Captive Prince (Captive Prince, #1)

by C.S. Pacat

“Wait,” said Laurent, as though he forced the word out, and hated saying it. “It’s too dangerous. Leaving now would be seen as an admission of guilt. The Regent’s Guard wouldn’t hesitate to have you killed. I can’t . . . protect you, as I am now.” “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 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.”

“Why not?” Nicaise said. He looked past Damen towards Laurent’s chamber. “What happened? Is he all right?”

:(

“Don’t tell him I came.” “I won’t,” said Damen, with complete truthfulness.

And to the south . . . to the south, past the dark shapes of the city, past the lightly wooded hills and rich central provinces of Vere, lay the border, prickling with true castles, Ravenel, Fortaine, Marlas . . . and across the border Delpha, and home. Home. Home, though the Akielos he had left behind him was not the Akielos he would return to.

“You must be the fuck of a lifetime,” said Orlant, just before he shoved Damen into the audience chamber where Laurent stood alone, in front of the Regent and Council.

“You wouldn’t be the first young man to find himself at the mercy of a flush of new infatuation. Inexperience often confuses bedding with love. The slave could have convinced you to lie to us for him, having taken advantage of your innocence.”

Fuck the Regent

“Yes, apparently I have fucked my enemy, conspired against my future interests, and colluded in my own murder. I can’t wait to see what feats I will perform next.”

“There. It is done. Come,” said the Regent to Laurent, extending his right hand. On the smallest finger was his ring of office, gold, capped with a red stone: ruby, or garnet. Laurent came forward, and knelt before him gracefully, a single kneecap to the floor. “Kiss it,” said the Regent, and Laurent lowered his head in obedience to kiss his uncle’s signet ring. His body language was calm and respectful; the fall of his golden hair hid his expression. His lips touched the hard red kernel of the gem without haste, then parted from it. He did not rise. The Regent gazed down at him. After a moment, Damen saw the Regent’s hand lift again to rest in Laurent’s hair and stroke it with slow, familiar affection. Laurent remained quite still, head bowed, as strands of fine gold were pushed back from his face by the Regent’s heavy, ringed fingers. “Laurent. Why must you always defy me? I hate it when we are at odds, yet you force me to chastise you. You seem determined to wreck everything in your path. Blessed with gifts, you squander them. Given opportunities, you waste them. I hate to see you grown up like this,” said the Regent, “when you were such a lovely boy.”

Fuck the Regent, me and my homies hate the Regeng

“You lied to your uncle to protect me,” he said.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ve heard enough said about my character for one night, or am I to go twelve rounds with you, too? I will.”

“I meant it when I said I disliked feeling indebted to you.” And then: “You had far less reason to help me than I did to help you.”

“Why does the idea of border duty bother you so much?” “I’m a coward, remember?” Damen thought about that. “Are you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you shy away from a fight. More like the opposite.”

“You should have taken your pleasure while you had the chance. I am going to lock you up so tightly you won’t be able to breathe, let alone inconvenience me like this again.” “Of course,” said Damen, in a different voice. “I told you you shouldn’t thank me,” said Laurent.

Laurent said, “Will you come to see me off tomorrow, uncle?” “Laurent. You know I will,” said the Regent.

“Well?” said Laurent when his uncle had left. The steady blue gaze was on him. “If you ask me to rescue a kitten from a tree, I’m going to refuse.”

“You killed him because you didn’t want him interrogated. You knew what he was going to say. You didn’t want him to say it.” After a moment: “Yes.”

“You have to admire it,” said Laurent, in a detached voice. “It’s the perfect time to attack Akielos. Kastor is dealing with factional problems from the kyroi. Damianos, who turned the tide at Marlas, is dead. And the whole of Vere would rise up against a bastard, especially one who had cut down a Veretian prince. If only my murder weren’t the catalyst, it’s a scheme I would wholeheartedly support.”

“I meant,” said Damen, “can’t you put aside whatever family quarrel you have and speak honestly to your uncle?” He felt Laurent’s surprise, transmitting itself through the air. Outside, the light was just beginning to turn orange. “I don’t think that would be wise,” said Laurent. “Why not?” “Because,” said Laurent, “the murderer is my uncle.”

“Take me with you to Delfeur,” said Damen. “No.”

“My dear brute,” said Laurent, “I want you to rot here.”

Laurent could inspire homicidal tendencies simply by breathing.

The Regent must be stopped, Akielos must be rallied, and for that, Laurent must survive.

It felt . . . foreign. He touched the starburst pattern at his shoulder. He was dressed in Laurent’s colours, and bearing his insignia. That was a strange feeling. He had never thought he would ride out under a Veretian banner.

Jord gave a snort. Damen, who didn’t know the man in question, followed Jord’s eyes to one of the soldiers on the far side of the courtyard. Brown hair, reasonably young, reasonably attractive. Aimeric.

Laurent said, “Come to see me off?” “No,” said Nicaise. He held out something to Laurent, the gesture peremptory and full of repugnance. “I don’t want it. It makes me think of you.” Blue, limpid, twin sapphires dangled from his fingers. It was the earring he’d worn to the banquet. And which he’d lost, spectacularly, in a bet. Nicaise held it away from himself as though it was made of something fetid. Laurent took it without saying anything. He tucked it carefully into a fold of his riding clothes. Then after a moment, he reached out, and touched Nicaise’s chin with one knuckle. “You look better without all the paint,” said Laurent.

“I remember the offer you made me. Everything you said then was a lie. I knew it was,” said Nicaise. “You’re leaving.” “I’m coming back,” said Laurent. “Is that what you think?”

“I would never ask you to do anything you found distasteful,” said Laurent. “Looking at you is distasteful,” said Nicaise.

The Regent pinned some sort of jewelled badge of office to Laurent’s shoulder, then urged him to rise, and kissed him calmly on both cheeks. When Laurent turned back to face his men, the clasp on his shoulder winked in the sunlight. Damen felt almost dizzy as the full sense memory of a long-ago fight took him: Auguste had worn that same badge on the field.

A golden prince was easy to love if you did not have to watch him picking wings off flies.

If it was the only way to prevent war, or postpone it, then Damen would do whatever was necessary to keep Laurent safe. He had meant that.

South, and home.