.  Back at the fort once more, when Damen had gently touched
the bruise on his jaw, had said how he’d wanted to avenge that small slight,
Laurent could only stare at him in shock yet again.
 
Shifting, continually shifting.  Laurent felt as though he could never get a
solid footing.  There was no time to even try, between the betrayal of Almeric
and the taking of Ravenel, he could do no more than watch as his carefully
cultivated plans unfolded around him.  Damen was the lynchpin in them.  He was
the one who led the men, he was the one who won the battle.
 
After, when they stood on the battlements while the rest of the troupe
celebrated, Laurent finally felt as though he could catch his breath.  The
conversation he had with Damen seemed to have two very different meanings, and
when Damen said, “I wish I could have behaved to you with more honor,” Laurent
thought he could hear Damen saying, “I wish I could have met you as I am, and
not in disguise.”  And then, his offer of friendship, said in that direct and
honest way of his, nearly stole Laurent’s breath.
 
“Friends, is that what we are?”  It seemed so much more, and yet so much less.
 How could they be friends, when Damen thought Laurent didn’t even know his
identity?  They were natural enemies - and yet, they were so much  more  than
friends.  If circumstances had been different, they would have already been
lovers.  They were confidantes, unwitting and unexpected.
 
“Laurent, I am your slave.”  And there it was again, the words with so much
more meaning to them than could be interpreted by an outsider.  Damen wasn’t
his slave, not the way everyone thought.  He never had been.  Saying that, it
wasn’t an admission of his status.  It was a plea, a promise.  He was laying
himself at Laurent’s feet.  Laurent suddenly felt terrified.
 
Damen reached out, gently cupped his jaw. This time, Laurent didn’t pull away,
didn’t just stand there in wide eyed shock.  He found himself leaning ever so
slightly into the soft touch, despite his shaking hands and shuddering breaths.
 On their own, his eyes closed.  He felt Damen move infinitesimally closer,
felt the heat of him, the strength of him.  Slowly, carefully, Damen’s head
lowered to his own, and then his lips were slanting over Laurent’s.
 
He didn’t know what to do.  He’d never been kissed - not like this - and he was
so terribly uncertain, but he wanted this, wanted more, wanted, for  once  to
feel loved without the grotesque force of his uncle driving it.  He opened his
mouth slightly and Damen kissed him again, the barest hint of his tongue
flicking against Laurent’s lips, not pushing him too far or too fast.
 
If not for Jord’s inopportune interruption, Laurent thought he might have let
Damen have him right on the battlements, just to thank him for showing him what
kissing could be like.
 
And then, his own little version of hell had to be faced instead.  Aimeric was
just like the others, convinced that the Regent loved them, that he wouldn’t
betray them.  But this time, his uncle’s treachery hadn’t just hurt him, it had
caught Jord, and it had nearly cost him the fort.  The more he talked to
Aimeric, a poor mirage of every boy who’d gone to the Regent’s bed before and
since, the more his rage grew.  
 
It felt like his fault.   He  was the one who’d failed Aimeric.  Hadn’t he been
grateful when his uncle had gone out to that fort, had found a little
distraction?  Hadn’t he wished for it?  Hadn’t he felt a sliver of jealousy at
the thought of being cast aside?  Each thought scalded him more than the last
until he was a seething, writhing mass of hatred.  His anger built and built
until Damen sent everyone from the room.
 
Hours later, when he had called himself every name he knew, when he had cursed
his uncle’s existence and Aimeric’s stupidity, when he’d burned through his
anger at Jord for being taken in by him, all that was left was unresolved
tension.  He was frustrated and there was no outlet for it, no explanation for
the feelings left roiling inside of him.
 
It all came back to Damen.  Suddenly, he was angry again, this time at Damen.
 He was the one who’d woken  more  in Laurent.  Had opened him up the
possibility that he might experience pleasure instead of pain, that he might be
met with loyalty instead of betrayal.  That he might be given to willingly
instead of stolen from.  What right did he have to create those expectations,
and then abandon him to never being able to truly experience them?
 
At least Aimeric had been able to take Jord to his bed, to feel the touch of a
real lover, to know the sweet seduction of someone who  cared .  Laurent had
never felt that, and when Damen left in the morning, so would Laurent’s only
chance of experiencing it, too.
 
He went back to his rooms where Damen was waiting.  He tried to use as few
words as possible as he pushed Damen onto the bed and loosened his clothes.  It
felt unreal as his hands moved over Damen’s skin, something like fear and yet
different - anticipation? - coiling in him.  He knew how to get Damen off, knew
exactly how to bring him to release.  If he did it, would the uncertainty, the
neediness in him finally abate?  His skin felt stretched too tight, as though
every inch of it itched, and he used every bit of his considerable will to keep
his hands from shaking.
 
In minutes, Damen was panting beneath him, still putting up brief resistance,
and then he came, short and sharp.  He’d done it.  He’d serviced Damen.  It had
felt nothing like servicing his uncle, and yet, it had felt nothing like he
thought it would.  He felt… unfulfilled.  As though he should expect more, even
though every time before he had always wanted nothing more than to flee at this
point.  He wavered, thinking it would be better if he left, if he took time to
organize his mind, to sort through his thoughts - but then Damen’s voice was
huskily asking, “kiss me,” and he decided  why the hell not , and leaned in.
 
And then, it was as if the world around them slowed.  The last vestiges of
anger that had been simmering in Laurent’s blood cooled.  Damen kissed him as
Laurent imagined a lover would.  Slowly, sweetly, deeply.  He let Laurent lead,
but never left any doubt that he  wanted  this.  When his lips moved down to
Laurent’s neck, it sent a jolt of pleasure through him that left him almost
painfully aroused.  He’d never been touched like this, never felt tender kisses
and teasing strokes.
 
Damen began undressing him, slowly, carefully, pausing at increments as though
to make sure Laurent would still allow him to continue.  As if Laurent  could
stop him.  Perhaps, with Damen, he could… but he found that he didn’t want to.
 He wanted to see what this could be like, wanted to know-
 
When his shirt fell from his shoulders, Damen looked at him in shock, seeing
his nipples tight, not with the coolness of the air, but with arousal.  “Did
you think I was made of stone?”  For some reason, the idea irritated him.
 Everyone thought he was frigid - why should Damen think anything less?  And
yet, he wanted Damen to see more than that.  Perhaps his emotions showed a
fraction, because Damen’s movements slowed, and he said-
 
“Nothing you don’t want,” Damen assured in a hushed tone.  It relaxed Laurent
fractionally, and he was frustrated that it did.  He was the one who’d
initiated this.  Even if Damen was cruel, it was nothing he hadn’t experienced
before.  So why did he take such comfort in knowing that Damen wouldn't do
anything he didn’t want?  Why did it make his chest feel warm and his stomach
fill with butterflies?
 
“You think I don’t want it?”  He tried to make his voice sound haughty and
dismissive, but Damen must have caught a thread of something else in it,
because a moment later they were moving, Damen pushing Laurent back down on the
bed and rising over him.  He leaned forward, running his hand down the planes
of Laurent’s chest, over his stomach to the pale line of hair there, then
pausing at the lacing of his breeches.  There was still a thread of fear, yes,
but so much more than that as well.
 
Laurent pushed Damen back with his foot, making it clear that Damen was to
remove his boot.  It was novel,  asking  to be undressed for this, knowing what
was coming.  Damen obliged, his hands lingering on Laurent’s skin, caressing.
 Despite the pleasure of it, Laurent had to fight his initial reaction to
squirm away.  Had to remind himself that he was  choosing  this.  That he
wanted Damen.  That Damen was not the Regent, was so far from that, so
different-
 
Then the kissing shut down all thoughts of his uncle.  There was no room left
for it, not with Damen coaxing him to deeper and deeper arousal, tracing the
lines of his body in feather light touches, sliding down his pants gently,
unhurried.  Damen slipped further down the bed until his mouth was hovering
over Laurent’s cock.  For a moment, all he could think was that he wanted,
desperately, to experience this.  But then a frisson of fear went up his spine.
 If Damen did this, he would expect the favor returned, surely.  Laurent didn’t
think he could do it, didn’t think he could let Damen shove that immense length
down his throat - not without vomiting in disgust and humiliation.
 
“I am not going to reciprocate,” he interrupted.  Suddenly the formality that
he wore like a cloak was back, despite their nudity. He felt so terribly
vulnerable.
 
“What?”  Damen looked taken aback, as if he couldn’t quite understand what
Laurent was saying.
 
“I am not going to do that to you,” Laurent clarified.  Damen’s brows drew
together.
 
“And so?”
 
It could not be that simple.  Damen was a generous lover, yes, but no one was
that self-sacrificing.  It wasn’t as though this was something that could be
enjoyed  by the giving partner.  “Do you want me to suck your cock?  Because I
don’t plan to.”  He needed to make that perfectly clear.  Perhaps lust had
addled Damen’s brain.  “If you are proceeding on the expectation of
reciprocity, then you had best be forewarned that-”  Laurent’s breath left him
abruptly as Damen lowered his head and began sucking.
 
It was hot and sharp and sent flares of pleasure so intensely through Laurent
that he felt himself curl up, as if trying to condense himself into the
smallest space possible.  Damen held his hips still and continued the sweet,
selfless assault on Laurent’s senses.  It took every ounce of his willpower not
to throw his head back and cry out.  Not to buck his hips, to beg for more.
 And he  wanted  more.  He felt like he needed it more than his next breath.
 But years of forcing himself  not  to come, of associating it with only
sickening humiliation, were not so easy to dispel.  With no drug in his system
helping the matter along, it seemed that it would be impossible.  He couldn’t
let go, couldn’t relax enough to achieve that last, ultimate pleasure.
 
Damen raised his head again, and Laurent almost let out a breath of relief.  It
wasn’t going to work.  He should have known as much.  All that remained was for
Damen to mount him, and then the event would be over.  He could say that he’d
tried it.  He’d even enjoyed it, as much as someone like him was capable.
 
“I… find it difficult to let go of control,” he said softly, as if to explain.
 He felt that he somehow owed Damen that much, though he couldn’t tell him the
truth.  What would Damen think, if he blurted it out?  If he said,  I can’t
come because the last time I orgasmed with a man it was while my uncle drugged
and raped me .  It was horrifically comical to imagine.  The way Damen would
draw back in disgust, the revulsion on his face as he wiped his mouth, sickened
at having put something so tainted in it.
 
“No kidding,” Damen replied, not sounding frustrated or even disappointed.  As
always, Damen surprised him.  He looked between Damen’s legs and saw his
erection there, jutting out from his hips expectantly.  Damen hadn’t acted on
it, but the intent was there.  Laurent shuddered internally, thinking of the
last time this had happened.  Of how painful it had been, how humiliating.
 This wasn’t the same, though.  At least, Damen wouldn’t be trying to cause him
pain.  He wouldn’t be trying to degrade him, to shame him.
 
“You want to take me, as a man takes a boy.”  It wasn’t a question.  It was a
declaration of intent.  Damen’s face twisted a little.
 
“As a man takes a  man ,” he clarified.  Of course.  Damen didn’t fuck boys.
 He wanted to pleasure Laurent, wanted them both to find release-
 
“You make it sound simple.”  He didn’t want to hear Damen talk about making him
come, about the pleasure to be had.  It wasn’t as though it was a piece of
fruit that only needed to be plucked from the branch.
 
“It  is  simple.”
 
“Simpler to play the man than to roll over, I venture,” Laurent snapped at him.
 Did he not realize that no matter how gentle he was, there would still be
some  pain?  That there would always be a certain amount of degradation in
being the one used, in being the cock sleeve of another man?  Why wouldn’t he
just shut up and  do  it?  If he dawdled much longer, Laurent would lose his
courage and-
 
“Then tell me your own pleasure.  Do you think I’m just going to flip you over
and mount?”
 
Yes!  Just get it over with!   Laurent didn’t say the words, didn’t scream them
in Damen’s face as he wanted.  How could he?  There was no way to explain,
nothing he could say that didn’t sound like an admission that he didn’t  want
it at all.  But he did.  Didn’t he?  “Is that what you want?”  Damen’s voice
was soft and low, startled in the realization that it might be true.  Laurent
struggled to control his breathing, struggled to make his mind function in any
fraction of its normal capacity.  Fear and arousal and excitement and terror
were clouding his every thought.
 
“I want-”  What did he really want?  “I want it to be simple.”  Perhaps, what
he really wanted, was for the last seven years to be undone.  What he wanted
was to be able to meet Damen in bed as a man, whole and unspoiled.  To be able
to take pleasure in this the way Damen would.  But he knew that was impossible.
 
“Turn over,” Damen ordered softly.  Laurent’s eyes snapped to his face.  How
many times had he heard those exact words?  And yet, they were so different.
 Damen looked calm, relaxed, determined.  There was no malice, no spite, no
uncontrolled lust.  Could Laurent do as he asked, knowing what was coming?
 Could he present himself to Damen in his most vulnerable state, practically
begging to be defiled?  
 
Laurent closed his eyes and turned over.
 
He wanted to give this to Damen, despite what it would take from him.  He laid
with his stomach pressed to the bed and spread his thighs, fighting with
everything in him not to tremble violently.  He could do this.  He’d survived
it before, hadn’t he?  And this would be different.  Not the mechanics, no, but
Damen  cared  for Laurent.  Surely that had to mean something.
 
Damen’s hand slid from his hips to his ribs and Laurent flinched, his breathing
becoming ragged.  He felt, shamefully, that he might burst into tears.  He
refused.  He just had to bite his tongue and get through this.  He wanted this.
 His cock was still hard beneath him.   It  wanted this.  Why couldn’t his mind
catch up?
 
“You’re so tense.  Are you sure you’ve done this before?”
 
“Yes-” he bit off the word, trying to push away the feeling that accompanied
the thought of all the things he’d done before.  The smell of sweat and blood,
the taste of bile on his tongue-
 
“ This .”  Damen pressed his fingers lightly into the cleft of Laurent’s ass
and he had to fight not to let out a cry and jerk away.  Penetration.  Yes,
Laurent had been penetrated.  Ravaged, defiled, filled to the brim-
 
“Yes.”
 
“But - wasn’t it-”
 
“Will you  stop talking about it !”  Whatever Damen thought it should have
been, it wasn’t.  It was nothing like anything Damen’s innocent mind could
conceive.  Laurent didn’t want to be reminded.  He didn’t want to think about
his uncle and the twisted games he had made Laurent play.  He didn’t want those
memories mixed up with this, with Damen and the things he made Laurent feel.
 Even as he spoke, Damen was kissing up Laurent’s neck, pressing his lips
almost reverently to Laurent’s skin.
 
Damen was the antithesis of the Regent.  Laurent  knew  that.  The fact that he
was turning Laurent over, searching his face for any sign of reluctance, was
proof enough.  Damen’s eyes landed on Laurent’s cock, still flushed and
wanting.  It didn’t make sense to him, that Laurent could want him so much and
yet be so reluctant.
 
“Contrary, aren’t you?” he asked, brushing his thumb over Laurent’s flushed
cheek.
 
“Fuck me.”
 
“I want to.  Can you let me?”
 
Laurent closed his eyes, wishing that it could be different.  Wishing that  he
could be different.  But nothing would change who and what he was.  “I  am
letting you.  Will you get on with it?”  He thought, if he could just get past
this, if Damen could just put aside his compassion and tenderness for long
enough to shove it in and get it over with- but then Damen was  holding his
hand .
 
All the things Laurent had seen and done, and now that one little gesture of
affection felt like his undoing.  His breath caught, then was mingled with
Damen’s as he was kissed, slowly and sweetly.  It was enough to remind him that
he  didn’t  just want Damen to roll him over and fuck him.  He didn’t want to
be mounted like a bitch in heat, rutted against and then discarded.  With
Damen, he wanted  more .
 
Suddenly feeling a little more in control of himself, Laurent had the presence
of mind to pass Damen the oil he’d brought with him.  Not taking his eyes away
from Laurent, Damen slicked his fingers and slowly slid one inside.
 
It was… different, than Laurent remembered.  It was over-full even with just
that one finger, uncomfortable but not painful.  His breath hitched and he
found that when Damen kissed him, it was almost pleasant.  His cock throbbed,
untouched between them.  Almost against his will, his body began to relax.  One
finger became two.  Their kiss deepened.  Despite his lingering fear, despite
every reason he had to hate this, Laurent found his leg drawing up, making more
room for Damen.  
 
The fingers inside him curled gently, creating a pleasurable pressure that made
Laurent want to moan.  How could this feel so good?  He knew, logically, that
coupling had to be pleasant for both partners most of the time, else half the
population would swear off the act entirely-  Even still, it shocked him that
not only could he endure the stretch of Damen’s fingers inside him, he could
enjoy  it.  How was it possible?  It had always been so brutally invasive
before, so degrading, so  painful …  But then, the Regent had never been as
gentle as Damen was, not to mention that Laurent was older, his body larger.
 The thought made him cringe.
 
“I need to be inside you,” Damen whispered.  There was nothing but desire and
need, leashed tightly for Laurent’s sake.  It was a request, not a demand, and
that alone made Laurent want to let him, despite the thrum of panic that swept
through him at the thought.  Damen was so much  bigger -
 
“Yes.”  He forced out his agreement and pushed the fear back.  He  wanted
this, and every tiny slide forward of Damen felt like a reclamation of who he
once was.  Of what he could have been.  There was pressure, incredible
pressure, as the head of Damen’s cock pushed against him, but at the slight
easing of his body on a long, slow kiss, it slipped in without pain.  There was
burning heat, and friction despite the slick of the oil, but no stabbing
discomfort like he’d always known before.  Damen continued the ingress, not
with a brutal shove, but with short, shallow thrusts designed to let him
acclimate to the invasion.  It was gentle, it was considerate, it was driving
Laurent mad.  He could feel himself building, the tension in him rising, every
reluctance being swept away by pleasure.  And pleasure it was.  Like nothing
he’d ever experienced before, it ran riot through him, giving him what he’d
always felt impossible.  His body wound tighter and tighter as Damen
surrendered his weight forward, the taut, over heated skin of his abdomen
trapping Laurent’s cock between them and providing delicious friction.
 
It was almost more than he could bear, the continual building towards something
that he didn’t know if he could achieve, the emotions tearing through him and
leaving him feeling weak, out of control.  Perhaps it was that loss of control.
 Perhaps it was the way Damen whispered his name reverently, desperately, the
ragged words in his native tongue professing the wild need for him to find
release, almost a plea for Laurent to allow it.
 
“Yes, come inside me,” he gasped.  His body shuddered violently, jagged shards
of pleasure lancing him through again and again as his cock pulsed between
them. He felt the swell of Damen complying, reaching his own orgasm
simultaneously like something out of a story, the feel of it bringing Laurent,
impossibly, sharper pleasure.
 
Slowly, slowly, the clenching of his body began to ease and Laurent felt the
haze that had overtaken his mind start to clear.  Damen was nuzzling his neck,
pressing feather light kisses to the sweat dampened skin there.  It was
achingly sweet.  Old feelings of distaste tried to rise but Laurent was far too
sated for them to make full discord.  Still, the feel of Damen’s release
slicking his insides was unsettling.  He pushed at Damen’s shoulder and was
pleased when Damen easily shifted away.
 
In the alcove across the room, Laurent cleaned himself.  If the copious streaks
of his own ejaculate painting his stomach were not enough to speak of how
different this encounter had been to any before it, the state of Laurent’s body
was .  His legs were heavy and his hips felt loose, but there was no pain.  No
blood had streaked the cloth he’d cleaned himself with.  No welts crossed his
thighs.  Pleasure still buzzed pleasantly along his veins.
 
Feeling relaxed and more than a little satisfied, Laurent managed to only put
on his shirt as he returned to the bed carrying a cloth that it turned out
Damen did not need.  The savage had wiped himself with his own shirt.  Laurent
fought the urge to roll his eyes indulgently.  

“Come back to bed,” Damen murmured, his voice still sounding like sex and sin.
 
 
“I-” Laurent hesitated.  It was one thing to bear standing before the man he’d
just bedded so vulnerably dressed.  But Damen wanted him back under the
blankets with him?  For what?  Surely even Damen couldn’t fuck again so soon,
and that just left-
 
Damen tugged at his hand, sending Laurent half sprawling across him.  If not
for one hand braced on his shoulder, Laurent would have landed chest to chest
against him.  Unwittingly, his eyes were drawn to the firm muscles of Damen’s
chest.  He swallowed.
 
As they bantered, he let himself be drawn onto the bed beside Damen.  It felt…
nice, to be able to open himself up, in however small an extent, to someone he
could trust.  And somehow, despite everything that stood between them, he  did
trust Damen.  Only minutes ago, he’d shown yet again that his trust was
deserved.  He had not wiped away years of abuse with that one act, but he’d
shown Laurent just how much  more  there could be.
 
How much more he wanted.
 
“I’m not afraid of sex,” he suddenly said out loud.  Damen blinked at him, not
having followed the trail of his silent thoughts.  He could not have been
expected to, without the knowledge of Laurent’s past.  Still, he spread his
arms in invitation.
 
“Then you can do as you like.”
 
It was an offer that Laurent could not refuse.  He was building something here.
 Not something meant to last, not anything they could plan the future on, but a
memory that he would carry with him for the rest of his life.  Proof,
undeniable, irrefutable, that not all men fucked the way his uncle did.  That
Laurent was not too broken to feel pleasure.  That he could overcome, in this
small way, what had been done to him.
 
“Don’t touch me,” he ordered Damen.  To his relief, Damen relaxed onto the bed
yet further, his hands opened non threateningly.  He was laid bare before
Laurent, unashamed and willing to let Laurent have his way.  It made Laurent
all the more eager to explore.  That this man, endlessly strong and
effortlessly commanding, would so proudly submit to Laurent’s ministrations…
 It was enough to make Laurent’s breath catch.
 
He explored the lines and planes of Damen’s body, marvelling at the taut
muscles and patches of rough, dark hair.  Eventually, his eyes dropped down to
the scar that Auguste had put there.  Something twisted in Laurent’s stomach
unpleasantly.  It was a physical reminder of his brother on his lover’s skin,
somehow both appealing and abhorrent.
 
Laurent was again struck by how similar the two men were.  Of the fact that,
under different circumstances, Auguste and Damen might have been friends.  For
the first time, he felt anger, not that Damen had taken his brother from him,
but that all of them had been thrust into that situation to begin with.  Damen
and Auguste had not started that war.  It had been raging long before their
births, and even the events of that day had been set in motion by others.  One
of them had to fall.  Laurent had spent years wishing bitterly that it had been
Damen’s lifeblood spilt at Marlas.  Now he could not so readily wish the same.
 
He distracted himself from the uncomfortable thought by bringing up his plans
to remove Damen’s collar in the morning, but it did not put as much distance
between them as he’d thought it would.  Instead, he was kissing Damen a moment
later.
 
It was almost a shock to find Damen hard again.  A third time in a single eve?
 But he’d seen Damen go twice that many times before, so perhaps it was not so
strange.  After all, Damen was young and virile, not at all like the Regent.
 And as if he needed yet more proof of their disparances, the fact that Damen
was choosing not to act on his arousal was yet another difference between them.
 Damen was content to let Laurent lead, content not to push.
 
And so when Damen’s hand rose to rest on Laurent’s hip, he allowed the contact.
 It was not demanding.  It did not bruise.  It caressed.  Damen raised himself
enough to press feather light kisses to Laurent’s skin.  He shuddered with
pleasure.  To be treated so gently, touched so reverently… It was almost beyond
Laurent’s ability to handle.  He realized he was painfully hard, his erection
making the shirt tent obscenely, but couldn’t bring himself to care.  He
pressed his hips closer to Damens, catching his lips and letting the simple
pleasure of it streak through him.  
 
He let it roll over him in waves that ebbed and flowed, cresting each time
Damen’s tongue stroked his own.  The slide of their cocks together with nothing
but thin cotton separating them was driving Laurent mad, breaking his careful
control.  He felt awed by the tenderness of Damen’s touches, laid utterly bare
at the open, honest affection in his eyes.
 
Laurent felt  safe .
 
He came in a wordless shout, only realizing his eyes had fluttered closed when
they flew open in shock.  He had just come again, climaxed to the feeling of
being  safe  in Damen’s arms.  In the morning, Laurent would have time to
consider just how twisted that truly was.  In the morning, he would evaluate
his own feelings, and try to find a way to reconcile the man who’d cut down his
brother as the man who’d given him so much pleasure.  But not now.  Now he had
one single night to be just a man sharing the darkness with his lover.
 
“You can,” he offered Damen, feeling his still erect cock as Damen finally put
the towel to use and wiped him clean.  He was relaxed and sated, his body
already prepared.  It would be no hardship for Damen to push inside him again,
to fuck him in that strong yet gentle way -
 
“You’re half asleep.”
 
The corner of Laurent’s mouth quirked up ever so slightly at Damen’s
sensibilities.  Laurent thought he might love him for that.  “Not quite.”  He
wondered what it would take to make Damen have him again.  His chivalry was
endearing but Laurent found the idea of enticing Damen beyond it exciting.
 
“We have all night,” Damen said with an indulgent smile.  His eyes flicked to
the window, where the moon was already low.  “We have until morning,” he
corrected.  
 
Laurent thought of all the things he would have to face when the sun came up.
 He thought of all the things he yet wanted to do.
 
“Until morning,” he agreed, and let himself relax into Damen’s embrace, his
eyes closing.  He would rest just for a little while, and then he would seduce
Damianos beyond all rational thought.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     We pick up here in the same night, continuing on with how I think
     chapter 19.5 would have, if we had seen more of it. From there we
     follow Laurent the next morning (during which time in the books Damen
     has his slave gold removed is about to be kicked out of the fort),
     then there is a fairly sizable time skip that takes us right through
     the end of PG and to page 20 of Kings Rising where Laurent is
     imprisoned at Fortaine. Events during that skip: Laurent is shown
     Nicaise's head, Damen stops him from riding off to Charcy in a rage,
     they part with plans to meet in battle, Nikandros arrives and
     recognizes Damen as his King, they set out for battle at Charcy, and
     Laurent does not join them.
The second time was rougher than the first, and yet somehow, more tender.
 Laurent’s body had learned quickly under Damen’s tutelage and was eager for
his attentions.  There had been times when, with the assistance of one of the
pleasure drugs, the Regent had been able to take Laurent more than once.  He
had hated those nights with a burning passion, both for the increased vigor of
his uncle’s attention as well as for the added pain of being taken over and
over again.
 
As he was discovering everything with Damen would be, this was nothing like
that.  Damen was no less careful with his entry, despite the seeming lack of
need for it.  When his thrusts became quick and hard, Damen had stopped to add
more oil and make sure Laurent was just as eager as he to continue.  Laurent
felt drunk on consent, on being able to  give , and to receive in return, but
just as Damen had promised,  nothing you don’t want .
 
He must have fallen asleep after their last release, because when Laurent
opened his eyes again, it was morning.  The sunlight disappointed him.  He was
not ready for the night to end.  Neither, it seemed, was Damen.  Waking up to a
hard cock against his back was not nearly as distasteful as he might have
thought, and it was easy to rationalize to himself that one more coupling was a
good idea.
 
With a boldness that surprised even himself, Laurent pushed Damen back onto the
bed and straddled him.  The smile on Damen’s face did funny things to Laurent’s
stomach, the open, affectionate way he drank in the features of Laurent’s face
making his chest tighten.  For a moment, Laurent wondered what it would be like
to oil up his cock and press it inside Damen’s spread legs.
 
Would Damen object?  Likely not, if his unflagging erection and the slight
thrust upwards of his hips was any indication.  Laurent wanted to know, wanted
to feel it, wanted to experience an orgasm the way a man did -  But he reminded
himself sharply that he  was  a man, and he had experienced several orgasms the
night before ‘as a man did’, his position during their coupling be damned.
 
He wanted Damen, wanted every bit of him that he could claim, but he didn’t
want their last time together to be overshadowed by his inexperience and
uncertainty, and, he was under no illusion that this  wouldn’t  be their last
time together.  He had to make the most of it.
 
Taking the almost empty vial of oil from the bedside table, Laurent poured the
last of it onto his palm, then laced his fingers with Damen’s.  The slick
liquid warmed between them.  Damen moaned and kissed him when Laurent lowered
their joined hands to their cocks.  Laurent’s hand alone wouldn’t have been big
enough to encircle them both, but Damen’s made up for what he lacked.  Their
fingers stayed entwined, palms curling around their eager erections and
stroking.
 
It was almost too much, the feel of Damen’s cock against his own, hot skin
sliding wetly, the tight grip of their hands adding blissful pressure.  Laurent
moaned and hadn’t the presence of mind to hate the sound.  Damen was rocking
upwards, fucking into their fists and making little gasping grunts of pleasure.
 His free hand was tangled in Laurent’s hair.  Laurent let himself enjoy the
bruising kiss, enjoy the grip Damen had on him that was only meant to hold and
pleasure, not force and plunder.
 
“ Laurent, ” Damen breathed his name, body straining, and Laurent was lost.  He
came hotly, shuddering with pleasure.  Damen’s thrusting faltered, movements
becoming jerky and uncoordinated, then with another low call of Laurent’s name,
he added his own release to the streaks Laurent had left on his chest.
 
Almost immediately, Damen melted back onto the bed.  He barely even swiped at
the mess before pulling Laurent down again and letting his eyes drift shut.
 
Laurent did not sleep.
 
Everything he’d been pushing back came rushing to the fore.  Damen was leaving.
 He would be going back to his own country, to face a treachery he did not yet
know the extent of.  Laurent knew that the odds of him making it out with his
life were not good.  Still, Damen proved himself, over and over, to be capable
of handling anything thrown his way.  Fate seemed to fall before his
indomitable will, despite all it dealt him.  Laurent had to believe it would do
so in this as well.  He could not continue worrying about Damen, not when he
had his own battles to prepare for.  The Regent  was moving his pieces across
the board with ruthless efficiency, and Laurent felt that he was just barely
keeping up, despite all that he’d set in motion.
 
And those plans did not include Damen in his bed for more than just the one
night.  Damen, who hadn’t yet even revealed his identity to Laurent.  Damen,
who Laurent hadn’t admitted to that he already knew the truth.  Damen, who was
the one man above all others that he could have no future with.
 
He needed to get Damen’s slave gold off and have him on his way before
Nikandros came any further south, assuming that he’d taken Laurent’s letter
seriously.
 
Laurent rose as quietly as he could, dressed, and slipped from the room.  He
needed a bath desperately, and he needed a few moments to grieve for things he
could not have.  Then, when he was once again unfeeling and armoured against
the world, he had things to do.  
 
***
 
Despite the lingering soreness that filled him with equal measures joy and
regret, Laurent went for a ride before deciding to face Aimeric.  And if that
time just happened to coincide with the time he expected Damen to be leaving
the fort, well then, no one would fault him.  Besides, it wasn’t as though he
didn’t have enough turmoil to deal with already.  How was he supposed to deal
with Aimeric?
 
If not for Jord, Laurent liked to think it would be a simple matter.  He’d
broken his vow, betrayed Laurent, endangered the lives of his men, and
thoroughly thrown his lot in with the Regent.  He needed to be executed, and
Laurent should feel nothing but satisfaction from it.
 
Instead, in spite of Jord and not because of him, Laurent found himself
wrestling with stubborn guilt.  He remembered the cruel things he’d said to
Aimeric, how neatly he’d cut him down and laid out his dearest dreams like the
pathetic trash they were.
 
Nothing he’d said was untrue.  And yet.  Yet he, better than anyone else,
understood why Aimeric had taken the path that he had.  He understood how
insidious the Regent’s affections could be, how alluring his promises.  Laurent
remembered begging on his knees to be allowed into his uncle’s bed.  His
stomach roiled.  He forced himself to remember the repulsive and shameful
jealousy he’d felt when the Regent had first gone south and decided to stay
with Aimeric.  How confused he’d been, frightened, angry, and furious with the
whole world.
 
Aimeric had been a pawn the Regent had toyed with from an early age and then
manipulated into the most advantageous position.  The fool truly thought that
the Regent  loved  him.  But then, for so long, so had Laurent.
 
No, Laurent didn’t want Aimeric to die.  He didn’t deserve that, not after
everything he’d already been through.  He would need to be imprisoned until the
Regent was dead, perhaps longer if the grip on him extended beyond the grave.
 But after a time, Laurent would see that he was released and provided for.
 Somewhere far away from Laurent.  Perhaps he, Laurent, and Nicaise could all
stay at opposing corners of the country for the rest of their lives so that
they didn’t have to be reminded of their shared pain-
 
The thought had barely flitted across his mind that it would be a shame to lose
Jord to Aimeric’s side before Laurent’s every thought was consumed with the
riders headed towards the fort.  He wheeled his horse around and urged it as
fast as it would carry him to cut them off.
 
***
 
Laurent dreamed of Nicaise.  He dreamed of the boy, not yet fifteen but brash
and crass to cover so many unseen scars.  In the dream, the Regent called for
Laurent’s execution before the council… and they agreed.  After that, Laurent
knew it was a dream, because Nicaise would never have allowed such naked
emotion to show on his face, but still, he could not stop the gruesome reality
of the events that followed.  
 
Nicaise, coyly on his knees, using the only method he knew to try and plead for
Laurent.  He believed in Laurent, trusted him, thought, if he could just help
Laurent stay alive for a little longer, then the prince would unseat his uncle
and Nicaise’s nightmare would come to an end.
 
But Nicaise was already nearing the end of his usefulness, and the Regent’s
fury was unpredictable.  Laurent watched helpless, as the extent of his error
dawned on Nicaise.  The growing horror, the struggle to escape that was almost
laughably futile.  Laurent heard Nicaise’s screams as the Regent viciously
plucked out his eyes, the vivid jewels that had always appealed to him, and
dropped them into his water goblet to keep as momentos.  
 
Then, Nicaise was led away to the executioner’s block, screaming.  He was
forced to his knees, empty eye sockets turning to the crowd that had gathered
as if searching for a rescuer.  “Help me,” he cried out, voice given out to
barest scratchings.  “ Please, ” he begged, so young, terrified beyond his
capability to comprehend.  The axe swung.
 
A rider pulled Nicaise’s severed head from a bag, lifting it dispassionately
into the air.  The rotting face twisted up in agony and hatred.  “ Laurent ,”
he hissed.
 
Laurent woke.  He had no time to face the nightmare, to grieve for Nicaise, no
time to even hate himself for not having been there to save the boy.  Instead,
he forced his focus to Govart and what he had to do next.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
     Okay all, we have 2 big time skips here. We last left Laurent at the
     hands of Govart in the dungeon, and when we pick up again for this
     chapter it is after he escaped, after he met back up with Damen, and
     after they take Marlas (where Jokaste is). That's basically the whole
     first half of KR. There are a lot of reasons I skipped over this
     part, but mostly it's that there is so much plot that there doesnt
     need to be much focus on Laurent's side of things separately, and
     that's what this story is for.
     So we pick up at page 190, go till page 210, then there is another
     skip until page 278. Once more, we miss seeing Charls, but that puts
     us right to the Kingsmeet, and from there on out there aren't any
     more time skips!
Laurent had thought, once upon a time, that he understood Jokaste.  He could
grasp her motivations, comprehend her decisions, even accept her
rationalizations.  Upon coming to learn Damen as well as he had, Laurent knew
beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’d made the wrong choice.  But still, he did
not begrudge her the gamble she’d taken.
 
In the time between when they’d spoken of her at the inn and when they saw her
at the fort, Laurent had spared little thought for Jokaste.  Her part had been
played, she had made an irreversible mistake and her fate was no concern of
Laurent’s.
 
It was enough for him to have bested Govart, formed an uneasy alliance with
Akielos, ridden half the length of the country, and managed not to fall back
into Damen’s bed along the way.
 
She was a piece on the board that he hadn’t accounted for, and Laurent was
beginning to comprehend how fatal an error it might turn out to be.
 
There wasn’t much that Laurent would willingly derail his carefully constructed
plans for.  Damen’s son was one of the few things that merited that much worth.
 
And here, Laurent’s ability to understand Jokaste’s decisions ended.  She’d
given her child into the Regent’s care.  She was not the first woman to have
done so, but from that moment on, she was soulless in Laurent’s eyes.  He tried
to remind himself that Jokaste had no way of knowing exactly what the Regent
liked to do to young boys, but it did nothing to cool his disgust.
 
The Regent was a cold, cruel man.  He had unspeakable lusts, and a long memory
that would allow him to hold onto a grudge for many years.  Long enough for
Damen’s son to suit his tastes.  Long enough for him to take the sweetest
pleasure in using the boy for revenge.  Laurent fought the urge to vomit.
 
He could not allow Damen’s child to face what he had.  It was unthinkable.
 Whatever else happened going forward, he would protect Damen’s son from that
fate - and with that realization came another that pierced him to the core.
 
Damen meant more to him than his revenge .
 
It was all Laurent had ever had, since Auguste’s death.  First the revenge he
swore against Damen, then revenge against his uncle.  He’d been hoarding these
promises to himself, keeping them locked away inside of himself as the fuel to
continue on when he felt he had nothing else to live for.  But if it came right
down to it, if he was out matched, out maneuvered, if there was no other
option, Damen was worth more than every horror that had been inflicted upon
Laurent.  He would have suffered them all unanswered, if it meant seeing Damen
safe.
 
The thought terrified him.
 
Against his will, he found himself in Damen’s rooms, offering what comfort he
could.  He’d thought there wouldn’t be anything to say, despite feeling that
the world had just dropped out from under him, but somehow Damen always drew
him out.
 
The fact that they ended their discussion on the bed did not upset him.  The
fact that it turned, as every meaningful aspect of Laurent’s life always seemed
to do, to the Regent,  did  upset him.  He didn’t like thinking about it,
detested talking about it, even in vague terms.  But Damen was so infuriatingly
noble, so generous, that Laurent found himself explaining things that Damen had
not demanded explanation for.
 
How he’d never been kissed on the mouth before the night they’d spent together;
how much he’d liked it.
 
How it had been a long time - years - since he’d laid with anyone.  Since he’d
grown too old for the Regent to fuck.  That part he did not say out loud.
 
How there had only ever been one other person to have Laurent the way Damen
had.
 
He felt laid bare, terribly vulnerable.  Damen did not know the whole truth,
but that did not stop his words from striking something within him that Laurent
thought had died long ago.
 
It wasn’t right.  You were just a boy.  You didn’t deserve what happened to you
.
 
He couldn’t possibly know just what those words meant to Laurent.  How he’d
longed with everything in him to hear them.  How even now they broke his heart.
  I think, if I gave you my heart, you would treat it tenderly , Damen had
said.  Laurent didn’t recall giving his heart to Damen, and yet there he was,
trying to repair it from cuts he couldn’t comprehend.
 
Laurent didn’t just want a political alliance with Damen.  He didn’t want them
to be impersonal partners, sharing their course because they shared the same
endgame.  He wanted everything.  He wanted every bit of Damen, however he could
have him.
 
When finally the words died and actions took their stead, Laurent would have
let Damen fuck him dry.  He’d offered it, begged for it, anything to  feel
Damen, be filled by him -  But of course, Damen would never hurt him that way.
 It was unthinkable for him.  He  cherished  Laurent.  He worshipped him with
his body, brought their pleasure together.
 
Laurent came calling Damen’s name, not a single doubt as to who the man was
that he’d lost his heart to.
 
***
 
Laurent knew from the moment he stepped into the Kingsmeet, his fate was
sealed.  There had been some vague hopes of success, a distant chance that the
luck that seemed to follow Damen might bouey them through - but those hopes all
slid away like so much smoke when the Regent first spoke.  He was too
confident, too relaxed in the way he strolled around them as he whispered
poison.
 
The way he spoke of Nicaise made Laurent’s blood boil.  But there was nothing
he could do in revenge for Nicaise.  Nothing Laurent could do at all, here on
the sacred grounds of the Kingsmeet.  Nothing Damen could do, either.  That was
the point.  He would not approve of the decision Laurent had made, would, in
fact, protest it so violently that only the unbreakable laws of this place
would prevent him from cutting down the Regent where he stood when all was
revealed.
 
It was supposed to be a simple exchange.  Laurent for the boy.  He no longer
suspected the child to be Damen’s son - he’d come to his own terms with
Jokaste’s deceptions - but the fact that Damen saw the child as his family and
would not make a move against the Regent until he was safe, was enough for
Laurent to have made the decision.  He’d promised.  He’d sworn that he would
not let his uncle hurt Damen.  He would do everything in his power to keep that
vow.
 
Which was why he tried to get Damen to leave with him as soon as he realized
that the Regent had no intention of making the exchange.  Getting Laurent for
the Akielon heir wasn’t good enough for the Regent any more, and it was
painfully obvious that he had a plan to sweep the board.  He planned to get it
all.
 
“Laurent is going to get down on his knees and beg me to take him.  Aren’t you,
Laurent?”
 
It was something out of a nightmare, far more terrible than Laurent could have
ever imagined.  He remembered those words he’d spoke to his uncle years before.
 
I would destroy myself and and anyone around me before ever kneeling for you
again.  There will never be anything that could make me.
 
He had been so certain in that conviction.  But then, Laurent had been utterly
alone.  Nothing in his life would have been worth that degradation.  Now, there
was Damen.
 
Foolish, innocent Damen who refused to leave no matter how fervently Laurent
pleaded with him.
 
Damen, who had no idea the breed of beast standing in front of him, sweetly
crooning the method of their destruction.  Spilling Laurent’s deepest shame to
provoke a reaction.  Because he’d seen Damen’s feeling for Laurent, knew the
type of man he was, counted on Damen not being able to bear the hideous truth.
 
“-who can resist when a boy with a face like that asks you to stay with him?
 He was so lonely after his brother died.”
 
Laurent could see realization stealing over Damen’s face, going first pale and
then as red as Laurent’s own.  Laurent wanted to scream that he hadn’t  wanted
his uncle’s sick brand of company.  That he’d been so terrified, too innocent
to realize what web of depravity the Regent was pulling him into.  How  weak
he’d been.
 
Damen… Damen might understand.  Damen might not look at him in revulsion for
the mistakes he’d made as a child.
 
The Regent’s voice became high and pleading, mocking the way Laurent’s had been
all those years ago.  “ Uncle, don’t leave me alone-”
 
Damen exploded into action before the ugly imitation could even be completed.
 He moved with impossible speed, the ring of steel in the air as sharp as the
blade itself.  The guards were a blur of motion trying to pull him back, trying
to stop his murderous rage.
 
One fell before him, then half a dozen.  The guards remaining upright threw
themselves on him rather than before him, trying to haul him back.  The
Regent’s look of alarm turned smug, expecting Damen to fall to the strength of
the eight men dragging him down.  It morphed back into fear when Damen just.
kept. coming.  He looked like some unholy god of vengeance, spattered in blood
and immeasurably strong in his rage.
 
A terrible blow to his head finally made Damen stumble.  His body had reached
the end of its ability.  Another crushing blow to his head finally brought him
to his knees.
 
Laurent only dimly heard the proclamations of the guards.  His every focus was
on Damen’s words.  Were they the last ones he would ever hear Damen say?
 
“I’m going to kill you.  The moment you laid your hands on him, you were dead.
 I will be the last thing that you see.  You will go to the ground with my
blade in your flesh.”
 
They were the sweetest declarations of love that Laurent could have ever
conceived of.  If they  were  the last words he ever heard Damen speak, they
would be enough.  They would carry him through what had to be done next.  He
would hear them over and over again in his mind through every indignity to
follow, right up to the moment that his eyes closed for the last time.  And
maybe, if the plans that Laurent had set in motion before they’d come proved
successful, Damen might someday follow through on that promise.  He wanted to
believe that Damen would be the one to avenge him.  There was a comfort in
that.
 
“Stop.”  Laurent let himself fall into a place he hadn’t been in a long time.
 His mind went quiet, his face blank.  Now, all there was left to do was
endure.  Damen was worth this.  Damen was worth everything.  Laurent
surrendered himself to his submission.  “It’s me you want.  It’s me you want,
not him.”
 
“I don’t want you, Laurent.  You are a nuisance.  A minor inconvenience that I
will clear from my path without much thought.”
 
Once, the words would have hurt Laurent.  They would have crushed him.  Sent
him crawling into his uncle’s bed to seek approval, to seek validation, the
only way he knew how.  Perhaps it spoke of how far Damen’s love had brought him
that Laurent knew the words did not matter.  His uncle wanted him, all the
same.  But what followed would not change, despite how far he’d come.  
 
Laurent ignored the way Damen said his name.  A plea.  “I’ll come with you to
Ios.  I’ll let you have your trial.  Just let him-”  His throat felt thick for
a moment, too thick to go on.  He forced himself to continue.  “Let him live.
 Let him walk out of here whole and alive.  Take me.”  He spared no look for
Damen.  He feared that he would crumble if he saw the desolation in those dark
eyes-
 
The Regent seemed to consider for a moment, but Laurent knew what was coming
before he spoke.  He fell even more deeply into the subservient survivor he’d
been all those years ago.
 
“ Beg .”
 
It was thoughtless.  As soon as the guard holding him let go, Laurent went
forward.  One step, two, then three.  He was directly before his uncle.  The
vow he’d made so long ago was sand beneath his feet.  Some things were more
important.   Damen  was more important.  Laurent dropped to his knees.
 
“Please.  Please, uncle.  I was wrong to defy you.  I deserve punishment.
 Please.”  He remembered how much those words had pleased the Regent before.
 How often Laurent had been forced to say them.  He knew these steps well, like
a dance he could slip into effortlessly, despite not having practiced it in
years.
 
“You see, Laurent.  I am a reasonable man.  When you are properly penitent, I
am merciful.”
 
“Yes, uncle.”  It was a meaningless parrot, words that needed to be said, words
that would please.  “Thank you, uncle.”  He longed for one last look at Damen,
but didn’t dare.  The man who could look upon the face of one who loved him,
cherished him, was gone.  In his place stood the empty husk that could perform
any task, no matter how repugnant, for his uncle’s approval.
 
“Come, nephew,” the Regent commanded.  Laurent followed him without a word.
 Without a look back.  He dimly heard Damen’s voice behind him and shut it out.
 Damen had been a beautiful dream, but now that dream was done.
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     So here we follow the events that happen after the Kingsmeet, but
     from Laurent's POV. It runs from page 292 to 295, which is about
     twenty four hours worth of time that passes.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Laurent allowed himself a moment to see what was coming in the next few days.
 Damen would be released by the Kingsmeet guards at dawn.  By then, Laurent
would be in Ios.  He expected no reprieve before the trial began.  He would
face the Regent and Kastor’s mock justice, perhaps dragged out over several
days, before he was finally executed.  What would happen to him at night
between those days did not bear thinking on.
 
He knew that his men would not be pleased when Damen returned to camp without
him.  He expected Jord, in particular, would have strong words to say.  Laurent
only hoped that Damen would keep hot headed Nikandros from taking Jord’s
concern as offense.  
 
It would take all of them to keep Damen from storming the palace to rescue
Laurent, but he was sure that they would accomplish it.  There was nothing to
be gained from a frontal assault except death.  Even Damen would be able to see
that, once his outrage faded.  They would need to regroup, gather their forces,
make a plan before marching on Ios.  It would take a fortnight, at barest
minimum.  Laurent’s head would be mounted on a pike outside the castle walls
long before then.  He only hoped that the sight of it wouldn’t provoke Damen
into a blunder.
 
If he could control himself, he could take the capital.  With the plans Laurent
had set in motion, Damen would have Loyse’s testimony on his behalf.  He could
depose his brother, his forces could overthrow the Regent’s, and Damen would be
able to keep his promise.  He would kill the Regent himself, with no remorse.
 
Laurent only wished he would be there to see it.  
 
He wondered if it would be possible to provoke one of the guards to kill him,
if things got too bad.  He’d known, at Charcy, it would be easy to drive Govart
into a killing rage, but the Regent was far too controlled for that kind of
recklessness.  Still, his uncle could not watch him every moment of the day,
and he knew that Kastor’s guards would have no love for him.  It might be an
escape, if he needed it.
 
And he would be gutted by a bastard’s treasonous soldiers, left to bleed out in
a dank cell.  It was not a glamorous death.  There was no honor in it, no
dignity.
 
But Laurant did not have dignity.  The moment he’d allowed himself to reflect
passed, and Laurent was himself again, at least, the version of himself he’d
been under his uncle’s care.  It seemed, that despite how far he’d come since
then, this truly was his place.
 
Laurent started to take the seat across from the Regent in the carriage, but he
was directed to the floor instead with a cold smile and a snap of fingers.
 Laurent heeled like a dog, sitting instead on the floor of the carriage at his
uncle’s feet.  The Regent reached out and caressed Laurent’s hair, rubbing the
golden strands between his fingers.  Laurent held himself very still.
 
“Such a shame,” the Regent murmured, sounding almost truly regretful.  “If only
you could have stayed young and sweet.”  Laurent said nothing.  “You see now,
don’t you, that this is where you’ve always belonged?”
 
“Yes, uncle.”
 
“All those useless fights.  And it had to take your pending execution for you
to accept your place.”  He shook his head.  “I would have kept you, if you
hadn’t turned so frigid.  Not in my bed, of course, you’re beyond your use
there, but I’ve always loved your mouth, Laurent.”  He reached out, curling his
fingers around Laurent’s jaw and letting his thumb trail over Laurent’s lips.
 He paused for a moment, then thrust it between them and pressed down on
Laurent’s tongue.  “You could have continued pleasing me.  I would have
indulged you.  Pampered you.”
 
The pressure became painful, the Regent’s nail digging into Laurent’s tongue
brutally.  Still, Laurent did not struggle.  “Instead, you wasted yourself on
bitterness.  Do you remember what you said to me, the last time I touched you?”
 
Apparently that exchange hadn’t been burned into just Laurent’s mind.  The
Regent waited for an answer, so Laurent gave the barest of nods.
 
“You have already broken that vow, haven’t you, nephew?”  A slow, insidious
smile curled his lips.  “I see no reason not to see to the rest of it, do you?
 After all, there won’t be much chance once we are in the capital.  The
Akielons might be savages, but they wouldn’t understand our…  special
relationship.  I can’t have you tarnish my reputation any more than you already
have.”
 
He pushed his thumb further into Laurent’s mouth, edging towards the back of
his throat, then removed it and began unlacing his breeches.
 
Against his will, Laurent’s mind turned to Damen again.  He didn’t want to
think of Damen, didn’t want anything to do with Damen connected to the Regent,
especially not like this.  But it was impossible not to think of the last time
he’d done this.  How much he’d wanted to give this pleasure to Damen.  How
gentle Damen had been with him, how reverent the touch of his hand in Laurent’s
hair had been.  How breathless and glowing he’d been after.  How sweetly he’d
whispered in Laurent’s ear.
 
“Don’t make me wait,” the Regent demanded harshly.  Laurent blanked his mind,
opened his mouth, and lowered it to his uncle’s cock.
 
***
 
Laurent arrived at Damen’s palace with come on his face that he was not allowed
to wipe off.  The soldiers sneered at him.  Laurent knew that he should feel
shame and humiliation.  Instead, he felt nothing.  Nothing at all.  If he
wasn’t going to be tormented and then executed in a few days, that might have
concerned him.
 
He was taken directly to a cell deep beneath the palace.  It was not Kastor’s
men who stood guard over him, but the Regent’s.  Laurent’s hope of provoking
one of them into killing him withered.  They would be under strict orders that
Laurent be kept alive.  It would be nearly impossible to push them beyond the
fear of the Regent’s retribution.
 
No, he would be forced to face all that was coming to him.
 
Once the heavy cell door closed behind him, Laurent finally wiped the come off
his face.  It was such a minor display of defiance that the Regent only smiled
indulgently.
 
“The treacherous prince is expected to stand trial tomorrow.  If anything were
to prevent this, I would be most displeased.”
 
“Your Majesty is generous to allow him to face a trial with dignity.  It is
more than he deserves.”  One of the guards spat at Laurent’s feet.  The Regent
cocked his head.
 
“I never said he had to arrive with dignity.  Only that he had to arrive.”
 
Smiles spread across the guard’s faces.  One by one they turned from the regent
to leer at Laurent.  “But remember, he is to walk to his trial in the morning,
so perhaps it is best that this remains a private soiree?  And of course, I
expect no marks on him that would convince our Akielon hosts that we are as
savage as they.”
 
“Yes, your Majesty.  We understand.  It is a privilege to serve you.”
 
The Regent let the soldier drop to one knee and kiss his ring, then smirked at
Laurent and swept from the dungeon.
Chapter End Notes
     So, one of my lovely regular readers requested that I write the scene
     where Damen reveals who he is to Laurent, and I'm going to do it!
     There were a ton of awesome bits in the first half of KR that I
     didn't include because just writing short individual little scenes
     would have been way too choppy. But if anyone else has specific
     scenes that you wanted to see inside Laurent's head for, let me know
     and I'll give them a shot if I can. The drabbles will be included at
     the end of the story (which probably has 2 or 3 chapters left now).
     Also, if anyone wants to come say hi, my Tumblr is ArabellaFaith : D
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
     Alright folks, here we are! This chapter takes is right through the
     end of Kings Rising and beyond. There will be one chapter after this,
     then the drabbles. Enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
No light infiltrated the underground cell to wake Laurent, but he still rose
with the sun.  Despite everything, he had managed to catch a scant few restless
hours of sleep.  Pain and exhaustion took their toll, even under unendurable
circumstances.
 
It was a different guard that opened the bars of Laurent’s cell than the ones
who had been with him the night before, for which Laurent was grateful.  All
three of them had been replaced.  Laurent wondered if they would be off
sleeping until their next shift, or if they would be at the trial.
 
He dismissed the thought as unimportant.  He didn’t care.  There was nothing
that mattered, now.
 
“Good morning, nephew,” the Regent greeted as Laurent was led into an open,
vaulted room.  “I trust that you had a… pleasant night?”
 
Loosen up, you frigid bitch!  Fuck, I can’t even get it in, he’s so tight.  Go
get me something to slick my dick with so that I can get him opened up-
 
Laurent pushed the memory aside and said nothing.
 
“I must confess I find myself disappointed that you flashed your fangs at my
men.  Here I thought you had truly learned your lesson.”
 
C’mere, slut.  Don’t think we didn’t see what was on your face when you came
in.  Show me how talented that vicious tongue of yours is.
 
Laurent had not given warning.  He did not think the bastard deserved it.
 Instead, he had waited until the cock was shoved in his mouth and then bitten
down as hard as he could.  There had been some small satisfaction in the taste
of blood washing away the taste of salt and semen.
 
He’d been punished for it, of course, but it had meant one less cock in him
that night.  Laurent did not regret it.
 
“I have always been a picky eater, uncle,” Laurent said.  His voice was hoarse
from holding back screams and dehydration.
 
“True,” the Regent agreed, clearly amused.  “Perhaps I can provide you
something more to your liking?”
 
“I’m afraid my knees are already sore from accepting your generosity
yesterday.”
 
The smile fell.  “Indeed?  How unfortunate.  Guard, I don’t think these chains
will be sufficient to hold my nephew for the proceedings.  We wouldn’t want him
somehow getting free and doing something reckless that might endanger our truce
with the Akielons.  Shackle him in irons.”  He waited until the guard he’d
spoken to left to retrieve them before stepping close enough to Laurent to
whisper in his ear.  “How long do you think it will be until you’re down on
those sore knees before the entire Akielon court?   I doubt my men were easy on
you last night.  I don’t think you’ll even make to noon before you’re groveling
at my feet for the whole world to see.”
 
Laurent said nothing.  Before, he might have made a cutting remark about his
uncle’s proclivities, would have likely sworn never to disgrace himself so.
 But he knew that was not the case.  Already, he could see the guard returning
with heavy iron shackles.  Laurent’s strength was waning.  His legs only just
didn’t shake with the effort of holding himself upright.  Once the shackles
were added, it would be a Herculean feat.  But this was Damen’s court, no
matter what imposters sat on the throne.  He would do what he could to stand in
the place that Damen had once stood as a man, with all the dignity he could
manage.
 
The shackles were locked into place, Laurent’s arms held behind his back.  The
muscles in his shoulders, already aching from the abuse they’d received the
night before, practically screamed in pain.  But Laurent stayed upright.  He
walked into the court on his own power, and faced the mockery of a trial meant
to tarnish his name, strip him of humanity, and end his life.
 
He met their questions head on, with no artifice or deceit.  None was needed.
 The queries were worded to extract the most damning answers from him, and even
if Laurent had explained himself in a way that pointed out the true villain, no
one would listen.  He was nearing the end of his endurance, fighting with every
last ounce of power that he had to remain upright, to show no fear…
 
And then Damen was brought in.
 
***
 
It should not have surprised Laurent, that Damen faced yet another set of
insurmountable odds and still managed to turn the tide.  Admittedly, Guion’s
betrayal would have been the end of that if Loyse had not heeded Laurent’s
request from weeks before to step forward.  But even that would only have saved
Damen.  It would not have cleared Laurent’s name.  No, it was Damen and Damen
alone who realized the secret Pashal had been carrying and got him to speak his
piece.
 
The shackles coming off of him made it feel as though Laurent had been dragged
under water and was suddenly buoyed to the surface.  When the soldier stepped
forward with his sword held out, Laurent took it, and his arms did not shake.
 There was strength left in them yet.  Strength enough for this.
 
He waited until the Regent’s catamite was removed from the hall before walking
forward.  It was almost absurd, to see the Regent on his knees at Laurent’s
feet.  But no one was laughing.  When Laurent spoke to his uncle, it was soft,
so that only Damen, standing - always - at Laurent’s side, and the Regent heard
him.
 
“For my father.  For Auguste, because you are where the guilt of his death
truly lies.  For Ni-” Laurent’s voice broke, but he forced himself to continue.
 “For Nicaise.  For Aimeric.  For every other boy you took to your bed.  For my
horse.  For Damianos and all the suffering you orchestrated for him to endure.”
 He paused, thinking of every vile thing the Regent had ever done to him,
things he daren’t speak out loud, things that for a long time, he thought he
had deserved.  No longer.  “And for me.  For every single touch, every lie,
every hurt you’ve ever caused me.”
 
The Regent opened his mouth to speak, but Laurent did not give him the chance.
 He would never have to hear another of his uncle’s poison words again.  He
pushed the sword forward.  There was a slight resistance, then the sharp blade
slid home.
 
One clean stroke, through the heart.  It was more than the Regent deserved.
 But it was done.  Finally, finally, it was done.
 
***
 
It was one kingdom, once .
 
That was the truth, though Laurent could not understand what had possessed him
to speak it out loud.  It was not that he doubted Damen’s loyalty to him - how
could he, now? - but that it seemed presumptious, even beyond the alliances
they’d made, and the promises that were implied.
 
Pashal was attending Damen’s wound.  Laurent know that it was not life
threatening, but even the great King Damianos would need some time to recover.
 A few days bedrest, at the very least, to keep the stitches from tearing out.
 Damen would have a new scar, the match to the one Auguste had given him.
 There was some strange, twisted symmetry to that.
 
The quiet was Laurent’s worst enemy.  In the chaos, when there was work to be
done, men to lead, he could forget the terrible truths he’d learned, and the
things that Damen now knew about his past.  But when the day ended and Laurent
was led to a bedroom, he could not sleep, despite his exhaustion.  
 
Thoughts circled his mind uselessly.  Uncertainty gripped him, clawing at his
insides.  He considered seeking out Pashal and asking for a sleeping drought.
 He was certain that the physician had given Damen one, or the great lout would
already have torn his stitches rising and making his way to wherever Laurent
was.
 
If he still wanted to be where Laurent was.
 
Which he did.  Of course he did.  He’d given Laurent no reason to doubt him,
had been nothing but loyal and steadfast.  But so much had a way of creeping up
on you, once the dust settled.  Once the heat of battle passed and you realized
the ruins you were left with.  And that’s all Laurent was, after all.  Ruins.
 
But Damen did not see him that way.  He did not hold him accountable for what
had been done to him as a child.  He had sworn to kill the Regent for it, and
even though Laurent had taken that honor from him, the sentiment was the same.
 But then, seeking the Regent’s death for what he had done did not clear
Laurent’s corruption.
 
And what Damen had learned of had been from years ago.  Not just a few nights
previous.
 
Sleep eluded Laurent for most of the night, and when it did come, it was rife
with dreams that he would rather have forgotten.
 
***
 
Pashal must have stopped dosing Damen with a sedative, because by the third day
of Laurent not going to him, Damen rose and found Laurent himself.
 
Kastor’s troops were being rooted out and made to face justice.  All the men
who had been loyal to the Regent had been executed.  Including, Laurent
remembered with grim satisfaction, the guards who had been assigned to him the
night he’d arrived at the palace.  Things were well on their way to peace and
order.
 
Laurent was sitting behind a massive desk in the rooms he’d been assigned,
writing letters to Vask and Patras.  When he heard the knock on his door, he
did not even look up.
 
“Enter.”   He had guards that he was mostly convinced were loyal to him posted
outside, so he doubted that they would let anyone with ill intentions towards
him inside, but there was still the dagger he now kept strapped to the inside
of his forearm at all times, if nothing else.  He did not look up until a
shadow fell across him, larger than any one man had a right to be.
 
“Damen,” he breathed.  It felt as though he’d somehow forgotten what it was
like to be in the man’s presence, to have those wide, dark eyes focused solely
on him.  But he regained his composure in a flash and straightened.
 “Damianos.”  That still sounded too personal, too presumptuous.  “King
Damianos.”
 
Damen’s lips twitched into a smile.  “Prince Laurent,” he greeted.  “Or would
you rather ‘Our Brother of Vere,’ since you seem in such a formal mood?”  His
smile widened when Laurent scowled at him.
 
“A simple  your Majesty  will suffice for casual conversations.”
 
Damen laughed and started to reach out towards Laurent, pausing at whatever had
flashed across Laurent’s face before he’d had a chance to control it.  He had
no idea what he was feeling himself, so how in the hell could he possibly tell
what Damen had seen there?  It made him feel weak.  Uncontrolled.
 
“Laurent-”
 
“You have officially been proclaimed King, I’m sure you are aware, but there is
a coronation ceremony being planned for the end of the week.  My soldiers have
secured the capital and continue to take out Kastor’s remaining forces, but I’m
certain that your people will be more comfortable once my army has left the
city.  I had planned for them to begin travelling North after your coronation.”
 
“Laurent.”
 
“I believe my Patran support will continue for one more campaign if I need
extra forces to retake Vere, but with the council’s support that does not seem
likely.  I can ride out with the army-”
 
“ Laurent .”  Damen stepped around the desk and dropped to his knees before
Laurent, bringing them face to face.  The sight of it brought Laurent pleasure
and disgust in equal measure.
 
“You-”
 
“I missed you.”  He took Laurent’s hand, pressing it against his face and
leaning into the touch.  “When you didn’t come, I worried perhaps you had been
injured as well, or that something had happened since last we spoke.”
 
“I am - fine.”  The words sounded strangled, even to his own ears.
 
“I missed you,” Damen repeated.  He turned his head and pressed a kiss to
Laurent’s palm.  “I understand that you need to return to Vere and solidify
your position, but I wish you would not leave so soon.  And I’m sure Torveld
will continue giving you his aid, but you would not need to look to Patras,
should the need arise.  You will have all the forces you require from Akielos.”
 
“You cannot promise that without speaking to your-”
 
“I can, and I just did.  I am King, remember?”
 
“Still-”
 
“Are you trying to push me away, Laurent?”
 
“What?”
 
“Do you need space from me?  Time?  I know that the idea of trying to make
things work between us might be overwhelming, but-”
 
“I am not a child who needs coddling,” Laurent snapped.  He hated that Damen
could see right through him.  Hated that he had been doing exactly as Damen
said, pushing him away - though not because the future was overwhelming him.
 It was the past that ate away at him, robbing him of his composure, tearing
down his hard won confidence.  “I killed your brother.”
 
The words fell heavy between them.  Damen’s face contorted in shock, his lips
parting as a soft breath escaped them.  “And I killed yours.”
 
“Do you think that makes us even?  An eye for an eye?  You can look at me, fuck
me, and see anything more than your brother’s killer?”
 
“You did.”
 
Laurent scoffed.  “I am not the standard of decency anyone should hold
themselves to.”
 
“I think otherwise.”
 
“Then you are a fool.”
 
Damen sighed, rising slowly so that he did not release Laurent’s hand until the
last possible moment.  “I will give you time.  I will even give you space, an
entire country’s worth if you need it.  But I will not abandon you.  I will
never  abandon you.”
 
“How can you-”  Laurent snapped his mouth shut, disgusted the the words had
slipped out at all.  He felt weak, out of control.  Damen made him that way.
 
“How can I what?”
 
“Nothing.”  He turned away, hating himself all the more because he knew even
that was a privilege.  With no other man would Laurent turn his back in the
midst of a fight.  Damen was the only one he trusted enough.  “You said you
would give me space.  I am requesting it now.  Get out.”
 
Damen paused behind him, and Laurent could practically  feel  him raise his
hand, wanting to touch Laurent but not willing to do so when it was not wanted.
 Laurent felt like his heart was being torn in two.  “As you wish,” Damen
murmured.  He pulled the door closed softly behind him, spoke a few words to
the guards too muffled for Laurent to make out, then left.
Chapter End Notes
     A quick note: if it seems like Laurent is being more harsh to Damen
     than he should be by this point, the next chapter will explain why a
     bit better.
     It seemed totally unrealistic to me to think that Laurent wouldnt
     have suffered some kind of abuse during the time he spent with his
     uncle, and I wrote it as I thought it would have happened - as
     heartbreaking as it was to do. And while outwardly, Laurent claims it
     doesnt matter, it really does. Its a major setback he needs to
     overcome, and they are going to have to face it together.
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
     Alright, I lied. There's one more chapter after this and then the
     reveal scene. I hadn't realized just how long this discussion was
     between them. Anyways, enjoy!
Laurent stood in the entry to the throne room, remembering.  The blood had been
scrubbed off the stone floor, but Laurent did not need to see the stain to know
exactly where his uncle’s life had ended.  So much treachery, all ended with a
single slide of the sword.  It seemed almost impossible that the man was dead,
his body rotting on the city gates.  For so long, he had seemed beyond justice,
beyond defeat, beyond even death itself.
 
But he had been a man of flesh and blood like any other, and now he was truly
gone.  Laurent thought he should feel more relieved.  As if the pain that his
uncle had caused should have fallen away as soon as the light had faded from
his eyes.
 
It had not.  And now, perhaps more than ever, Laurent felt broken.  Perhaps it
was because his shame was no longer a secret.  Damen knew.  Knew the whole,
ugly truth, directly from the Regent’s mouth.  Laurent still hadn’t explained,
hadn’t had the chance to say how skewed his uncle’s telling of the tale had
been.  He wanted to scream that he had not wanted what had happened.  That yes,
he had said the words, but he hadn’t meant them the way the Regent had made
them sound.  He wanted to say that he’d been terrified, manipulated into
needing  the Regent-  But the larger part of him never wanted to speak of it at
all.  That part of him wanted to retreat from Damen and never face him, face
those explanations, again.
 
“Majesty?”  A Veretian soldier that Laurent did not recognize entered the
throne room from the other side, pausing when he saw Laurent.  He flinched,
imperceptible to all but the most discerning eyes, and his hand automatically
went to the dagger on his forearm.  The slip in his control, no matter how
slight and unnoticeable it was to the soldier, angered Laurent.  It seemed that
it wasn’t just Damen that elicited weakness in Laurent.  Had just a few
unwelcome cocks undone all the progress he’d made since his adolescence?
 
“Leave me,” he snapped at the soldier.  The man looked frankly relieved and
exited the room hastily the way he’d come.  Laurent let out a sigh and turned
to leave as well.
 
Damen was standing in the hall behind him, watching him.  From the look on his
face, Laurent had no doubt that he’d seen the exchange.
 
“Have you stooped to spying on me now?” Laurent snarled.  Damen did not even
dignify the question with an answer.
 
“Do you still have reason to doubt the loyalty of the remaining Veretian
soldiers?”
 
“I have reason to doubt the loyalty of everyone.”  Laurent made to walk past
Damen, but stopped abruptly when Damen caught his arm.  Gently, Damen’s finger
ran up the inside of Laurent’s forearm, along the length of the blade.
 
“This is new.”
 
Laurent did not reply.  He looked at where Damen was touching him, but made no
move to pull his arm away.  He was almost ashamed at how much he was enjoying
that soft touch, the warmth of Damen’s large, calloused hand on him.  “You were
afraid-”
 
At that, Laurent did pull away.  “I was  not  afraid!”
 
“When the guard walked in.  You were afraid.  You were very careful not to let
him see, but it was there.  For just a moment, I could see it on your face.  In
the lines of your body.  Something happened-”
 
“You happened!” Laurent exploded.  He stalked further into the throne room then
whirled on Damen, eyes flashing.  “You strip me bare!  You’ve  broken  me!”
 
“Laurent, I never meant-”
 
“No, no you don’t ever mean to do any harm, do you?” Laurent sneered.  “Just
like you didn’t mean to kill me the day you killed my brother, but make no
mistake, that’s exactly what you did.  I died at Marlas, and the boy that was
left behind became a plaything to a twisted monster.  I spent  years  becoming
impervious to it all.  Frigid.  Stone cold.  That was my armour.  That was how
I survived.  All that I have is my control, my indifference, the fact that no
one can hurt me.
 
“No one except  you .  You see it all, every weakness, every flaw, even my
deepest, darkest shame.  I am  naked  before you, every moment.  Weak,
powerless, vulnerable.  Things I swore I would never be again.  And it’s all-
all your f- fault-”  Somewhere along the way, tears had welled up in Laurent’s
eyes.  His chest was heaving, body trembling, blinking hard to keep those
damned tears from falling.  He could barely see Damen now, vision blurred, but
he had no doubt he was still staring at Laurent in open mouthed shock.
 
The blurry visage of Damen took a step closer, and Laurent fell to his knees,
holding one hand out to ward him off.  “Don’t.  I don’t want your fucking
pity.”
 
Damen didn’t stop.  He went to his knees beside Laurent and drew him into his
arms.  Laurent only had the strength to remain stiff for half a moment, then he
melted into the embrace, truly sobbing now, soaking the shoulder of Damen’s
chiton and unable to care.
 
“I didn’t want it,” he said between hitching breaths, the words spewing out
from him before he could think, before he could stop them.  “I swear to you - I
didn’t want any of it!  I needed - I needed - I was so afraid.  I thought - and
then he was there, offering to stay by me, but for a price.  I would have done
anything - I  did  do anything.  But I  hated  it.  I hated him, and I loved
him, and I hated myself.  I hated you.  And now I can’t - and I still hate - I
hate everything I have been made into-”
 
Damen’s arms were impossibly tight around him. It should have felt suffocating.
 Instead, Laurent felt safe.  So safe.  He craved that so much, needed it more
than air, and it disgusted him.  His tears began to slow, his breaths evening,
and he realized Damen was speaking.  The low, rumbled words were rushing out
right next to his ear.
 
“-sorry.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I never wanted to hurt you.  I’m sorry I
left you all alone, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.  I’m sorry you had to
live that way.  I’m sorry you ever felt even a single moment of fear, of pain.
 I’m sorry I remind you of that.  I’m sorry I make you feel weak.  You are the
strongest man I know, the best man I know.  I never want you to feel that way;
tell me what I can do to fix it, how I can  fix  this.  I’m sorry - I’m so
sorry-”
 
He buried his face against Laurent’s neck, and it was wet.  Laurent shuddered.
 He wanted… he wanted…
 
“I- I’m going to tell you, Damianos.  I’m going to tell you everything.  And
if, by the time I am done, you are still here, then we will agree to put it
aside.  We will do our best to forget that any of it ever happened, and maybe…
maybe… we can find a way past it.”
 
“Whatever you want, Laurent.  Whatever you need.”  Damen pulled back and
shamelessly wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand.  Laurent opened his
mouth to start, but Damen put a finger to his lips.
 
“We haven’t even started and already you are interrupting?  This is not a good
omen.”  The words were vaguely muffled behind the finger.  Damen gave a
sheepish smile.
 
“I’m not interrupting.  I won’t interrupt at all, not a single time once you
get started.  But - perhaps we can take this elsewhere?  The stone beneath us
is hardly comfortable.”
 
Laurent looked down and realized he was right.  Already, his legs were aching.
 “You didn’t whine this much in Vere.”  He rose despite his sarcastic remark,
and Damen took his hand.
 
“I suppose one benefit of the garish and ugly rugs adorning every inch of the
floor in your palace is that they cushion the occupants.”
 
“I’ll have you know that some of those rugs were woven by the finest artisans
in Vere.”
 
“They are still painful to the eyes.”
 
Laurent smirked, glad that their banter was distracting him from the feeling
that he was walking to his doom.  “Yes,” he finally agreed.  “They are.”  Damen
laughed and kissed the top of Laurent’s head.
 
At the end of the next hall, Damen spoke to the guards, dismissing them from
the door but requesting they stay in the corridor.  They obeyed wordlessly.
 The door stood between them and absolute privacy, and then they were through
it.  Alone.
 
Damen poured a glass of water for Laurent and wine for himself, then sat the
goblets on the low table by the fire.  Laurent drank deeply, settling into one
of the chairs there.  Damen sat back and watched him, face neutral.  Waiting.
 
“Not a single interruption?”
 
Damen put his hand over his mouth and crossed his heart with the other one.
 Laurent rolled his eyes, his lips quirked ever so slightly into what might
have been an indulgent smile. He sighed deeply, then began.
 
“I knew that I would never forget Malas..”
 
***
 
He told Damen everything.  All of it, to the very best of his memory.  He did
not leave out the things that were hard to tell, nor the things that he knew
would wound Damen.  He told him about the Regent’s insidious brand of love, and
how quickly it could be withdrawn.  He told him about his nightmares, in which
Damen was a terrifying demon wielding a fiery sword.  About the times the
Regent had dosed him with the Akielon pleasure drug and how he learned never to
trust a glass of wine.  He told him about the threats of sending Laurent to the
border, and Laurent’s efforts to prevent it.  About the vows Laurent had made
for revenge.
 
He even told Damen about the shameful, terrible feelings of jealousy when his
uncle had turned his attention to others.  Through it all, Damen kept his word
and said nothing.  Laurent tried not to watch his face, didn’t want to see
revulsion or pity or anger there.  It wasn’t until he got to the part where the
Regent had tried to order Laurent to his knees and Laurent had sworn he never
would again, that his eyes strayed up.
 
Damen was looking at him with something like pride, and it made Laurent squirm.
 After all, it wasn’t a vow he’d kept.
 
He forged ahead, eyes carefully down once more.  He spoke of forming the
Princes Guard, of the battles he won against his uncle and the ones he lost.
 Then he told of Damen’s arrival in Vere.  Of how furious he had been, how much
he had wanted to hurt Damen.  The plans he made, and how Damen became an
integral part of them.
 
When he arrived at the Kingsmeet, his words dried up.  He didn’t know how to go
forward, despite all he’d confessed already.
 
“And after you left with him?” Damen prompted, the first he’d spoken in what
seemed like hours.  Laurent shrugged.  It was a weak, pathetic gesture.  “Did
he-”
 
“Do you really want to know?”  
 
“Do you want to tell me?” Damen countered.
 
“No.”  He sighed.  “But I want there to be no secrets between us.  He- he
didn’t rape me.  I’m overripe for his taste, no matter how much I’d angered
him.  He just- he wanted my mouth.  I’m sure it was more about humiliation than
lust.  I’d defied him and denied him, and he wanted to prove that he’d truly
broken me.  I did as he wished.”  He did not add that the Regent had come on
his face and forced Laurent to walk through Damen’s palace like that.  He was
sure there were enough guards that had seen him who could tell Damen that part
if he really wanted to know.
 
“And- and after?”  Damen’s fists were clenched, and he had to force the words
out through gritted teeth.  Laurent wondered, feeling vaguely ill, how much
greater his anger would become when he heard the next part.
 
“I was put in the dungeon here to await my mockery of a trial.”
 
“The guards, Laurent.  Something happened to make you fear them.”
 
“I don’t-” Laurent snapped, before he remembered his promise to remain honest
with Damen.  “I am not afraid of the soldiers that remain here.  Not- not
quite.  I am… uncomfortable, in the presence of those whose loyalty I cannot be
sure of.  But as you pointed out, I carry a blade with me at all times, and we
both know that I am not helpless.  Not by a long shot.  I wouldn’t let any of
them hurt me.”
 
“You can protect yourself,” Damen agreed.  “When you are not shackled and
outnumbered.  As you were.”
 
Somehow, that seemed to lessen the shame of it a little.  “As I was.  There
were two of them.  Well,” he smirked coldly.  “There had been three at first,
but one of them was rendered unable to perform after he made the unfortunate
mistake of trying to repeat my uncle’s punishment.”  The smirk fell away.  “The
other two made no such error.”
 
“And they-”
 
“Yes.”  There was a crack, and the arm of the chair Damen was sitting in came
away in his hand.  Laurent was vaguely impressed to see it had already been
splintered down to practically nothing.
 
“They are dead, Damen.”  Laurent had seen to it.  Personally.
 
“It seems that I never get to kill anyone for you.”
 
“I suppose I did make you break your vow to my uncle, didn’t I?”
 
“The right to take his life was yours.  I do not begrudge you it.”  He paused,
then asked, “have you seen Pashal?”
 
“Driving a sword through my uncle was hardly injurious enough to require a
physician.”
 
“No, I meant for-”
 
“I know what you meant for.  No, I did not go.”  Damen began to protest, but
Laurent cut him off with a wave of his hand.  “It was not necessary.  They were
forced to use oil, as apparently I was too frigid to get the job done
otherwise.  Which was ironic, because I’ve been fucked dry before, and I was
even smaller then.  You’d think after having been with you, they wouldn’t have
had such trouble.  After all, they were not nearly as well en-”  Laurent
trailed off, realizing that Damen had gone ghostly pale.   Oh.   “Damen.”
 
Damen did not respond, so Laurent reached across the space between them and
placed his hand lightly on Damen’s thigh.  Damen flinched.  Laurent removed his
hand.
 
“It was not the same.  That was in poor taste.  I… I apologize.  I just meant
to say that I was not lastingly injured.  I knew which salve to use to ease the
pain, and in another few days I will be completely recovered.”
 
“You - you are still in pain?”  Damen looked as though  he  was the one in
pain.
 
“Nothing I can’t handle.  It is over, they are all dead.  All of the men who
hurt me are dead, Damen.   A fact which  you  made possible.  I am fine.  Or I
will be, very shortly.”
 
“I wish I had known.”
 
“Before I had them executed?  Torture is hardly your style, despite how much
I’ve worn off on you.”
 
“No, before.  Before - at Fontain.”
 
Now came the part Laurent had feared.  The regret.  Damen knew the extent of
just how tainted the man he’d taken to his bed was.  “You would not have fucked
me.”
 
“No,” Damen agreed.  “I knew you were inexperienced, despite your claim
otherwise, but it was obvious that you did know  some .  I did not put the
pieces together.  It was right in front of me, and I did not see it.  The fact
that  that  is where you gained your knowledge from-”
 
“You do not need to remind me of how repulsive my history is,” Laurent said
sharply.
 
“I know that.  But I wish I would have…”  He shook his head.
 
“It is not a mistake that you need to repeat.  I can be gone by the time I
would be healed enough to have sex.  Assuming, from this conversation, you
would find it far too distasteful to fuck me while I’m still raw from another
man’s cock.”
 
“ Laurent! ”
 
Laurent half expected the back of Damen’s hand to meet his face at a painful
speed.  It was what the Regent would have done for such a slight.   I do not
fear Damianos , Laurent reminded himself.  He did not.  Damen was not the
Regent.  Even now, when he was obviously furious, he would not strike Laurent.
 
“I would not take you while it would cause you  any  pain.  Whatever that pain
may be from.  And I should not have taken you at the fort, not because I do not
want to, or that I hold your past against you, but because you  deserved better
.  I should have waited, until all this was done, until anyone who had ever
touched you in a way you did not want was  dead .  Until I could have courted
you, wooed you, known to be gentle with you, to reassure you-”
 
“I am not a child.”
 
“Of that I am aware.”  There was the slightest hint of amusement in Damen’s
tone, and Laurent was grateful for it.
 
“Nor am I some blushing virgin who needs seduced.”
 
“Oh, Laurent.  You  were .”
 
“I have-”
 
“No one had ever made love to you before.  No one had ever given you pleasure
you sought.  No one had ever felt the willing caress of your body.  You were a
virgin, one who had suffered brutality, and I was not as careful as I ought to
have been.  I should have-”
 
“It was not… bad.  That is to say, I enjoyed it.  Obviously.  But I was…
comfortable, with you.  As comfortable as it was possible for me to be.  I
wanted you, and I would not have waited.  There was always a chance that I
might die, despite my careful planning, and I would not have wanted to face my
death never having known a tender touch.  Never having known  your  touch.”
 
“You do not regret it, then, despite the fact that I did not-”
 
“I do not regret it at all.”
 
“Even though it laid you bare to me?”
 
Laurent scoffed.  “I suspect that you could see through me long before you lay
with me.  It wasn’t as though wringing my cock dry gave you supernatural
insight into my mind.  That happened simply because you came to know me.
 Because - because you care for me.”
 
“Love should not be painful.”
 
“But sometimes it is, just the same.  I do not wish you didn’t-” Laurent
swallowed hard, “love me.  I wish that being loved by you did not make me so
transparent to you.  I can hide nothing, and for a man who survived many years
on his wit and secrets alone, that is distinctly unnerving.  You… you could
crush me.”
 
Damen studied Laurent’s face for a moment, then slid off his chair and knelt at
Laurent’s feet.   Again , Laurent thought.  Damen reached up and stroked his
face.  His thumb feathered over Laurent’s lower lip, a strange parody of the
way the Regent had caressed him less than a week ago.
 
“I would not.  I vow to you, Laurent, I will do everything in my power to see
you safe, happy, and well cared for.  Never will any harm befall you that I can
prevent.”  Damen’s hand dropped, and he took Laurent’s, twining their fingers.
 “And if you cannot believe that, then believe that you could crush me just as
easily as I could you.
 
“Loving someone is, perhaps, giving them the ability to hurt you.  But it is
also trusting that they will not.”  He kissed the back of Laurent’s hand, then
once again on the knuckle of his third finger, where a wedding band would
traditionally be worn.  Laurent shivered.  “Do you trust me, Laurent?”
 
The silence in the room was absolute, as if the cicadas, the fire, even the
distant water were all holding their breath, waiting for Laurent’s reply.
 
“Yes.”
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
     A quick note: I actually started this story before most of the side
     stories came out, so some of this may not be compliant with Summer
     Palace, Pet, etc. Don't hold it against me!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Laurent did not leave after the coronation with the rest of the army.
 Nikandros and a contingent of Damen’s men accompanied them.  At Nikandros’
request, Pallas and Lazar went as well.  He complained at length about the
outrageous way they acted, but eventually admitted that it would be good for
the men from  both  armies to see that fraternization between the two countries
wasn’t only possible between its rulers.
 
The council returned as well, with Laurent making several new appointments.
 Soon, he would cull the undesirables out of it, but first he would need to be
absolutely sure in his position.  In the meantime, he could finalize peace
talks with Damen, discuss the future of their countries, and adjust to the
feeling of not having to look around every corner for an assassination attempt.
 
It would have been perfect.  Except that Damen had yet to fuck him again, and
Laurent’s nerves were stretched beyond their limits.  His body was done
healing, and while Damen’s wound was not yet gone, Laurent knew that was not
what was holding him back.  Worse, Damen seemed to be following through with
his threat.  He was actually trying to  court  Laurent.
 
One morning, as they walked through the gardens, he tucked a flower behind
Laurent’s ear.  The fact that Laurent had kept the damn thing and pressed it in
a book was beside the point.  Then, he arranged for them to take dinner
together in private at least twice a week.  And, to top it all off, he’d given
Laurent a  horse .  A beautiful black gelding, as strong as it was fiery.
 
What. A. Bastard.
 
All that, and he refused to do any more than suck Laurent’s cock.  And he
showed no interest in letting Laurent reciprocate, despite the fact that he
ended all of their encounters tenting his chiton obscenely.
 
Laurent had had enough.  Damen claimed that Laurent’s past did not make him
incapable or unwilling to fuck him.  Well, it was time to prove that.
 
The halls were practically deserted, though the sun had barely set.  It was yet
another thing that Laurent suspected Damen did for him.  After dinner, the
palace was only occupied by the most trusted guards and absolutely loyal staff.
 Laurent dismissed the guard that had been standing at his door and marched to
Damen’s.  Really, it was ridiculous that they even  had  separate rooms.
 Everyone knew that Damen had bedded him.
 
It was rude, but Laurent entered without knocking.  Damen whirled towards the
door, already reaching for the sword hanging on his wall, then saw it was
Laurent and relaxed.  Laurent closed the door behind him firmly.
 
“I want,” he said imperiously, “to fuck.”
 
Damen did a double take.
 
“Pardon?” he finally managed to say.  Laurent glared at him.
 
“I did not stutter.”
 
“Are you… unhappy with the way I have been courting you?”
 
“Yes!”  Damen’s face fell.  “No.”  Laurent sighed.  “While I appreciate your
attempt at chivalry, it is unnecessary.  We have already slept together.  More
than once, in case you need reminded.  I even sucked your-”
 
“I have not forgotten.”
 
“Then have you forgotten  how ?  Or perhaps, the location of my room?”
 
“Neither.”
 
“Then you lied about still having the desire to bed me?”
 
“ No .”  Damen ran a hand through his hair. He seemed unsure of himself for a
moment, then sighed, resigned.  “You are aware that there are no more slaves in
the palace?”
 
Laurent nodded slowly, then had a nauseating thought.  “You have not been-  If
you think that I will sit by while you fuck-”
 
“No!  Will you cease in jumping to innane and incorrect conclusions?  I have
promised to be faithful to you and I will keep that promise.  I want no other.
 But I have had to work more closely with the slave handlers, trying to find
places for them.  They need to be protected and provided for until they can
earn a wage.  Not all of them feel that they can.  It is an insult, to them, to
be stripped of their position here, no matter that they can have it back as a
paid servant.”
 
“Only because they were  brainwashed  into-”
 
“I  know .  Just- just  listen .  I have been working with the handlers, and
the slaves that before I would not have had any contact with.  And, it seems,
that not every slave was treated with the same respect and affection that the
Royal Slaves were.”
 
Laurent blinked at him.  Had he really thought that  all  slave owners in
Akiolos revered their slaves?  It was idiotically, dangerously naive.
 
“I know.  You probably think I was a fool for believing it so, but I did.  And
in talking with them, I have come to a… better understanding of how difficult
it can be to truly trust again after that kind of violation.”  Damen sighed
when he saw Laurent stiffen.  “I know that you trust me.  I know that you  want
me.  But did you not notice how much more difficult it became to put aside what
had been done to you after you were brought here and it happened again?”
 
“You spoke to a slave who had been raped by a family member repeatedly, nearly
killed, then raped again by soldiers at that same family member’s orders and
was able to give you perfect insight into my mind?  How unfortunate for them.”
 
“I do not pretend to have perfect insight into your mind, Laurent.  I just
think that what happened here that day reopened old wounds, and they are likely
to take longer to recover.  There is no shame in that.”  He crossed the
distance between them and caressed Laurent’s jaw.  “There is no rush.  I plan
to spend the rest of my life with you, Laurent.  Waiting another week, or
month, or year, will not change that.  I  love  you.  I do want you.  Saint’s
mercy, I want you so badly that I dream of you and wake up with slick sheets
like an adolescent.  But I want you when you are ready.  When you can come to
my bed with no fear, no doubts.
 
“I will wait for you Laurent, and you are worth every moment that I do.”
 
Laurent barely let him finish speaking before he launched himself at Damen.
 For all his strength, Damen stumbled back to the bed with the force of it.  He
had no time to speak, to think - Laurent’s lips were on his, tongue seeking his
out and sliding alongside it.  Laurent’s hands tangled in his hair at first,
tugging deliciously, then one dropped to the pin holding up his chiton and was
tugged away.  The fabric fell, baring Damen’s chest.  In quick, efficient
movements, Laurent began removing his own clothing, never breaking the kiss.
 
It wasn’t until Damen felt Laurent’s thighs bare against his own that Damen
found the strength to pull back.
 
“Laurent- Laurent, what are you-”
 
“I would think that obvious.”
 
“But I just said-”
 
“I know what you said,” Laurent spoke between kisses, trailing his lips up
Damen’s jaw and stopping to bite his ear lobe.  “And I believe you.  But now
I’m ready.  I want - you.  All of you.”  He circled both their cocks in a
single hand and stroked.  Damen groaned.  “Where is the oil?”
 
“The table-” Damen gestured, and in a flash, Laurent was rifling through the
drawer’s contents until he snatched the oil.  “But Laurent-”
 
“Don’t.  I heard you, I listened.  I trust you, and you need to trust me when I
tell you that I’m ready  now .  I want to - to make love with you.”  It sounded
insipid, like a childish fantasy.  But Damen’s lips curled into a soft smile,
and Laurent’s heart fluttered.
 
“Fine.  Only… only, you take me.”
 
Laurent drew back.  “What?”
 
“I did not stutter,” Damen repeated his words back to him.  “You said you want
all  of me.  I have already been inside you.  You, on the other hand, have not
been in me.  There is a part of me that you have not laid claim to.  I think we
need to rectify that.”
 
“If you are only doing this to-”
 
“I am doing this because I want to.  I would have let you back at Karthas, had
we not come before we had the chance.”
 
“I have never…”
 
“You said as much.”
 
“I cannot - I cannot guarantee that I will be able to make it pleasurable for
you, the way you do for me.”
 
Damen smiled.  “ That  is not my concern.  My only worry is that I will come
too soon like an over eager youth.”
 
Laurent shrugged, his confidence growing.  “If you do, then you will have to
tap into that legendary stamina and get it up again.  Unless you think you
can’t.”
 
“Why don’t we try it and see?”
 
Determined now, and practically eager, Laurent slicked his fingers in the oil
and pressed one against Damen.  Droplets of the slick liquid fell against the
sheets.  Laurent worried that Damen was too tight, even with just one finger,
that it could not be comfortable.  Damen just smiled and spread his legs wider.
 
When he felt brave enough, Laurent added a second finger.  He was dizzy with
desire.  Damen’s body was slick and hot, the pressure on his fingers making him
wonder how he would be able to stand it on his cock.  Perhaps Damen wasn’t the
one who would come too soon.
 
Laurent added a third finger before Damen declared himself ready.  Laurent
teased him for longer still, discovering at which angle he needed to crook his
fingers to make Damen’s belly clench and ripple in pleasure.  His free hand
stroked Damen’s cock softly, guarded by Damen’s own hand.  Any time Laurent got
him too close, Damen would stop him.
 
“Not until you’re inside me,” he decreed.  Laurent wasn’t inclined to argue.
 Especially when, moments later, Damen clenched down on him tightly and
demanded  Laurent fuck him.
 
Obliging was no hardship.  Laurent had wondered what this would feel like.
 Nothing else could compare.  Laurent did not know if it was because Damen was
a virgin in this, or if he was naturally blessed in this area like in so many
others, or if it was simply because Laurent loved him, and love increased all
pleasures.
 
Either way, by the time he was fully seated in Damen, he was panting with
pleasure, sweating and shaking as he checked Damen to make sure he was not in
any pain.  Damen’s cock was throbbing untouched against his belly.  Laurent
took that as a good sign.
 
In the end, neither of them lasted any longer than green lads, and neither of
them cared.  Longing and need and desperation all joined together to drive them
into the brink before either of them were ready to let go.
 
It was intense, overwhelming, wonderful.  It was love and lust and loyalty
expressed in the most base form.  It was the trust that Laurent needed from
Damen, the trust he gave Damen in return.  It was equal ground that they both
stood on, together.
 
Laurent convinced Damen to take him for their second round, and the third
didn’t come until much, much later, and involved just hands and thrusting hips.
 
Perhaps Damen had been right to have them hold out.  The anticipation certainly
made the release all the sweeter.  Still, Laurent knew he never wanted to wait
so long ever again.  Damen promised him that he wouldn’t ever have to.
 
***
 
Dawn was lighting the room in a pale glow.  Damen lay on his side, curled
around Laurent like an enormous cat.  It should have been uncomfortable.
 Laurent found that he grudgingly enjoyed the overbearing contact.
 
Damen would likely want to sleep in since they had been up most of the night
before, but Laurent could not force himself to return to slumber.  Too many
thoughts whirled around his mind.  He considered going out for a ride to clear
his head as he would have done before he and Damen had become a couple, then
discarded the idea.  He was trying to be different, to meet Damen halfway.
 
“Wake up.” He prodded Damen’s side none too gently.  Damen barely stirred.
 Laurent huffed and poked him harder, between the ribs.  “Wake  up .”
 
Damen grimaced and his eyes fluttered open.  “W’s wrog?”  His voice was sleep
roughened and his words slurred.  It should not have been adorable.  Indeed, a
word like adorable wasn’t even  in  Laurent’s vocabulary.  He certainly would
not  apply it to sleepy Damianos.  No.
 
“We need to talk.”
 
“What’s wrong?”  This time, all the sleep was gone from Damen’s voice and his
eyes were clear.  He pushed up to one elbow and searched Laurent’s face,
looking for signs of distress.  Laurent waved at him negligently.
 
“Nothing.  Nothing imminently dangerous, anyways.”
 
Damen let out a relieved sigh and flopped back down onto the bed.  “In that
case, can it wait a few more hours?  I feel like I only just closed my eyes.”
 
“I am  trying  to be considerate, here.”
 
“Considerate?”  Damen cocked one dark brow lazily.  “By waking me up for a non-
life-or-death matter at the wrong side of dawn when I spent the entire night in
rather strenuous activity?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“If you say so.”  Damen yawned so widely his jaw cracked.  Laurent scowled at
him.
 
“I could have left before you woke, gone for a ride with the intention of
clearing my head, instead allowed my thoughts to grow out of hand, avoided you
in hopes that I would get my thoughts better in control before facing you,
withdrawn when I realized that things were only getting worse, then taken it
all out on you and anyone around us in a fit of temper.  If you’d rather.”
 
Damen cringed.  “I take your point.  This is far kinder.  Procede.”
 
Laurent began counting the ceiling tiles so that he did not have to look at
Damen’s face.  “You are very… virile.”
 
“...yes?”
 
“I imagine that - before - you would have had a different bed partner almost
every night.  And the majority of them would have been female.”
 
“I was not fucking my way through the populace, but there was… variety, yes.”
 
“Including while you were with Jokaste.”
 
“The type of relationship she wanted did not exclude taking other bedmates, no,
but Laurent-”
 
Laurent went on as if he hadn’t heard the conjunction.  “And it would have been
accepted by your people, even expected, for you to have consorts and mistresses
when you became king.”
 
“It would not have been frowned upon.  But it is not a necessity, and no one is
going to force such an arrangement on me.”
 
“You might want one.”
 
“No.”
 
“You say that now, but be realistic, Damen.  In another fortnight, I will be
returning to Vere.  You will still be rebuilding here.  Even if we take turns
making trips when it is possible, there will still be long stretches during
which we will be apart.”
 
“And I will endure them just as you will.”
 
“It’s not the same.”
 
“Why not?”
 
Laurent scowled.  Was Damen being purposely obtuse?  “Because I do not have
those desires outside of in your immediate presence.  It will be no loss for me
to abstain until we are reunited.”
 
“I am not a beast ruled by my desires, Laurent, any more than you are frigid
and unfeeling.  We will  both  have times when we want, when the need for
release seems choking.  And we will manage.”
 
“But you don’t have to.”
 
“Yes, I do.  I made a commitment to you.  I do not break my word.”  Damen
pushed up on his elbow, looking down at Laurent’s face searchingly.  “What is
this really about?”
 
“You are going to want this more frequently than I do.”  He blurted out the
words in a single breath, fighting the color he knew was staining his cheeks.
 
“Sex?”  A curt nod.  “And so?”
 
“Don’t pretend it won’t be a problem.  We both know that you aren’t going to
fuck me when I don’t want you to, and you’ve foolishly promised not to take
others to your bed.  This is a disaster waiting to happen.  It won’t last.”
 
Damen smiled gently, making Laurent scowl.  “Sweetheart, sex is not the only
part of a relationship. It’s not even the best part of a relationship.”
 Laurent raised an eyebrow. “Don't get me wrong,” Damen chuckled, “it is pretty
damn amazing.  But… there is so much more to you. To what we have between us.
 Sex is the physical act of what we already feel.  That doesn't mean that the
feeling is gone if we aren't making love every moment.”
 
Laurent tried to keep his face blank as he thought, but knew it was a lost
cause.  Damen would see right through him anyway.
 
For all Laurent’s life, sex had been somewhat of a mystery, for all his
experience with it.  Sex was a tool, sex was a means of validation, sex was a
way to prove self worth.  He’d seen others enjoy sex in an empty, physical way,
and he’d seen it used to manipulate and control.
 
But with Damen -
 
With Damen, Laurent was coming to see the act as Damen saw it.  Making love.  
The term still unnerved him, but he was beginning to see just how true that
could be.  And Damen seem convinced that he did not need physical affirmation
of their love every day to remain faithful.  He would love Laurent still even
if they could not fuck regularly.  Even if Laurent turned him down.
 
There would be no punishment, no repercussions.  Just Damen, loving him all the
while. Loyal to him, no matter what.
 
“I think,” said Laurent, “that you should - make love to me again.”
 
Damen’s brow furrowed.  “For someone who claims he will not want sex as often
as I do, you seem very keen.  After three times last night, and then-” he
paused, looking concerned.  “If this is meant to be some kind of gratitude, or-
”
 
“Shut up,” Laurent interrupted.  It would take ages to talk him down if Damen
got it into his head that Laurent was laying with him for any reason other than
genuine want. “I find… I find that trust, and love, and the ability to  choose
, make me-” He stopped, glancing down pointedly at his erection.
 
A slow smile spread across Damen’s face, the very incarnation of sin itself.  “
Oh .”  He slid closer, nuzzling gently along Laurent’s neck in a way he knew
made him shiver.  “In that case, I think perhaps we will not have to worry
about you wanting this less than I do.” The kisses dropped lower, across
Laurent’s sternum, down his abdomen.  “Because I plan to spend the rest of my
life proving my loyalty to you.  Showing you my love. And always,  always,
giving you a choice.” He ran his tongue up the underside of Laurent’s cock,
lingering a moment at the tip before pulling away. Laurent nearly whimpered at
the loss.  “So, sweetheart, tell me.  Do you want me?”
 
Laurent’s cock throbbed.  He didn't try to hide his excitement, didn't try to
keep the look of love from showing in his eyes.  He let go of his insecurities,
of his fears. He chose this. And he knew he would continue to choose this for
the rest of his life.
 
“ Yes.”
 
***
 
Four years can either seem like an eternity, or it can fly by before you even
realize it.  Laurent had experienced both.  The years since he and Damen had
ascended to their thrones had certainly been the former.  Joining two countries
and radically changing several laws was no small feat.  Especially when those
two countries had been sworn enemies for generations, for all that they had
been a single nation once.
 
Thankfully, after the chaos of the first year, Damen and Laurent did not have
to spend any significant amount of time apart.  Workers from both Akielos and
Vere were commissioned to rebuild the ruins at Marlas.  The palace there became
home to both kings for the majority of the year.
 
Laurent’s council had been rebuilt under his careful supervision, and even
included a Akielon ambassador.  Damen, too, had surrounded himself with loyal
Kios who, at the very least, were willing to acknowledge their King’s Veretian
consort, even if they weren’t all happy about it.
 
All in all, things had gone better than either of them ever could have dreamed.
 
And then the whispers started.
 
Neither king had an heir, and if their partnership was, as it seemed, a
monogamous one, then there would not be any.  The Akielons did not understand.
 If Damianos must have a husband instead of a wife, then why not at least
impregnate a good Akielon woman to raise as his heir?
 
The Veretians were even more distraught.  With their deep seated hatred of
bastardry, they could not imagine a child born outside of the royal marriage
someday ruling the country, and yet there was no way for a legitimate heir to
be produced.  There had been talks of introducing a law that would allow for
royal polygamy, so that Laurent might wed a woman and have a child, but Laurent
had outright refused.  His line would end with him, and he would not hear
otherwise.
 
What, then, was a solution?  They could adopt a child, yes, but even assuming
they got a generous fifty years ruling together before passing their thrones
onto their heir, a single generation was not long enough to erase so much
prejudice.  If the child was Veretian, the Akielons would not accept him.  If
he was Akielon, the Veretians would not accept him.  No one could see a path
that did not lead to strife and potential civil war in a few short decades.
 
Until Laurent sent out a discreet missive and got a surprising reply.  A week
later, he and Damen were on the road leading to Vask with a small party of
carefully selected men.  Halvik greeted them as warmly as was in her nature and
settled them into tents, telling them that there was to be a feast later, and
then they would discuss terms.
 
Damen, who had thought they were simply on a diplomatic visit, was confused.
 Laurent refused to explain.  The soldiers pretended not to hear them
bickering.  They did not stop until the feast, and then only because Laurent
was speaking to Halvik instead.  Damen had learned some of their language in
the years since his ascension, but was still not fluent enough to understand
the entirety of their conversation.
 
They were discussing treatment of… something.  A word he didn’t recognize.
 Laurent was speaking of dignity, strength, and honor.  Halvik looked over at
Damen speculatively and nodded.  Then they seemed to be negotiating travel.
 Trips back to Vask, times when Halvik and her warriors would be welcomed in
the palace at Marlas.  Laurent seemed to be offering generous terms, especially
considering how little he liked having visitors in their home.
 
Once that was settled to Halvik’s satisfaction, the conversation turned to
veins that Damen better understood.  Trade routes that would stay open, peace
treaties that would be honored.  She reminded Laurent that a single tribe did
not speak for the whole of Vask, but said that their arrangement would go a
long way to ensuring that there would be no tensions for many generations to
come.
 
Just when Damen was going to demand that they tell him what was going on,
Halvik, Laurent, and Kashel rose.  Damen took Laurent’s outstretched hand and
let himself be pulled along, his frustration steadily turning to anger.  He
would not make a scene that could cause political tensions, he promised
himself.  But as soon as they were back in Marlas-
 
Halvik lifted the flap of a large tent in the middle of the camp.  There were
several men inside tending to young children.  And one child sitting on his
own.  A large child despite his round face and baby teeth.  A child with
distinctive dark curls.  Kashel gently beckoned the child over.  He rose
obediently and walked to them on the mostly steady legs of a toddler.  Dark
eyes stared up at Damen.  He felt as though he could not catch his breath.
 
“My-”
 
“Patronage means little to us,” Halvik said in her stilted Veretian, “but of
this one there is no doubt.”
 
Damen crouched down and held out his hand.  He was an imposing figure to a
child, but Vaskans were taught to revere size, and the boy was obviously
comfortable being in the care of men.  He took Damen’s outstretched hand and
let himself be picked up.
 
“I… I have a son,” he murmured, a bit dazed as the boy patted his cheek, then
poked one chubby finger in Damen’s dimple.  A dimple that the child had as
well.
 
“That is generally what happens after sex with women,” Laurent replied dryly.
 
“I knew there was a chance, of course.  I knew that was why they… but I never
thought- Where is his mother?”  He looked around as if she might be standing
just out of sight.
 
“Dead.”
 
“What?”  Damen instinctively clutched the child tighter to him.
 
“A hunting accident, a few months ago.  I was just as surprised as you are.
 When I wrote to Halvik, I thought, perhaps we could come to some sort of
arrangement, but then-”
 
“You planned this?”
 
“Not the woman’s death, certainly.”  Laurent went on when Damen made to kick
him.  “But yes, I contacted Halvik under the assumption that you would have
likely fathered children with her warriors.  If we could have an heir that was
at least half your blood, the Akielons would be far more likely to accept him.”
 
Damen looked between his husband and his son, nearly speechless.  It all
sounded so easy.  But- “What about the Veretians?  They will consider him a
bastard, and worse, an Akielon one.  Surely they would rather an heir of no
royal blood but of Veretian descent.”
 
“Perhaps they would prefer that, but they will not get it.  Besides, our heir
being half Vaskan means that peace with Vask is almost guaranteed.  Yes, it
will be a male Vaskan, but Vaskan all the same.  It will take time, but
eventually the council and the Veretian people will see that a ruler with
strong ties to all three countries will mean a more peaceful, prosperous
reign.”
 
“And… they are willing to just let him go?  Surely he has been raised with
other family than his mother.  He will be frightened going to a new land, with
people he does not know, especially after having so recently lost his mother.”
 
Beside them - almost forgotten - Kashel tutted in approval.  Her smile was wide
and genuine as she clapped Damen on the back and spoke in rapid Vaskan to
Laurent.
 
“What did she just say?”
 
“That she already feels better about letting you raise a Vaskan child.  Your
strength is tempered by gentleness.  And that you would make a good-” he said a
word in Vaskan, grimacing as he tried to find an appropriate - and inoffensive
- translation in Akielon.  “Caregiver,” he finally settled on.  It perhaps
didn’t cover the ‘studded out by night’ part of the job, but the rest was true
enough.
 
Damen smiled a little crookedly and couldn’t help his gaze from being drawn
back to the child in his arms.
 
“But you are right, they agree it would be unfair to uproot him from everything
he knows.  One of their-” there was that word again.  Laurent gestured to the
men.  “Will come with us to help him get settled in.  Halvik has reserved the
right to come visit the boy as much as she deems necessary for the first year,
to ensure he is being raised properly.  After that, we are expected to travel
with him to Vask at least once a year so that he can maintain ties to the
clan.”
 
“Reasonable terms.”
 
“Of course,” Laurent said, looking offended that Damen would even doubt it.
 
“I have a son,” Damen repeated.
 
“You do.”
 
“ We  have a son.”
 
“We have an heir.”
 
Damen tugged Laurent closer, so that he could have them both in his arms.  “We
have a family.”
 
“Family,” Laurent agreed.  The boy was fascinated with Laurent’s hair, reaching
out to grab a chubby fistful and marveling at the way the strands slipped from
his grasp.  Laurent’s lips curled up just a little and his eyes softened.  He
pressed his finger to the tip of the boy’s nose as he remembered Auguste doing
to him as a child.  The boy grinned and giggled.  “Family, and a future.”    
Chapter End Notes
     There we are, folks! That's all she wrote! Actually, that's not quite
     all I wrote. I do have the bonus reveal scene yet to come, but the
     main plot is now complete.
     I hope you all enjoyed this ride with me, and thanks for reading all
     the way through ❤
***** Bonus Scene *****
Chapter Notes
     Bonus scene! In which Damen tries to reveal his identity to Laurent.
     All dialogue is the work of CS Pacat : )
The Reveal
 
Laurent expected fury.  It was the only logical response.  There was no way he
could convince Damen that he hadn’t abandoned him at Charcy.  What reason did
Damen have to trust him?
 
And so, Laurent steeled himself for Damen’s anger.  He braced himself for the
sight of the man that he’d given himself to, the man that had woken within him
things that perhaps had been better left dormant.  Things that would never
again see the light of day, because Govart’s ambush had ended any chance of he
and Damen picking up where they left off.  Now, all that remained was the
alliance that they both needed.  They could be enemies fighting for the same
cause once more.
 
Laurent buried the ache of that deep down, where no one would ever see it.
 
“Hello, lover.”  He was proud of himself, that his voice did not shake.  Damen
was the very picture of a powerful warlord, streaked with blood and dirt.  He
threw the Regent’s banner down on the table, and there was almost something
poetic about Damen delivering the shredded silk bearing his uncle’s sigil to
Laurent’s table.
 
“Charcy is won.”  His voice was full of emotion, but it wasn’t quite the
outright rage that Laurent had expected.  Damen stepped closer, his eyes
narrowed.  “Your men think you’re a coward.  Nikandros thinks that you deceived
us.  That you sent us to Charcy, and left us there to die by your uncle’s
sword.”
 
Laurent barely dared to take a breath.  “And is that what you think?”
 
“No.  Nikandros doesn’t know you.”
 
And with that, the light that had been reduced to barely a flicker was
refueled.  Such a treacherous thing, hope.  Laurent didn’t want to dare
believe.  He looked for tricks, traps, anything that might be used against him-
 “And you do.”
 
There was a pause as Damen studied him.  Laurent focused all his thought on
holding his body casually, on not revealing how much pain he was in, how
turbulent his emotions were.  He would not appear weak.  Not in front of Damen.
 But then Damen’s hand rose, slowly so as not to pose any threat, and rested on
Laurent’s injured shoulder.  Another moment passed, then Damen began to
squeeze.  Laurent stifled the gasp of pain that had threatened to rise up,
gritted his teeth in an attempt not to react, but Damen, damn him, had clasped
exactly the spot where he had been stabbed.  He could only hold out for another
moment before gasping, “ stop .”
 
“You wouldn’t break an oath,” Damen said, releasing Laurent’s shoulder with an
air of grim satisfaction.  “Even to me.”
 
“Even to you?”  Laurent knew what Damen was going to say before the words left
his lips.  He could see it, written all over Damen’s face.  For a man so
incapable of deception, Damen had held out long enough to tell this truth.
 Laurent wasn’t sure he was ready for it.
 
It was foolish.  He  knew  the truth.  Had known it from the moment he’d laid
eyes on Damen, and had been waiting for the truth to come out ever since.  He’d
expected Damen would take him alone somewhere, away from prying eyes, allow
Laurent to react to the news in privacy.  He was considerate like that.  And
Laurent would admit that he’d known all along, though feigning shock would be
easier.  They would have the chance for a fresh start.
 
What he had not expected was that he would be nearly swaying with exhaustion,
pain throbbing in his entire body, his mind a turmoil of emotions.  He hadn’t
thought that he would still be reeling from Damen believing he hadn’t betrayed
them, even when all evidence pointed to the contrary.
 
He wanted to fall into Damen’s arms and ask to be loved.
 
It was the absurdity of that, the fear of that kind of vulnerability, that iced
Laurent’s veins.  He was not weak.  He would not be weak.  Never again.
 
“I’ve come to tell you who I am.”
 
Damianos, the Prince Killer.  Auguste’s murderer.  Laurent’s lover and only
ally.  His only weakness.
 
“I know who you are, Damianos.”  He let the shock of that sink in, let himself
grow utterly cold.   Frigid .  “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize the man who
killed my brother?”  Damen took a step back, only just not stumbling away from
the painful truth.  Laurent forced himself to go on, to push away any
explanations that he might have offered, or ones Damen might have given him in
return.  No, there was no place for them now.  Not when the truth of who they
were was hanging in the air between them.
 
You fucked your brother’s murderer .  It wasn’t the first time Laurent had the
thought, but it was the most painful.
 
“I knew in the palace, when they dragged you in front of me.  I knew in the
baths when I ordered you flayed.  I knew-”
 
“At Ravenel?”  Damen looked as though he was vacillating between anger and
disbelief. Laurent said nothing.  It was not a question that needed answered.
 “If you knew, how could you-”
 
“Let you fuck me?”
 
And there was the question that Laurent could not answer at all.  How could he
express the feelings Damen provoked in him, the wild, reckless abandon he felt
in Damen’s arms?  How could he explain the way his thoughts had turned, how
coming to know the man that Damen was had somehow overshadowed the reality of
their shared past?  How could he admit, aloud, that for the first time in his
life he had let down his walls, allowed someone inside because they had  earned
the right, and that man was the same one who’d torn his whole world apart
without even knowing it?
 
Laurent was ashamed of himself.  More than ever, he felt like a traitor to
Auguste’s memory.
 
Damen knew you did not betray him at Charcy .
 
“I needed a victory at Charcy.”
 
Damen brought you the Regent’s banner.
 
“ You provided it.”
 
Damen fought for you, risked his life for you.
 
“It was worth enduring your fumbling attentions for that.”
 
Damen took you in his arms and gave you more pleasure than you have ever know,
worshipped your body with his own-
 
It was worse because that was what  should  have happened.  Laurent was a cast
iron bitch who could fuck his brother’s killer if it meant defeating his uncle.
 That’s who he should have been.  Not the heartsick weakling who wanted to be
held.  He should have planned the seduction as carefully as he planned
everything else, seven steps in advance, seeing all the events like moves on a
chess board.  He should have acted convincingly enough, but hated every moment
of it.  He had every  reason  to.
 
But he hadn’t.  And that was worse.
 
“You’re lying.”  Damen sounded so sure, despite the hurt stricken across his
features.  “You’re lying.  You thought I was leaving.  You practically threw me
out.  You knew who I was.  You knew who I was the night we made love.”  Slowly,
the pain on his face was morphing to realization, to confidence.   He can see
right through me , Laurent thought.  It was terrifying.  “You weren’t making
love to a slave.  You were making love to  me .”  It was almost too awful to
hear aloud.  Laurent wanted to hide away from it.  “I thought you wouldn’t,  I
thought you’d never-”  He stepped forward as if to draw Laurent into his arms,
and Laurent only just kept from cringing back.  If Damen touched him now,
Laurent didn’t know what he would do.  He felt wildly out of control,
unbalanced, overwhelmed-  “Laurent, six years ago, when I fought Auguste, I-”
 
“ Don’t say his name!”   In all the confusion, in all the doubt and self
loathing and fear, that was one thing that would always be true.  One thing
that  nothing  could change.  “You  killed my brother .”  Auguste, who had been
sunlight and laughter, Auguste, who had been protecting Laurent from the
Regent, Auguste, who had been  everything .  “Is that what you want to hear?
 That I knew who you were and I still let you fuck me, my brother’s killer, who
cut him down like an animal on the field?”
 
He was shaking now, the mask of indifference he’d been wearing only by sheer
force of will slipping.  It was all too much, more than he could bear-
 
“No, that isn’t-”
 
“Shall I ask you how you did it?  What he looked like when your sword went in?”
 There was an edge of hysteria in his voice that Laurent prayed Damen could not
detect.
 
“ No .”  Damen looked horrified.  Good.  It was how Laurent felt, spinning
madly, out of control.
 
“Or shall I tell you about the illusion of the man who gave me good council.
 Who stood by me.  Who never lied to me.”
 
“ I  never lied to you.”
 
Silence fell between them, and suddenly Laurent wasn’t just mad at himself.  He
was furious with Damen as well.  Since he’d known from the beginning, he’d
never held Damen’s deception about who he was against him.  But now it felt
like a slap in the face.  He’d taken Laurent to bed, believing that eventually
he would have to reveal his identity to Laurent.  And what, he had thought
himself absolved of guilt simply because he hadn’t said the words  I am not
Damianos, the man who killed your brother ?
 
“‘Laurent, I am your slave?’”  They’d both known what those words meant.  It
was only now, in the wake of overdue truth, that Laurent realized just how
impossible they were.
 
“Don’t.  Don’t talk about it like-”
 
“Like?”
 
“Like it was cold blooded; like I controlled it.  Like we didn’t both close our
eyes and pretend I was a slave.  I was your slave.”
 
“There was no slave.  He never existed.”  Even still, Laurent knew beyond a
shadow of a doubt that Damen meant what he said.  There was no artifice in him.
 Taking Laurent to bed had not been a calculated decision.  It had been without
ulterior motive, as straightforward as everything Damen ever did.  But that did
not change things.  “I don’t know what manner of man stands before me now.  All
I know is that I am facing him for the first time.”
 
“He is here.  We are the same.”
 
They couldn’t be the same.  Because now, there was no hiding the truth.  They
had to face each other exactly as they were.  And that meant there could never
be anything more between them.  The thought left Laurent cold.  “Kneel then.
 Kiss my boot.”  The words left him almost as nauseous as they had the first
time he’d said them.  He didn’t want Damen to kneel before him, would have
sneered if Damen had done it, but somewhere buried deep in his heart, he
wondered what it would be like to have Damen kneel for him not because he had
to, but because he  wanted  to.  Laurent wondered what it would take to make
Damen want to kneel before him.  He wondered what it would take to make himself
kneel for Damen.  But no.  Laurent would never kneel again.  Not for anything.
 
“You’re right.  I’m not a slave.  I am the King.  I killed your brother.  And
now I hold your fort.”  He drew a knife, and Laurent barely had time to regret
how quickly he would crumble beneath Damen’s onslaught before he realized that
despite all, Damen would not hurt him.  He threw the dagger onto the ground.
 “So you will parley with me as with a king, and you will tell me why you
called me here.”
 
“Didn’t you know?  My uncle is in Akielos.”  Laurent forced the words to sound
casual, as if the idea of the Regent sitting on Damen’s throne didn’t strike
him to his very core.  He could not allow himself weakness.  He needed to get
control of himself, needed to fall back on the plans he’d made.  With Damen, he
was always standing on shifting sands, forever uncertain of his stance, but the
chess board was where his footing was secure.  He had a plan, one that would
work out to both of their advantage.  And he would cling to it as thought it
was his only port in the storm.  He would get Damen’s agreement of military aid
in exchange for Delpha, and then he would retreat, would let himself mourn once
again the loss of what he never could have had, and steel himself for the days
to come.
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