Laurent And Damen Quotes

I lack," said Laurent, "the easy mannerisms that are usually shared with," you could see him pushing the words out, "a lover." "You lack the easy mannerisms that are usually shared with anyone," said Damen.

Stop enjoying yourself," Damen murmured. "We're going to be killed, any minute." "Giant animal," said Laurent. "Stop it.

That’s right, I’m still captured,’ said Damen. ‘Your eyes say, “For now,”’ Laurent said. ‘Your eyes have always said, “For now.

After a long moment Laurent said, with painful honesty, "I...find it difficult to let go of control." "No kidding," said Damen.

How can you trust me, after what your own brother did to you?" "Because he was false", said Damen, "and you are true. I have never known a truer man.

Damen's understanding of Laurent rearranged itself, in order that he might despise him more accurately.

Damen now knew the precise number of arrows Laurent needed to have trained on him in order to shut him up. It was six.

There was a warmth in his chest whenever he looked at Laurent. He didn't look often for that reason.

Damen to Jord about Laurent: 'He needs me,' said Damen. 'I don't care if you tell the world.

Why do you give me good advice?" asked Laurent. Isn't that why you brought me with you? Instead of speaking those words aloud, Damen said, "Why don't you take any of it?

Torveld favoured Laurent with another of those long, admiring looks that were starting to come with grating frequency. Damen frowned. Laurent was a nest of scorpions in the body of one person. Torveld looked at him and saw a buttercup.

It was with a shock that he felt the touch of Laurent's fingers against the back of his wrist. [...] Laurent was shifting the fabric of his sleeve, sliding it back slightly to reveal the gold underneath, until the wrist cuff he had asked the blacksmith to leave on was exposed between them. 'Sentiment?' said Laurent. 'Something like that.' Their eyes met and he could feel each beat of his heart. A few seconds of silence, a space that lengthened, until Laurent spoke. 'You should give me the other.

This," said Laurent, "is a little more—" It was a word of sharp points: "—intimate," he said, "than ice." "Too intimate?" Damen said. Slowly, he was kneading Laurent's shoulders. He did not usually think of himself as someone with suicidal impulses.

That isn't why. She would have chosen him even if you'd had royal blood in your veins, even if you'd had the same blood as Kastor. You don't understand the way a mind like that thinks. I do. If I were Jokaste and a king maker, I'd have chosen Kastor over you too.' 'I suppose you are going to enjoy telling me why,' said Damen. He felt his hands curl into fists, heard the bitterness in his throat. 'Because a king maker would always choose the weaker man. The weaker the man, the easier he is to control.

He wasn't sure how it would be, but when Laurent saw who was beside him, he smiled, the expression a little shy but completely genuine. Damen, who hadn't been expecting it, felt the single painful beat of his heart. He'd never thought Laurent could look like that at anyone.

I'm glad you're here,' said Laurent. 'I always thought that I'd have to face my uncle alone.' He turned to look at Damen, and their eyes met. 'You're not alone,' said Damen. Laurent didn't answer, but he did give a smile, and reached out to touch Damen, wordlessly.

She was intelligent, accomplished, beautiful. She was everything I could have asked for in a woman. But she was a king maker. She wanted power. She must have thought her only path to the throne was through Kastor.' 'My honourable barbarian. I wouldn't have picked that as your type.' 'Type?' 'A pretty face, a devious mind and a ruthless nature.

Damen thought that if Laurent was holding his hand, he must be dying.

After a moment, Laurent said, ‘He would have liked you.’ ‘Even after I started courting his little brother?’ said Damen carefully. He watched Laurent stop, the way that he did when he was taken by surprise, and then lift his eyes to meet Damen’s. ‘Yes,’ said Laurent softly, his cheeks reddened slightly.

Now, Laurent was beside him. Aloof, untouchable Laurent was beside him, kneeling on the wet marble hundreds of miles from home, with nothing in his eyes but Damen.

You seem to vacillate between assistance and assault. Which is it?' 'I'm not surprised you've driven three men to try and kill you, I'm only surprised there weren't more,' said Damen, bluntly. 'There were,' said Laurent, 'more.

Don't think, he'd said, because it was easier than saying, Take me for who I am. He couldn't bear that suddenly. He wanted it without pretences, without excuses, his fingers curling hard into Laurent's hair. 'It's me,' said Damen. 'It's me, here with you. Say my name.' 'Damianos.

What are you doing?" Damen's breath was shaky. "What am I doing? You are not very observant." "You're not yourself," said Damen. "And even if you were, you don't do anything without a dozen motives." Laurent went very still, the soft words half bitter. "Don't I? I must want something.

He's the captive Kastor sent you to train?' said Torveld, curiously. 'He's--safe?' 'He looks combative, but he's really very docile and adoring,' said Laurent, 'like a puppy.' 'A puppy,' said Torveld. To demonstrate, Laurent picked up a confection of crushed nuts and honey and held it out to Damen as he had at the ring, between thumb and forefinger. 'Sweetmeat?' said Laurent. In the stretched-out moment that followed, Damen thought explicitly about killing him.

I don't have sleeves to carry handkerchiefs in,' said Damen. 'I wouldn't mind being given a knife.' 'Or a fork?' said Laurent.

What makes you think Kastor is the weaker man? You don't know him.' 'But I'm coming to know you,' said Laurent.

Having made the decision to let Damen in, Laurent had not gone back on it. When the walls went up, it was with Damen inside them.

Damen felt Laurent start shaking against him, and realised that, silently, helplessly, he was laughing. There came the sound of at least two more sets of footsteps striding into the room, greeted with: 'Here he is. We found him fucking this derelict, disguised as the tavern prostitute.' 'This is the tavern prostitute. You idiot, the Prince of Vere is so celibate I doubt he even touches himself once every ten years. You. We're looking for two men. One was a barbarian soldier, a giant animal. The other was blond. Not like this boy. Attractive.' 'There was a blond lord's pet downstairs,' said Volo. 'Brained like a pea and easy to hoodwink. I don't think he was the Prince.' 'I wouldn't call him blond. More like mousy. And he wasn't that attractive,' said the boy, sulkily. The shaking, progressively, had worsened. 'Stop enjoying yourself,' Damen murmured. 'We're going to be killed, any minute.' 'Giant animal,' said Laurent. 'Stop it.

A kingdom, or this?

Damen said, 'Men, sometimes.' 'In the absence of women?' 'When I want them.' 'If I'd known that, I might have felt a frisson of danger, lying next to you.' 'You did know that,' said Damen

I'm not going to use the knife," said Damen, "but if you're willing to put it in my hand, you underestimate how much I want to." "No," said Laurent, "I know exactly what it is to want to kill a man, and to wait.

I want you," said Damen. "You've had me," said Laurent. "Twice. I can still feel the . . . sensation of it." Laurent shifted, just so. Damen buried his face in Laurent's neck and groaned, and there was laughter too, and something akin to happiness that hurt as it pushed at the inside of his chest. "Stop it. You will not be able to walk," said Damen. "I'd welcome the chance to walk," said Laurent. "I have to ride a horse.

Friends,' said Laurent, 'Is that what we are?' [...] Damen said, with helpless honesty, 'Laurent, I am your slave.

Say it,’ said Damen. ‘I yield.’ It was gritted out. Laurent’s head turned away to one side. ‘I want you to know,’ he said, the words thick and heavy as they pushed out of him, ‘that I could have done this any time when I was a slave.

He didn't reprimand Damen. He didn't seem particularly displeased with barbaric behavior, as long as it was directed outward. Like a man who enjoys owning an animal who will rake others with its claws but eat peacefully from his own hand, he was giving his pet a great deal of license. As a result, courtiers kept one eye on Damen, giving him a wide berth. Laurent used that to his advantage, using the propensity of courtiers to fall back in reaction to Damen's presence as a means of extricating himself smoothly from conversation. The third time this happened Damen said, 'Shall I make a face at the ones you don't like, or is it enough to just look like a barbarian?

Damen watched as alone, unattended, Laurent had left his own banquet to find him, to follow him here, up the worn steps out onto the battlements. Laurent fitted himself next to him, a comfortable, unobtrusive presence that took up room in Damen's chest. They stood on the edge of the fort they had won together.

You broke a man today. Doesn't that affect you at all? These are lives, not pieces in a chess game with your uncle.' 'You're wrong. We are on my uncle's board and these men are all his pieces.' 'Then each time you move one of them, you can congratulate yourself on how much like him you are.

Makedon was explaining the virtues of iron tea to Laurent, and when Laurent massaged his own temple with finely bred fingers, Makedon remarked, rising, ‘You should have your slave fetch you some.’ ‘Fetch me some,’ Laurent said. Damen rose. And stopped. Laurent had gone very still. Damen stood there, awkwardly. He could think of no other reason why he had stood up. He looked up and his eyes met those of Nikandros, who was staring at him. Nikandros was with a small group to one side of the table, the last of the men in the hall. He was the only one to have seen and heard. Damen just stood there. ‘This meeting is over,’ Nikandros announced to the men around him, too loudly. ‘The King is ready to ride.

Laurent stopped. Damen could see the moment when Laurent decided to continue. It was deliberate, his eyes meeting Damen's, his tone subtly changed. 'Damianos of Akielos was commanding troops at seventeen. At nineteen, he rode onto the field, cut a path through our finest men, and took my brother's life. They say--they said--he was the best fighter in Akielos. I thought, if I was going to kill someone like that, I would have to be very, very good.

Laurent had stopped dead the moment he had seen Damen, his face turning white as though in reaction to a slap, or an insult.

You're in a strange mood,' said Damen. 'Stranger than usual.' 'I'd say I'm in a good mood.' 'A good mood.' 'Well, not as good a mood as Volo,' said Laurent. 'But the food's decent, the fire's warm, and no one's tried to kill me in the last three hours. Why not?

This place sickened him. Anywhere else, you simply killed your enemy with a sword. Or poisoned him, if you had the honourless instincts of an assassin. Here, it was layer upon layer of constructed double-dealing, dark, polished and unpleasant. He would have assumed tonight the product of Laurent's own mind, if Laurent were not so clearly the victim.

Perhaps if you were not a foot taller, or quite so broad across the shoulders.’ ‘It’s considerably less than a foot,’ said Damen. ‘Is it?’ said Laurent. ‘It feels like more when you argue with me on points of honour.

So he's tame,' said Estienne, and reached out tentatively, as though to pat a wild animal. It was a question of which part of the animal he was patting. Damen cknocked his hand away. Estienne gave a yelp and snatched his hand back, nursing it against his chest. 'No that tame,' said Laurent.

The next night, alone in the tent, Laurent said: 'As we draw closer to the border, I think it would be safer--more private--to hold our discussions in your language rather than mine.' He said it in carefully pronounced Akielon. Damen stared at him, feeling as though the world had just been rearranged. 'What is it?' said Laurent. 'Nice accent,' said Damen, because despite everything, the corner of his mouth was beginning helplessly to curve up. [...] It was of course no surprise to find that Laurent had a well-stocked armoury of elegant phrases and bitchy remarks, but could not talk in detail about anything sensible.

Laurent said, 'I didn't think anyone was good enough to get past your guard.' 'One person,' said Damen.

Contrary, aren’t you,’ said Damen softly, thumbing over Laurent’s cheek. ‘Fuck me,’ said Laurent. ‘I want to,’ said Damen. ‘Can you let me?

Think he'll kill him?" another speculated. Damen knew the answer to that question. Laurent was not going to kill him. He was going to break him. Here, in front of everyone.

How can you trust me, after what your own brother did to you?' 'Because he was false,' said Damen. 'and you are true. I think if I gave you my heart, you would treat it tenderly.

I'm twenty years old,' said Laurent, 'and I've been the recipient of offers almost as long as I can remember.' 'Is that an answer?' said Damen. 'I'm not a virgin,' said Laurent. 'I wondered,' Damen said, carefully, 'if you reserved your love for women.' 'No, I--' Laurent sounded surprised. Then he seemed to realise that his surprise gave something fundamental away, and he looked away with a muttered breath; when he looked back at Damen there was a wry smile on his lips, but he said, steadily, 'No.' 'Have I said something to offend you? I didn't mean--' 'No. A plausible, benign and uncomplicated theory. Trust you to come up with it.' 'It's not my fault that no one in your country can think in a straight line,' said Damen, frowning a touch defensively.

Damen had half expected a gaudy parade costume, but Laurent had always defined himself against the opulence of the court. And he did not need gilt to be recognised under a parade standard, only the uncovered bright of his hair.

Damen pushed himself up on an elbow, and propped his head on his hand, his fingers in his hair. He saw that Laurent was looking at him. Not watching him, as he did sometimes, but looking at him, as a man might look at a carving that has caught his attention.

Laurent’s fair skin and blue eyes were a combination that was rare in Patras, rarer in Akielos, and a particular weakness of Damen’s.

The guard said, 'Our orders are no one in or out.' 'You can tell the Prince that,' said Damen, 'after you tell him you let through the Regent's pet.' That got a flicker of reaction. Invoking Laurent's bad mood was like a magical key, unlocking the most forbidding doors.

I should make you watch, said Laurent, while he's stripped down for every man in the troop to have him." Damen stepped forward. "You don't mean this. You need him as a hostage." "I don't need him continent," said Laurent.

Trust you?' said Damen. 'You flayed the skin from my back. I have seen you do nothing but cheat and lie to every person you've encountered. You use anything and anyone to further your own ends. You are the last person I would ever trust.' [...] 'Go, then.

You're better than I am.' Damen couldn't help his amused breath of reaction to that, or the long, scrolling look from Laurent's head to his toes and back again, which was probably a little insulting. But really.

Damen had found his gaze drawn to the easy arrangement of Laurent's limbs, the balance of wrist on knee, the long, finely articulated bones. He had been aware of a diffuse but growing tension, a sensation almost like he was waiting . . . waiting for something, unsure what it was. It was like being alone in a pit with a snake: the snake could relax, you could not.

I'm sorry," said Damen. Laurent gave him a strange look. "Why would you apologise to me?" He couldn't answer. Not with the truth. He said, "I didn't understand what being King meant to you." "What's that?" "An end to fighting." Laurent's expression changed, the subtle signifiers of shock imperfectly repressed, and Damen felt it in his own body, a new pull in his chest at the look in Laurent's dark eyes.

He thought of Laurent's delicate, needling talk that froze into icy rebuff if Damen pushed at it, but if he didn't--if he matched himself to its subtle pulses and undercurrents--continued, sweetly deepening, until he could only wonder if he knew, if they both knew, what they were doing.

All right,' he heard Lazar say. He'd forgotten Lazar was there. After a long moment, he took his eyes off Laurent and looked back at Lazar, who was gazing at him with a rather dry but understanding smile quirking the side of his mouth. 'All right what?' said Damen. 'All right, you're not fucking him,' said Lazar.

I want your best room,' said Laurent, 'with a big bed and a private bath, and if you send up the house boy, you'll find out the hard way that I don't like sharing.' He delivered the innkeeper a long, cool look. "He's expensive,' said Damen to the innkeeper, by way of apology.

He was under no illusion that he was going to be taken to the campfire to roll around with Laurent. If anything, he was going to be taken to the campfire to watch Laurent do some inventive sidestepping.

He was not wearing the woollen cap. His newly minted hair was uncovered, and he looked as fresh as he had emerging from the baths the night before, as he had waking beneath Damen's hands. But he had resumed the cool restraint, his jacket laced, his expression disagreeable from the haughty profile to the intolerant blue eyes. 'You're alive,' Damen said, and the words came out on a rush of relief that made him feel weak. 'I'm alive,' said Laurent. They were gazing at one another. 'I wasn't sure you'd come back.' 'I came back,' said Damen.

Laurent said, 'What do you think of Jord?' 'I like him,' said Damen. 'You should be pleased with him. He was the right choice for Captain.' There was an unhurried pause. Aside from the sounds Damen made when he picked up a vambrace, the tent was quiet. 'No,' said Laurent. 'You were.

I'm not sure that's quite what I asked," said Laurent. His voice had the same quality as his gaze. "This is close quarters." "Close enough to see your eyelashes," said Damen. "It's lucky you do not have the size to breed great warriors.

Damen bridged the nine chilly inches at the first opportunity. 'What are you doing? You were the one who warned me about Nicaise.' He spoke in a low voice. Laurent went very still; then he deliberately shifted in his seat and leaned in, bringing his lips right to Damen's ear. 'I think I'm out of stabbing range, he's got short arms. Or perhaps he'll try to throw a sugar plum? That is difficult. If I duck he'll hit Torveld.' Damen gritted his teeth. 'You know what I meant. He heard you. He's going to act. Can't you do something about it?' 'I'm occupied.' 'Then let me do something.' 'Bleed on him?' said Laurent.

The Crown Prince was camped at Nesson this very minute, on his way to the border to stand up to Akielos. He was a young man serious about his responsibilities, Charls said. Damen had to make an effort not to look over at Laurent, gambling, when he said it.

I thought killing was easy for you," said Laurent. His voice was rather quiet. "I thought you did it without thinking." "I'm a soldier," said Damen, "and I have been for a long time. I've killed on the sawdust. I've killed in battle. Is that what you mean by easy?" "You know it isn't," said Laurent, in that same quiet voice.

You were taken prisoner, you single-handedly escaped from the cells at Fortaine, and somehow managed to get Guion to switch sides on the way out?’ ‘Well,’ said Laurent, ‘not everyone is as bad at escaping as you are.’ Damen

To Laurent, in the same voice, he said, 'Calm down.' Laurent said, 'I wasn't finished.' 'Finished what?' Reducing every man in the room? Jord isn't any kind of match for you in this mood, and you know it. Calm down.' Laurent gave him the kind of look a swordsman gives as he decides whether or not to slice his unarmed enemy in half.

You look like a whore.' The soft words barely stirred the air by Damen's ear, inaudible to anyone else. Laurent murmured: 'Filthy painted slut. Did you spread for my uncle the way you did for Kastor?

If you’re this angry,’ said Laurent, ‘you should fight a real opponent.’ ‘There’s no one–‘ Damen stopped, but the unspoken words hung, dangerous with the truth. There was no one good enough to fight him. Not in this mood. In this mood, angry and unable to hold back, he would kill them. ‘There’s me,’ said Laurent.

Damen held himself very still. This easy way of speaking of Auguste was new, and he didn’t want to disturb it. After a moment, Laurent said, ‘He would have liked you.’ ‘Even after I started courting his little brother?’ said Damen carefully.

Laurent flushed. The colour hit his cheeks hard, and a muscle tightened in his jaw as whatever he felt was forcibly repressed. It was not like any reaction that Damen had ever seen from him before, and he couldn't resist pushing it a little further.

I remember. You take a great deal of pleasure in small victories." Damen quoted Laurent's words back to him. "It's not small," said Laurent. "It's the first time I've ever won a play against my uncle.

I want you to know,' said Damen, carefully, 'that I haven't done anything to encourage the idea that I-that you and I-' 'If I thought you had, I'd have had you tied to a post and flogged until your front matched your back.

Did you learn the rotation of the border patrols?’ said Laurent. ‘Yes, our scouts found—’ Laurent was standing in the doorway wearing a chiton of unadorned white cotton. Damen dropped the pitcher. It shattered, shards flying outward as it slipped from his fingers and hit the stone floor. Laurent’s arms were bare. His throat was bare. His collarbone was bare, and most of his thighs, his long legs, and all of his left shoulder. Damen stared at him. ‘You’re wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Damen. ‘Everyone’s wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Laurent. Damen thought that the pitcher had shattered and he could not now take a deep draught of the wine. Laurent came forward, navigating the broken ceramic in his short cotton and sandalled feet, until he reached the seat beside Damen, where the map was laid out on the wooden table. ‘Once we know the rotation of the patrols, we’ll know when to approach,’ said Laurent. Laurent sat down. ‘We need to approach at the beginning of their rotation in order to give us the most time before they report back to the fort.’ It was even shorter sitting down. ‘Damen.’ ‘Yes. Sorry,’ said Damen. And then: ‘What were you saying?

He loved the way that Laurent kissed, as if Damen was the only person that he had ever kissed, or would ever want to.

When you lost your brother, was there someone to comfort you?" "Yes," said Laurent. "In a way." "Then I'm glad," said Damen. "I'm glad that you weren't alone." Laurent pushed himself away, up into a sitting position, and for a moment he sat, without speaking. He pushed his palms into his eye sockets. "What is it?" "It's nothing," said Laurent.

He was not thinking about tactics. That man had laid hands on Laurent, and Damen was going to kill him.

The cuff, unmistakably, was the twin to the one Damen wore, altered last night by a blacksmith for Laurent’s finer wrist. Damen said, ‘Wear it for me.’ For

Why? Do you want to spar? We can keep it friendly," Damen said. "No," said Laurent.

How can you trust me, after what your own brother did to you?’ ‘Because he was false,’ said Damen, ‘and you are true. I have never known a truer man.

Damen said, with helpless honesty, "Laurent, I am your slave." The words laid him open, truth exposed in the space between them. He wanted to prove it, as though, inarticulate, he could make up for what divided them. He was aware of the shallowness of Laurent's breath, it matched his own; they were breathing each other's air. He reached out, watching for any hesitation in Laurent's eyes. The touch he offered was accepted as it had not been last time, fingers gentle on Laurent's jaw, thumb passing over his cheekbone, soft. Laurent's controlled body was hard with tension, his rapid pulse urgent for flight, but he closed his eyes in the last seconds before it happened. Damen's palm slid over Laurent's warm nape; slowly, very slowly, making his height an offering, not a threat, Damen leaned in and kissed Laurent on the mouth. The kiss was barely a suggestion of itself, with no yielding of the rigidity in Laurent, but the first kiss became a second, after a fraction of parting in which Damen felt the flicker of Laurent's shallow breathing against his own lips. It felt, in all the lies between them, as if this was the only true thing. It didn't matter that he was leaving tomorrow. He felt remade with the desire to give Laurent this: to give him all he would allow, and to ask for nothing, this careful threshold something to be savoured because it was all Laurent would let himself have.

The kiss happened because they couldn't help it, and it was so sweet and so right that Damen felt a kind of ache. He pulled back. The realities of the outside world seemed to press at him. "I"-he couldn't say it. "No. Listen to me." He felt Laurent's hand firm on the back of his neck. "I'm not going to let my uncle hurt you." Laurent's blue gaze was calm and steady, as if he had mad a decision and wanted Damen to know it. "It's what I came here last night to say. I'm going to take care of it." "Promise me," Damen heard himself say. "Promise me we won't let him-" "I promise.

Damen was smiling helplessly. 'that was adequate.' 'You've been waiting to say that.' The words were only a little blurred.

And any hope Damen had that Laurent could control this scene ended as Laurent's face shuttered, as his eyes went cold, and with the sharp sound of steel, his sword came out of its sheath.

Damen was smiling; there was delight in seeing Laurent explore himself, a young man who was sweet, teasing, at times unexpectedly earnest. Having made the decision to let Damen in, Laurent had not gone back on it. When the walls went up, it was with Damen inside them.

They trundled on for two miles, until the checkpoint was safely out of sight behind a hill, when the wagon stopped and the door swung open. Laurent stepped out of the wagon, wearing only a loose Veretian shirt, slightly dishevelled over his pants. Nikandros looked from him to the wagon and back again. He said, ‘How did you convince Jokaste to play along with the guards?’ ‘I didn’t,’ said Laurent. He tossed the wad of blue silk in his hands to one of the soldiers to dispose of, then shrugged into his jacket in a rather mannish gesture. Nikandros was staring at him. ‘Don’t think about it too much,’ said Damen.

No," said Laurent, almost as if he was realising it for the first time. "I don't think you would. But I know you don't like it. I remember how much it maddened you in the palace, to be bound and powerless. I felt yesterday how badly you wanted to hit someone." Damen found he'd moved without realising it, his fingers lifting to touch the bruised edge of Laurent's jaw. He said, "The man who did this to you.

Laurent!’ said Makedon, greeting Laurent warmly. ‘I am glad to take up your invitation to hunt with you in Acquitart when this campaign is over.’ He clapped Laurent on the shoulder. Laurent said, ‘My invitation.’ Damen wondered whether he had ever been clapped on the shoulder in his life. ‘I sent a messenger to my homestead this very morning to tell them to begin preparing light spears for chamois.

From the severe, straight-backed posture to the impersonal grace of his cupped yellow head; from his detached blue eyes to the arrogance of his cheekbones, Laurent was complicated and contradictory, and Damen could look nowhere else.

To gain everything and lose everything in the space of a moment. That is the fate of all princes destined for the throne. Laurent had said that. Damen

The Regent’s real weapon against Laurent had always been Damen himself. ‘I’ve come to tell you who I am.’ Laurent

I know who you are, Damianos,’ said Laurent. Damen

Instead of leaning in, Damen took Laurent’s hand, brought it towards himself, and kissed his palm, once.

Damen felt it then, the first dizzy edge of new emotion, and he let go his hold of Laurent like a man fearing a precipice; and yet was helpless.

Coiled and personal, Laurent's gift was a Veretian whip, made of gold. Damen recognized it. [...] His gaze flung to Laurent. He knew he had flushed, he could feel the heat in his own cheeks. In front of the gathered generals, he couldn't say, What have you done?

No. Wait. I . . . wait." Damen stopped, and turned. Laurent's gaze was edged with indecipherable emotion, and his jaw was set at a new angle. The silence stretched out for such a long time that the words, when they came, were a shock.

It was like watching a boar try to take on the endless blue of the sky. Damen remembered how it felt to be coerced to Laurent's will. Laurent had never needed to use force to make men obey him, just as he had never needed men to like him in order to get his way. Laurent got his way because when men tried to resist him, they found, sweetly outmanoeuvred, that they couldn’t.

The Regency,' said Laurent, addressing the troop, 'thought to take us outnumbered. It expected us to roll over without a fight.' Damen said: 'We will not let them cow us, subdue us or force us down. Ride hard. Don't stop to fight the front line. We are going to smash them open. We are here to fight for our Prince!' The cry rang out, For the Prince! The men gripped their swords, slammed their visors down, and the sound they made was a roar.

You wrestled him without any clothes on." "That is sports," said Damen. He folded his arms, thinking that Veretians lacked any sense of dignity, even as Laurent sitting up and pressing a delighted kiss to his lips had him slightly mollified.

What?’ Damen was smiling. ‘You’re very,’ said Laurent, and then, flushing, ‘attractive.’ ‘Really,’ said Damen, in a rich, warm voice. ‘Yes,’ said Laurent. Damen’s smile widened, and he lay back in the sheets and just luxuriated in the idea, feeling ridiculously pleased. ‘Well,’ Damen owned, turning his head back to Laurent eventually, ‘You are too.’ Laurent

If you bind your men to you with deception, how can you ever trust them? You have qualities they will come to admire. Why not let them grow to trust you naturally, and in that way--' 'There isn't time,' said Laurent. The words pushed themselves with sheer force out of whatever wordless state Laurent had been shocked into. 'There isn't time,' Laurent said again. 'I have two weeks until we reach the border. Don't pretend that I can woo these men with hard work and a winning smile in that time. I am not the green colt my uncle pretends. I fought at Marlas and I fought at Sanpelier. I am not here for niceties. I don't intend to see the men I lead cut down because they will not obey orders, or because they cannot hold a line. I intend to survive, I intend to beat my uncle, and I will fight with every weapon that I have.

Deliberately, he stepped forward, and clasped Laurent’s right shoulder. Nothing, for a moment. Damen tightened his grip, and ground in with his thumb. Harder. He watched Laurent turn ashen. Finally, Laurent said, ‘Stop.’ He

I don’t think I need to bring in more men,” said Laurent. “I think all I have to do is tell you to kneel, and you’ll do it. Without me lifting a finger to help anyone.” “You’re right,” said Damen. “I can end this any time I like?” said Laurent. “I haven’t even begun.

Talik said, 'His contract with Lord Berenger ends soon. Ancel will seek a new contract, a high bidder. He wants money, status. He is foolish. Lord Berenger may offer less money, but he is kind, and never puts pets in the ring. Ancel has made many enemies. In the ring, someone will scratch his green eyes out, an "accident."' Damen was drawn in against his will. 'That's why he's chasing royal attention? He wants the Prince to--' He tried out the unfamiliar vocabulary. '--offer for his contract?' 'The Prince?' said Talik, scornfully. 'Everyone knows the Prince does not keep pets.' 'None at all?' said Damen. She said, 'You.' She looked him up and down. 'Perhaps the Prince has a taste for men, not these painted Veretian boys who squeal if you pinch them.' Her tone suggested that she approved of this on general principle.

For a moment he thought Laurent wasn’t going to do it. But in public, Laurent had no recourse to refusal. Laurent extended his hand. And then waited, palm outstretched, his eyes lifting to meet Damen’s. Laurent said, ‘Put it on me.’ Every

You came', said Laurent. 'You knew I would', said Damen. 'If you need an army to take your capital', said Laurent, 'I seem to have one' Damen let out a strange breath. They were gazing at each other. Laurent said, 'after all, I owe you a fort

Is there no way forward for us?’ said Damen. It just came out. Beside him, he could feel Laurent holding himself very still. ‘You mean, will I come back to your bed for the little time we have left?’ ‘I

I knew in the palace, when they dragged you in front of me,’ said Laurent. The words continued, steady, relentless. ‘I knew in the baths when I ordered you flayed. I knew—’ ‘At Ravenel?’ said Damen. Drawing

The ache of loss didn’t make sense, because Laurent had never been his. He had known that. The delicate thing that had grown between them had never had a right to exist. It had always had an end date, the moment that Damen reassumed his mantle. Now

Slow rocking began to turn the kiss into something more. There was a knock at the door. "Come in," said Laurent, turning his head towards the sound. Damen said, "Laurent," shocked and on full display as the door swung open. Pallas entered. Laurent greeted him no self-consciousness at all. "Yes?" Laurent's voice was matter-of-fact. Pallas's mouth opened. Damen saw what Pallas saw: Laurent like some dream of a newly fucked virgin, himself unmistakably above him, fully roused. [...] "My apologies, Exalted. I came to seek your orders for the morning." "We're busy currently. Have a servant prepare the baths and bring us food mid-morning." Laurent spoke like an administrator glancing up from his desk. "Yes, Exalted." Pallas turned blindly, and made for the door. "What is it?" Laurent looked at Damen, who had detached himself and was sitting with the sheet pulled up to where he had clutched it to cover himself. And then, with the burgeoning delight of discovery, "Are you shy?

Protect me,” said Damen, flat incredulity in his voice. “I am aware that you saved my life.” Damen just stared at him. Laurent said: “I dislike feeling indebted to you. Trust that, if you don’t trust me.” “Trust

Nikandros turned him, put his hands on Damen’s body, spreading them over Damen’s back, as if touch would confirm what his eyes wouldn’t believe. ‘Who did this to you?’ ‘I did,’ Laurent said. Damen turned. Laurent

Even before Laurent had hit the ground, the man had drawn his sword. Damen was too far away. He was too far to get between the man and Laurent, he knew that, even as he drew his sword--even as he wheeled his horse, felt the powerful bunch of the animal beneath him. There was only one thing he could do. As the spray of water sheared up from under his horse, he hefted his sword, changed his grip, and threw. It was, emphatically, not a throwing weapon. It was six pounds of Rabatian steel, forged for a two-handed grip. And he was on a moving horse, and many feet away, and the man was moving too, towards Laurent. The sword drove through the air and took the man in the chest, ramming into the ground and pinning him there.

Why not?” he said, abruptly. “Why not?” said Damen. “I don’t share your craven habit of hitting only those who cannot hit back, and I take no pleasure in hurting those weaker than myself.” Driven past reason, the words came out in his own language. Laurent,

Charls met the Prince of Vere once,’ Guilliame said to Damen, lowering his voice to the conspiratorial, ‘in a tavern in Nesson, disguised as a,’ lowering it further, ‘prostitute.’ Damen looked over at Laurent, who was deep in conversation, letting his eyes pass slowly over every familiar feature, the cool expression tipped with gold in the firelight. He said, ‘Did he?’ ‘Charls said, think of the most expensive pet you’ve ever seen, then double it.’ ‘Really?’ said Damen. ‘Of course, Charls knew who he was right away, because he couldn’t hide his princely style, and nobility of spirit.’ ‘Of course,’ said Damen.

Perhaps we can take a turn in the garden. The slave can avail himself of the garden seat and rest his injuries' 'How thoughtful of you, Councillor,' said Laurent. He turned to Damen and said in a melting voice, 'Your back must hurt terribly.' 'It's fine,' said Damen. 'Kneel on the ground then,' Laurent said.

So you will parley with me as with a king, and you will tell me why you called me here.’ Deliberately, Damen tossed the knife onto the floor of the tent. Laurent’s eyes didn’t follow its path. His gaze held steady. ‘Didn’t you know?’ said Laurent. ‘My uncle is in Akielos.

All right. Give me some coin. I want to play that man at cards.’ Laurent rose, leaning his weight against the table. Damen reached for the purse, then paused. ‘Aren’t you supposed to earn gifts with service?’ Laurent said, ‘Is there something you want?’ His voice was sinuous with promise; his gaze was steady as a cat’s.

Laurent shuddered against him as they kissed, as if, having surrendered to it, the painful exchange of brother for lover, he was in some private reality where myth and man met. Even if it was some self-destructive impulse in Laurent, Damen was not noble enough to give it up. He wanted it, felt a surge of purely selfish desire as he thought of it, that Laurent knew it was him. That Laurent wanted this with him. He

He spoke softly. ‘Laurent, I’d never hurt you.’ He heard Laurent’s strange, disbelieving breath, and he realised what he had said. ‘I know,’ said Damen, ‘that I did hurt you.’ Laurent’s

When you kissed me,’ said Laurent, pushing the words out, ‘I liked it. When you took me in your mouth, it was the first time that I had . . . done that.’ He said, ‘I liked it when you—’ Laurent’s breathing shallowed as Damen pushed himself up. He had kissed Laurent as a slave, but never as himself. They both felt the difference of it, the anticipated kiss so real between them it was as if it was already happening. The

Laurent had delivered all Damen had asked for, tied up neatly in a bow. All within the space of a day. If you put everything else aside, you had to admire it for sheer organisational efficiency. If

Nicaise had picked up a gilt three-pronged fork, but had paused before sampling the dish in order to speak. The fear he'd shown of Damen at the ring seemed to still be there. His knuckles, clenched around the fork, were white. 'It's all right,' said Damen. He spoke to the boy as gently as he could. 'I'm not going to hurt you.' Nicaise stared back at him. His huge blue eyes were fringed like a whore's, or like a doe's. Around them, the table was a coloured wall of voices and laughter, courtiers caught up in their own amusements, paying them no attention. 'Good,' said Nicaise, and stabbed the fork viciously into Damen's thigh under the table. Even through a layer of cloth, it was enough to make Damen start, and instinctively grab the fork, as three drops of blood welled up. 'Excuse me a moment,' Laurent said smoothly, turning from Torveld to face Nicaise. 'I made your pet jump,' said Nicaise, smugly. Not sounding at all displeased: 'Yes, you did.' 'Whatever you're planning, it's not going to work.' 'I think it will, though. Bet you your earring.' 'If I win, you wear it,' said Nicaise. Laurent immediately lifted his cup and inclined it toward Nicaise in a little gesture sealing the bet. Damen tried to shake the bizarre impression that they were enjoying themselves. Nicaise waved an attendant over and asked for a new fork.

My throne for your throne,’ Damen said. He pushed back the fabric. It was more bare skin than Laurent had ever shown in public, on display to the entire tent. ‘Help me regain my kingdom, and I’ll see you King of Vere.’ Damen fitted the cuff to Laurent’s left wrist. ‘I’m overjoyed to wear a gift that reminds me of you,’ said Laurent. The cuff locked into place.

I can’t protect you as I am now, Laurent had said. Damen hadn’t thought about what protection might entail, but he would never have imagined that Laurent would step into the ring on his behalf. And stay in it. “I

You are merchants?’ ‘We are.’ ‘What name?’ said the officer. ‘Charls,’ said Damen, who was the only merchant he knew. ‘You are Charls the renowned Veretian cloth merchant?’ said the officer sceptically, as if this was a name well known to him. ‘No,’ said Laurent, as if this was the most foolish thing in the world. ‘I am Charls the renowned Veretian cloth merchant. This is my assistant. Lamen.’ In the silence, the officer tracked his gaze over Laurent, then over Damen. (...) ‘Well, Charls,’ he said, eventually. ‘It looks like you’ve got a broken axel.’ ‘I don’t suppose your men could aid us in our repairs?’ said Laurent. Damen stared at him. They were encircled by fifty mounted Akielon soldiers. Jokaste was inside that wagon. The officer said, ‘We’re patrolling for Damianos of Akielos.’ ‘Who’s Damianos of Akielos?’ said Laurent. His face was utterly open, his blue eyes unblinking, upturned to the officer on his horse. ‘He’s the King’s son,’ Damen heard himself saying, ‘Kastor’s brother.’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lamen. Prince Damianos is dead,’ said Laurent. ‘He is hardly the man to whom this officer is referring.’ Then, to the officer: ‘I apologise for my assistant. He doesn’t keep up with Akielon affairs.

After a moment: ‘At Ravenel, I—it had been a long time since I had—with anyone. I was nervous.’ ‘I know,’ said Damen. ‘There has,’ said Laurent. He stopped. ‘There has only been one other person.’ Softly, ‘I’m a little more experienced than that.’ ‘Yes, that is immediately apparent.’ ‘Is it?’ A little pleased. ‘Yes.’ He

You wouldn’t break an oath,’ said Damen, past the feeling in his chest. ‘Even to me.’ He had to force himself back. The tent was large enough to accommodate the movement, four paces between them. Laurent didn’t answer. He still had a hand clutched to his shoulder, his fingers sticky with blood. Laurent said, ‘Even to you?’ He

You’re alive,’ Damen said, and the words came out on a rush of relief that made him feel weak. ‘I’m alive,’ said Laurent. They were gazing at one another. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come back.’ ‘I came back,’ said Damen. Anything

Damen thought privately that princes needed seasoning not protection. Laurent in particular. He had seen Laurent open his mouth and strip paint from the walls. He had seen Laurent lift a knife and in cold blood slit open a man’s throat without so much as a flicker of his golden lashes. Laurent didn’t need to be protected from anything.

Charcy is won.’ ‘I thought it would be.’ He made himself breathe through that. ‘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.’ ‘And is that what you think?’ said Laurent. ‘No.’ Damen said, ‘Nikandros doesn’t know you.’ ‘And you do.’ Damen

He didn’t turn back to look at Damen. ‘I hurt you, Laurent.’ ‘That’s enough, stop,’ said Laurent. ‘It wasn’t right. You were just a boy. You didn’t deserve what happened to you.’ ‘I said that’s enough.’ ‘Is it so hard to hear?’ He

He lifted his hand to brush Laurent’s cheek, smiling. He was opening his eyes. ‘Damen,’ said Laurent. Damen’s heart moved in his chest, because the way Laurent said his name was quiet, happy, a little shy. Laurent had only ever said it once before, last night. ‘Laurent,’ said Damen. They

Do it. I want it. I want—’ Damen was unable to stop himself pressing his own weight forward, running his hand up Laurent’s back, and slowly rubbing himself, close to his object, in sweet, simulated fuck. Laurent arched his back, and Damen’s body ran out of breath. ‘We can’t, we don’t have—’ ‘I

Laurent asked, ‘Is it different than with a man?’ ‘Yes,’ said Damen. It was different with everyone. He didn’t say this aloud;

Damen was swept away by servants, by well-wishers. The last thing he heard was Laurent saying, ‘See to my Captain. Tonight he is to have anything that he asks for.’ *

It’s what I came here last night to say. I’m going to take care of it.’ ‘Promise me,’ Damen heard himself say. ‘Promise me we won’t let him—’ ‘I promise.’ Laurent

When you lost your brother, was there someone to comfort you?’ ‘Yes,’ said Laurent. ‘In a way.’ ‘Then I’m glad,’ said Damen. ‘I’m glad you weren’t alone.’ Laurent

Damen was breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists. How dare you talk that way about my father. The words were on his lips. His mind pulsed and throbbed. Laurent

It was what Laurent had been holding in his right hand when Damen entered. The blue sapphires of Nicaise’s earring. The

He didn’t take his eyes off Laurent. ‘Arrest me,’ said Damen. ‘I have raised hands to the Prince.’ The

Don’t,’ said Laurent, ‘toy with me. I—have not the means to—defend against this.’ ‘I don’t toy with you.’ ‘I—’ ‘Don’t think,’ said Damen. ‘Kiss me,’ said Laurent.

There was a strange doubling, brother for brother, Laurent close as Auguste has been, and Damen even less defended, Laurent's fingers on te place where he had been run through.

I’m not—’ said Laurent. And then, as the moment stretched out between them, ‘I’m not an innocent who needs his hand held through every step.’ ‘Aren’t you?’ Realisation came to Damen. Laurent’s wariness was not, at this moment, the high walls of the defended citadel. It was that of a man with a portion of his guard down, who was desperately unused to it. After

It’s not a trick,’ said Laurent. ‘You’d let me go,’ said Damen. This time it was Laurent who was silent, gazing back at him. Damen said, ‘And—until then?’ ‘Until then, you are my slave, and I am your Prince, and that is how it is between us.

Laurent entered, an edge to his grace, like a leopard with a headache, around whom one must tread very, very carefully. ‘Good morning,’ said Damen. ‘Good morning,’ said Laurent. This

I’ll stay,’ said Damen. ‘You know I’ll stay for as long as you—’ ‘Don’t,’ said Laurent. ‘Don’t lie to me. Not you.’ ‘I’ll stay,’ said Damen. ‘Three days. After that, I ride south.’ Laurent

What are you doing here?’ Damen said. He was pale in the moonlight, set against the dim shadows of the room that shrouded them both. Laurent said, ‘I know what it’s like to lose family.’ The

A Veretian who treats honourably with an Akielon will be gutted with his own sword. It’s your countryman who taught me that. You can thank him for the lesson.” “Thank who?” Damen pushed the words out, somehow, past the pain, but he knew. He knew. “Damianos, the dead Prince of Akielos,” said Laurent. “The man who killed my brother.

I mean that we hold the centre. We hold everything from Acquitart to Sicyon. Can we not call it a kingdom and rule it together? Am I such a poorer prospect than a Patran princess, or a daughter of the Empire?’ He made himself say no more than that, though the words crowded in his chest. He waited. It surprised him that it hurt to wait, and that the longer he waited, the more he felt he couldn’t bear to hear the answer, brought to him on a knife point. When he made himself look at Laurent, Laurent’s eyes on him were very dark, his voice quiet. ‘How can you trust me, after what your own brother did to you?’ ‘Because he was false,’ said Damen, ‘and you are true. I have never known a truer man.’ He said, into the stillness, ‘I think if I gave you my heart, you would treat it tenderly.’ Laurent turned his head, denying Damen his face. Damen could see his breathing. After a moment he said in a low voice, ‘When you make love to me like that, I can’t think.’ ‘Don’t think,’ said Damen. Damen

Laurent had tamped down the smothered emotion in his eyes, and would endure an alliance with his brother’s killer, though he felt nothing but aversion. If he could do it, Damen could do it. He could make impersonal negotiations, speak in the formal language of kings. The

If he could do it, Damen could do it. He could make impersonal negotiations, speak in the formal language of kings. The ache of loss didn't make sense, because Laurent had never been his. He had known that.

Damen dropped the pitcher. It shattered, shards flying outward as it slipped from his fingers and hit the stone floor. Laurent’s arms were bare. His throat was bare. His collarbone was bare, and most of his thighs, his long legs, and all of his left shoulder. Damen stared at him. ‘You’re wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Damen. ‘Everyone’s wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Laurent. Damen

Laurent would have been thirteen but in Damen’s mind’s eye he would have found him a little older, sixteen or seventeen, old enough that Damen’s nineteen-year-old self could have begun, with all the exuberance of youth, to court him. He

Damen’s palm slid over Laurent’s warm nape; slowly, very slowly, making his height an offering, not a threat, Damen leaned in and kissed Laurent on the mouth. The kiss was barely a suggestion of itself, with no yielding of the rigidity in Laurent, but the first kiss became a second, after a fraction of parting in which Damen felt the flicker of Laurent’s shallow breathing against his own lips. It

In my culture, it is customary to reward for good service,’ said Laurent, after a long pause. ‘Is there something you want?’ ‘You know what I want,’ said Damen. ‘I am not going to release you,’ said Laurent. ‘Ask for something short of that.’ ‘Take

You are not keeping slaves in your household.’ ‘I can’t imagine why,’ said Damen. ‘If you’ve forgotten what to do with a slave, I can tell you,’ said Laurent. ‘You hate the idea of slavery. It turns your stomach.’ Damen said it, a flat statement of truth. ‘If I’d been anyone else, you would have freed me on the first night.’ He searched Laurent’s face. ‘When I argued the case for slavery in Arles you didn’t try to change my mind.’ ‘It is not a subject for an exchange of ideas. There is nothing to say.’ ‘There will be slaves in Akielos. We are a slave culture.’ ‘I know that.’ Damen

A fourth son, thought Damen, waiting for someone to notice him. When he wasn’t trying to please, he was baiting authority, as though negative attention could substitute for the approval that he sought—that he had been given, once, by Laurent’s uncle. I’m sorry, Jord. They were the last words anyone would have from him. He had killed himself.

I—’ ‘Say it.’ ‘I’m going to leave tomorrow,’ said Damen, as steadily as he could. ‘I’m not going to come back.’ He drew in a breath that hurt his chest. ‘Laurent—’ ‘No, I don’t care. Tomorrow you leave. But you’re mine now. You’re still my slave tonight.’ Damen

Ravenel’s forces on the hill began to split into a widening v-shape. ‘They’re moving to flank us. Have they mistaken us for an enemy troop?’ said Jord, confused. ‘No,’ said Laurent. ‘There is still a path open to us, to the north,’ said Damen. ‘No,’ said Laurent. A

Damen said, ‘I will help you in whatever way I can, but there will be no time for anything but hard work, and you will have to do everything right.’ Laurent lifted his chin and replied with every bit of cool, galling arrogance he had ever shown. ‘Watch me,’ he said.

Everything was calculated. Laurent didn’t trust anyone. Damen

Very well. Let us play this out. You’re concerned for the well-being of the other slaves? Why hand me that kind of advantage?” “Advantage?” said Damen. “When someone doesn’t like you very much, it isn’t a good idea to let them know that you care about something,” said Laurent. Damen

Laurent said, ‘What do you think of Jord?’ ‘I like him,’ said Damen. ‘You should be pleased with him. He was the right choice for Captain.’ There was an unhurried pause. Aside from the sounds Damen made when he picked up a vambrace, the tent was quiet. ‘No,’ said Laurent. ‘You were.’ ‘What?

Is that an answer?’ said Damen. ‘I’m not a virgin,’ said Laurent. ‘I wondered,’ Damen said, carefully, ‘if you reserved your love for women.’ ‘No, I—’ Laurent sounded surprised. Then he seemed to realise that his surprise gave something fundamental away, and he looked away with a muttered breath;

I said that’s enough,’ said Laurent. Damen was silent. It took a great deal of effort. Laurent was staring at him with a frown. ‘Why do you give me good advice?’ asked Laurent. Isn’t that why you brought me with you? Instead of speaking those words aloud, Damen said, ‘Why don’t you take any of it?’ ‘Govart

Think he’ll kill him?’ another speculated. Damen knew the answer to that question. Laurent was not going to kill him. He was going to break him. Here, in front of everyone. Perhaps Govart sensed Laurent’s intention, because the third time he lost his sword, his mind snapped. Throwing aside the conventions of a duel was preferable to the humiliation of a drawn-out defeat; he abandoned his sword and simply charged.

Wash me.” Damen had never performed a servile task in his life, but he supposed that this one would not overwhelm either his pride or his comprehension. By now he knew the customs of the baths. But he felt a sense of subtle satisfaction from Laurent, and a corresponding internal resistance. It was an uncomfortably intimate form of attendance; he was not restrained, and they were alone, one man serving another. All

The men think you bend me over inside the tent,’ said Laurent. He said it in the same calm way he said everything. Damen fumbled the vambrace. ‘It would erode my authority. My carefully cultivated authority. Now I have really surprised you. Perhaps if you were not a foot taller, or quite so broad across the shoulders.’ ‘It’s

Damen was panting. He was aware of his own insistent weight, and Laurent beneath him, pushed forward onto his elbows. Damen dropped his forehead to Laurent’s neck and just felt it. He was inside Laurent. It felt raw and unprotected. He had never felt more like himself: Laurent had let him inside, knowing who he was. His body was already moving. Laurent made a helpless sound into the bedding that was the Veretian word, ‘Yes.’ Damen’s

Damen let out a breath. Laurent, he realised suddenly, wasn’t playing them against one another. He was playing to Nikandros. There was a dangerous expertise in all of this; in knowing how far Nikandros’s loyalty might be stretched, and what would keep it from snapping. Laurent’s presence in the room was almost tangible. ‘Listen

Damen spent two fruitless hours with Nikandros trying to plot a course that could sneak two wagons across the border without alerting patrols, and another fruitless hour alone staring at the map, until Laurent wandered in and outlined a plan so outrageous that Damen had said yes with the feeling that his mind was splitting apart. They

Guerin shrugged, turned and with impersonal motions tipped the collar and the cuff segments into a cloth, and wrapped it, before passing it to Damen. Damen took the makeshift bag. The weight was surprising. Guerin said, ‘The gold’s yours.’ ‘A gift?’ he said, as he might have said to Laurent. ‘The Prince doesn’t need it,’ said Guerin. *

Damen said, ‘It’s not naive to trust your family.’ ‘I promise you, it is,’ said Laurent. ‘But I wonder, is it less naive than the moments when I find myself trusting a stranger, my barbarian enemy, whom I do not treat gently.

Quietly, seriously, Laurent outlined the state of play as he saw it, describing his plans and his contingencies. Damen realised that Laurent was letting him in to a part of himself he had never shared before, and he found himself drawn in to the political complexities, even as the experience felt new, and a little revelatory. Laurent never opened his thoughts like this, but always kept his planning intensely private, making his decisions alone. When

They gazed at one another. It was a public goodbye, in full view of the men. Laurent extended his hand. He did it not, as a prince might, for Damen to kneel and kiss, but as a friend. There was acknowledgement in the gesture, and as Damen took his hand, in front of the men, Laurent held his gaze. Laurent said, ‘Take care of my fort, Commander.’ In

And if the worst happened, Guion’s testimony had the potential to bring down the Regency. Laurent had said all of this succinctly, and told Guion, in a pleasant voice, ‘Your wife can chaperone Jokaste on the journey.’ Guion had understood more quickly than Damen. ‘I see. My wife is the leverage for my good behaviour?’ ‘That’s right,’ said Laurent. Damen

There had been a silence, until Laurent had said, ‘You were right. I haven’t been thinking about it like this.’ ‘Like what?’ said Damen. ‘Like war,’ said Laurent. Now they faced one another on the dais and words rose to Damen’s lips, personal words. But what he said was, ‘Are you sure you want to leave your enemy in charge of your fort?’ ‘Yes,’ said Laurent. They

My uncle plans everything,’ said Laurent, as though reading Damen’s thoughts. ‘He plans for victory and he plans for defeat. It was you who never quite fit . . . You’ve always been outside of his schemes. For everything that my uncle and Kastor planned,’ said Laurent, as Damen felt himself grow cold, ‘they had no idea what they did when they gifted me with you.’ *

Gratified, Damen stood still while the attendants scraped the oil from his body, and towelled him down. He returned to the dais, where he spread his arms for the attendants to re-pin his clothing. ‘Good fight,’ he said, taking his place again on the throne beside Laurent. He waved over some wine. ‘What is it?’ ‘Nothing,’ said Laurent, and found somewhere else to put his eyes.

It couldn’t carry a rider. Damen brought his own horse over, then paused. ‘My proportions are better suited to riding pillion than yours are,’ said Laurent. ‘Mount. I will mount behind.’ So Damen swung into the saddle. A moment later he felt Laurent’s hand on his thigh. Laurent’s toe nudged into the stirrup. Laurent pushed up behind him, shifting until he was snug in position.

Instead of leaning in, Damen took Laurent’s hand, brought it towards himself, and kissed his palm, once. He had learned in the course of their one night together to tell when Laurent was taken unawares—taken aback. It wasn’t easy to anticipate, the gaps in Laurent’s experience not mapping to anything that he understood. He felt it now, Laurent’s eyes very dark, uncertain of what he should do. ‘I meant—’ ‘Don’t

He would also have the additional duties of attendant. In that capacity, he would report directly to the Prince. The duties described to him seemed to be a mixture of man-at-arms, adjutant and bed slave—ensuring the Prince’s safety, attending to his personal comfort, sleeping in his tent—Damen’s whole attention swung back to Radel. “Sleeping in his tent?” “Where else?” He passed a hand over his face. Laurent had agreed to this? The

Damen felt the shock of surprise, and looked at Laurent only to find Laurent gazing back at him without rancour. The moment stretched out. It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t what he had expected Laurent to say. As he gazed at Laurent, the words moved through him in unexpected ways, and he felt them touch something jagged-edged within him, felt them shift it a first, tiny fraction, something lodged hard and deep, that he had thought immovable.

Laurent, he thought, and lifted his gaze to meet the eyes of the man who had witnessed the last words of Lord Touars. It wasn’t Laurent. It was Jord. He was staring at Damen in horror, his sword lax in his hand. ‘No,’ said Damen. ‘It’s not—’ The final moments of the battle faded around Damen, as he came to full comprehension of what Jord was seeing. Of what Jord, for the second time that day, was seeing. ‘Does he know?’ said Jord. He

Damen turned his eyes to Laurent. A picture of cool, difficult distance confronted him. Laurent sat in brief conversation, wrist balanced on the edge of the great table, fingertips resting on the base of a goblet. From the severe, straight-backed posture to the impersonal grace of his cupped yellow head; from his detached blue eyes to the arrogance of his cheekbones, Laurent was complicated and contradictory, and Damen could look nowhere else. As

I came with you to stop a war,’ said Damen. ‘I came because you were the only thing standing between Akielos and your uncle. It’s you who’ve lost sight of that. You need to fight your uncle on your own terms, not on his.’ ‘I can’t.’ It was a raw admission. ‘I can’t think.’ The words were torn out of him. Wide-eyed in the silence, Laurent said them again in a different voice, his blue eyes dark with the exposure of the truth. ‘I can’t think.’ ‘I know,’ said Damen. He

Laurent’s shoulders started shaking. Around the laughter emerged, ‘You wrestled him without any clothes on.’ ‘That is sports,’ said Damen. He folded his arms, thinking that Veretians lacked any sense of dignity, even as Laurent sitting up and pressing a delighted kiss to his lips had him slightly mollified. Later, ‘The King of Vere really consummates his marriage in front of the court?’ ‘Not in front of the court,’ said Laurent, as if this were unspeakably foolish, ‘in front of the Council.’ ‘Guion

I prefer to think my way out of traps,’ said Laurent, ‘rather than use brute force to simply smash through.’ The words had the air of finality to them. Damen nodded and began to rise when Laurent’s cool voice stopped him. ‘That’s why I think we should fight,’ said Laurent. ‘It’s the last thing I would ever do, and the last thing that anyone, knowing me, would expect.’ ‘Your Highness—’ began Jord. ‘No,’ said Laurent. ‘I have made my decision. Call in Lazar. And Huet, he knows the hills. We plan the fight.’ Jord

After a moment, Laurent said, ‘He would have liked you.’ ‘Even after I started courting his little brother?’ said Damen carefully. He watched Laurent stop, the way that he did when he was taken by surprise, and then lift his eyes to meet Damen’s. ‘Yes,’ said Laurent softly, his cheeks reddened slightly. The kiss happened because they couldn’t help it, and it was so sweet and so right that Damen felt a kind of ache. He pulled back. The realities of the outside world seemed to press at him. ‘I—’ He couldn’t say it. ‘No.

I hear the King of Akielos has sent me a gift,” said the young man, who was Laurent, Prince of Vere. “An Akielon grovelling on its knees. How fitting.” Around him, Damen was aware of the attention of courtiers, gathered to witness the Prince’s receipt of his slave. Laurent had stopped dead the moment he had seen Damen, his face turning white, as though in reaction to a slap or an insult. Damen’s view, half-truncated by the short chain at his neck, had been enough to see that. But Laurent’s expression had shuttered quickly. That

Laurent looked like what he was: a young man. When laced into his clothing, Laurent’s dangerous grace lent him an almost androgynous quality. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that it was rare to associate Laurent with a physical body at all: you were always dealing with a mind. Even when fighting in battle, driving his horse to some impossible feat, the body was under the control of the mind. Damen

His body pulsed, almost climaxing. He barely knew the moment when he pressed Laurent onto his back, the brief sundering, the need to be back inside him, Laurent’s mouth opening under his, the tug on his neck as Laurent took hold of it and pulled him in. His weight bore down on Laurent, shuddering heat as he entered him again with a strong, slow push. And Laurent opened for it, a single, perfect slide. Damen took up the rhythm that he needed, their bodies tangled and a harder, continuous fucking. They were caught in each other, and when their eyes met Laurent said, ‘Damen,’ again, like it meant everything, and as if Damen’s identity was enough, he was shuddering, pulsing against the air. Strident as proof, Laurent came with Damen inside him, Damen’s name on his lips, and Damen was lost to it, his whole body given over, the first deep pulse of his own climax just one part of a choking pleasure that took him, overwhelming and bright, into oblivion.

Because it was impossible, he allowed himself to imagine, just once, what it would be like to face Laurent as a man . . . if there had been no animosity between their countries, Laurent journeying to Akielos as part of an embassy, Damen’s attention superficially caught by the blond hair. They’d attend banquets and sports together, and Laurent . . . he had seen Laurent with those he cultivated, charming and edged without being lethal; and he was honest enough with himself to admit that if he had encountered Laurent in that mode, all golden lashes and needling remarks, he might well have found himself in some danger.

Damen said, ‘You haven’t told him.’ ‘You don’t even deny it?’ said Jord. A harsh laugh, when Damen was silent. ‘You hated us so much, all this time? It wasn’t enough to invade, to take our land? You had to play this—sick game as well?’ Damen said, ‘If you tell him, I can’t serve him.’ ‘Tell him?’ said Jord. ‘Tell him the man he trusts has lied, and lied again, has deceived him into the worst humiliation?’ ‘I wouldn’t hurt him,’ said Damen, and heard the words drop like lead. ‘You killed his brother, then got him under you in bed.’ Put like that, it was monstrous. It’s not that way between us, he ought to have said, and didn’t, couldn’t. He felt hot, then cold. He thought of Laurent’s delicate, needling talk that froze into icy rebuff if Damen pushed at it, but if he didn’t—if he matched himself to its subtle pulses and undercurrents—continued, sweetly deepening, until he could only wonder if he knew, if they both knew, what they were doing. ‘I’m going to leave,’ he said. ‘I was always going to leave. I stayed only because—’ ‘That’s right, you’ll leave. I won’t allow you to wreck us. You’ll command us to Ravenel, you’ll say nothing to him, and when the fort is won, you’ll get on a horse and go. He’ll mourn your loss, and never know.’ It was what he had planned. It was what, from the beginning, he had planned. In his chest, the beats of his heart were like sword thrusts. ‘In the morning,’ said Damen. ‘I’ll give him the fort, and leave him in the morning. It’s what I promised.’ ‘You’re gone by the time the sun hits the middle of the sky, or I tell him,’ said Jord. ‘And what he did to you in the palace will seem like a lover’s kiss compared with what will happen to you then.’ Jord was loyal. Damen had always liked that about him, the steadfast nature that reminded him of home. Strewn around them was the end of the battle, victory marked by silence and churned grass. ‘He’ll know,’ Damen heard himself say. ‘When word of my return to Akielos reaches him. He’ll know. I wish you would tell him then that I—’ ‘You fill me with horror,’ said Jord. His hands were tight on his knife. Both his hands, now. ‘Captain,

The openness from the baths lingered. Laurent, whose tangle of overthinking usually only disappeared at the moment of climax, had his defences down in the quiet. Damen could hear his soft exhalations of breath; once or twice, a sound passed his lips that he didn’t seem to be aware of. Time unslid the knot of any last ribbon of tension, letting it slip, letting him go further and further into his own pleasure. Their bodies tangled together, touches blending and blurring. Damen gave himself over to the feeling of Laurent in his arms. It was an age before he put his hand between Laurent’s legs, and felt his legs part. When he finally slid inside, it felt like time had stopped in the small, intimate space between them, after a sweet forever of deep kisses, of opening Laurent up with oiled fingers. He didn’t move but stayed where he was, in breathless silence. Everything felt connected, open. Their movements were more like nudges than thrusts, their bodies pushing together without the long, sliding separation of withdrawal. He could feel Laurent drawing closer and closer to his climax, not, as it was sometimes, like he was pushing past the gnarl of his own barriers, but hotly, inevitably. The thrust were longer now, Damen’s body moving to seek out its own gratification. He heard a choked off sound as Laurent dissolved under him, and Damen was lost to the feel of it, the hot, liquid pleasure of fucking, the closeness, near as a heartbeat. His own body pulsed and flared, an interval of flooding pleasure, and it almost didn’t seem to end but to transform into the sweet, heavy feel of his limbs entangled with Laurent’s, pleasure still between them, the throbs of it ebbing. For