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“Shall I tell you the part you liked?” said Laurent. “There was nothing I liked.” “You’re lying. You liked knocking that man down, and you liked it when he didn’t get up. You’d like to hurt me, wouldn’t you? Is it very difficult to control yourself? Your little speech about fair play fooled me about as much as your show of obedience. You have worked out, with whatever native intelligence you possess, that it serves your interests to appear both civilised and dutiful. But the one thing you’re hot for is a fight.”
there was no guarantee that Damen wouldn’t lose his temper and kill Laurent before that happened. Another man might. Another man might think that the inevitable retribution—some sort of public execution, ending with his head on a spike—was worth it for the pleasure of wringing Laurent’s neck.
The methodical ritual of unlacing made Damen wonder, scornfully, if Veretian lovers suspended their passion for a half hour in order to disrobe.
For Laurent was all of a piece: his body had the same impossible grace as his face. He was lighter built than Damen, but his body wasn’t boyish. Instead, he possessed the beautifully proportioned musculature of a young man on the new cusp of adulthood, made for athletics or statuary. And he was fair. So fair, skin as fair as a young girl’s, smooth and unmarked, with a glimmer of gold trailing down from his navel.
But he felt a sense of subtle satisfaction from Laurent, and a corresponding internal resistance.
He was conscious of it. He was conscious of the rise and fall of his chest, of his breathing, of more than that. He remembered that in Akielos he had been washed by a slave with yellow hair. Her colouring had matched Laurent’s so closely they might have been twinned. She had been far less disagreeable. She had closed the distance of inches and pressed her body against his. He remembered her fingers curling around him, her nipples soft as bruised fruit where they pressed into his chest. A pulse beat in his neck. It was a poor time to lose control of his thoughts. He had now progressed far
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“Don’t be presumptuous,” said Laurent, coldly. “Too late, sweetheart,” said Damen.
Laurent turned, and with calm precision unleashed a backhanded blow that had easily enough force to bloody a mouth, but Damen had had quite enough of being hit, and he caught Laurent’s wrist before the blow connected.
Damen released his grip, as though burned. A moment later, the blow he had thwarted landed, harder than he could have imagined, smashing across his mouth.
“I should have done this to you the day you arrived,” said Laurent. “It’s exactly what you deserve.”
“You are cold-blooded and honourless. What held back someone like you?” It was the wrong thing to say. “I’m not sure,” said Laurent, in a detached voice. “I was curious what kind of man you were. I see we have stopped too early. Again.”
It was a while before he realised that Laurent had spoken, and even then for the longest time the emotionless voice didn’t connect to anything. “I was on the field at Marlas,” said Laurent. As the words penetrated, Damen felt the world reshape itself around him. “They wouldn’t let me near the front. I never had the chance to face him. I used to wonder what I’d say to him if I did. What I’d do. How dare any one of you speak the word honour? I know your kind. 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
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“You are a clumsy, poking lout,” said Damen, in his own language.
“The Prince really . . . did this?” “Who else?” Damen said.
Household shocked at Laurent's behaviour - indication of his kind nature :'(
“Don’t let him die yet,” was the last thing Laurent had said.
A bed replaced the floor cushions, so that he could lie comfortably on his stomach (to protect his back). He was also given blankets and various coloured silk wraps, though he must use them to cover the lower half of his body only (to protect his back). The chain remained, but instead of attaching to his collar it was locked to one golden wrist-cuff (to protect his back). The concern for his back also struck him as funny.
idk but this might all have been done to protect his back
Inspecting Damen’s back, Orlant had—not without some pride—proclaimed the Prince a cast-iron bitch, and clapped Damen cheerfully on the shoulder, turning him momentarily ashen.
It surprised Damen how loyal they were to their Prince, and how diligent in his service, airing none of the grudges and complaints that he might have expected, considering Laurent’s noxious personality. Laurent’s feud with his uncle they took up wholeheartedly; there were deep schisms and rivalries between the Prince’s Guard and the Regent’s Guard, apparently.
Laurent is secretly a good person indication 2
It had to be Laurent’s looks that inspired the allegiance of his men, and not Laurent himself. The closest the men got to disrespect was a series of ribald comments regarding Laurent’s appearance. Their loyalty apparently did not prohibit the fantasy of fucking the Prince taking on mythic proportions.
Damen was wisely silent. His own preference was for women; it seemed ill-advised to admit this. On the rare occasions when Damen pleased himself with men, he did so because he was attracted to them as men, not because he had any reason to avoid women or substitute for them.
BI KING
Here and there, the subject of Laurent was raised. “Have you . . . ?” said Jord to Damen, with a slowly spreading smile. “Between the ring-fight and the lashing?” said Damen, sourly. “No.” “They say he’s frigid.”
“Kastor? Someone should stick it to that whoreson. Only a country of barbarian scum would put a bastard on the throne,” said Orlant. “No offense.” “None taken,” said Damen.
If someone had told him, six months ago, that he’d kneel, willingly, for Veretian nobility, he would have laughed in their face.
“The flaw is deep in Laurent’s nature. I thought he’d outgrow it. Instead, he grows steadily worse. Something must be done to discipline him.”
Auguste had been a beloved leader, an indomitable fighter and an emblem of Veretian pride: he had rallied his men after the death of the King; he had led the charge that decimated the Akielon northern flank; he had been the point on which wave after wave of Akielon fighters had broken.
Damen hadn’t known that the younger brother had been on the field. Six years ago, Damen had been nineteen. Laurent would have been—thirteen, fourteen? It was young to fight in a battle like Marlas.
every man and woman in Vere knew the name of Damianos, prince-killer.
Red, red, red. Laurent clashed.
The Regent wanted to discipline his nephew, and, with the Council behind him, had chosen to do it in public. A public flogging, Damen had said.
Embrace the slave in apology, and we are done.”
With cool detachment, Laurent’s fingers gathered rubies, inclining Damen’s head down far enough to kiss him on the cheek. The kiss was insubstantial: not a single mote of gold paint transferred itself to Laurent’s lips in the process. “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?”
Move, and counter move.
Laurent was indeed good at talking. He accepted sympathy gracefully. He put his position rationally. He stopped the flow of talk when it became dangerously critical of his uncle. He said nothing that could be taken as an open slight on the Regency. Yet no one who talked to him could have any doubt that his uncle was behaving at best misguidedly and at worst treasonously.
Laurent moved off a few steps. Damen saw him lift a hand to the back of his own neck, as if to release tension. Saw him do nothing for a moment but stand and be quiet and breathe the cool air scented with night flowers. It occurred to Damen for the first time that Laurent might have his own reasons for wanting to escape the attention of the court.
“You can’t touch your uncle, so you lash out where you can. I’m not afraid of you. If there’s something you’re going to do to me, do it.” “You poor, misguided animal,” said Laurent. “Whatever made you think I came here for you?”
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.
“Erasmus.”
MY BABY
“Well?” Laurent said. “Can you couple adequately, or do you just kill things?”
“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.”
:(
“You’re going to tell him you want me.” “Oh,” said Laurent. “No. Nicaise . . . no. That would wreck you. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Come on. Let’s go. You can watch me get told off by my uncle.”
"YOUR MASTER SEEMS kind,” said Erasmus.
Indication 3
He could hear the approval saturating his own voice. He felt it shift the dynamic between them. He might as well have said, Good boy.
“You didn’t fail,” said Damen. “That you tried at all proves your courage. What was asked of you was impossible. There’s no shame in what happened to you.”
Damen said, “If you want another go around, all you have to do is take a step forward.” It would please him a great deal to hurt Govart.
He had no thought of his own freedom. There was only the constant pull of concern and of responsibility. To escape alone would be an act of selfishness and betrayal. He could not leave, not if it meant abandoning the others to their fate.
And what did it mean, to be a prince, if he did not strive to protect those weaker than himself?
“You want me to submit. I’ll do it. You want me to publicly earn the punishment that your uncle won’t let you mete out? Whatever performance you want from me, you’ll have it. I will throw myself on the sword. In exchange for one thing.”
“I don’t think the slaves in your uncle’s care are well treated. Do something about it, and the bargain is made.”
To abuse someone who cannot resist—isn’t that monstrous?”
