Captive Prince (Captive Prince, #1)

by C.S. Pacat

a young man with an astonishingly lovely face—the kind of face that would have earned a small fortune on the slave-block in Akielos. Damen’s attention caught and held.

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

Laurent repeated the question slowly in the language of Akielos. The words came out before he could stop them. “I speak your language better than you speak mine, sweetheart.”

“Think what that’d be like, getting a leg over the Prince.” I imagine it would be a lot like lying down with a poisonous snake, thought Damen, but he kept the thought to himself.

The only reason Damen had that language was because his father had insisted that, for a prince, learning the words of an enemy was as important as learning the words of a friend.

Better to spend the day bored on silk cushions than spend it in the ring. Maybe he just wanted another chance to fight something. Preferably an insufferable yellow-haired princeling.

Damen’s flinty dislike of Laurent forestalled his usual reaction to a well-shaped body. If not for that, he might have experienced a moment of difficulty.

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.

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 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.”

Six years ago, Damen had been nineteen. Laurent would have been—thirteen, fourteen? It was young to fight in a battle like Marlas.

AGE GAP REVEAL???

“Why would I waste my time on the border when, at Kastor’s whim, you roll over?”

icon icon iiiiicon icon CON!

His best feature was a pair of amazing blue eyes, unmatched by any Damen had ever seen, except for the ones he had recently been staring into.

NAHHHH

“Well?” Laurent said. “Can you couple adequately, or do you just kill things?” Damen thought that given the choice between the lash and a conversation with Laurent, he might actually choose the lash.

And what did it mean, to be a prince, if he did not strive to protect those weaker than himself?

He set his jaw as Laurent slowly paced around him, as though simply interested in viewing him from all angles.

Order whatever punishment you like from the coward’s distance of a chain-length. You and Govart are two of a kind.”

LMAOOOO

He felt no new rush of warmth for Laurent. He was not inclined to believe that cruelty delivered with one hand was redeemed by a caress from the other,

“Is there anyone at this court who isn’t my enemy?” “Not if I can help it,” Laurent said.

Laurent was a nest of scorpions in the body of one person. Torveld looked at him and saw a buttercup.

Damen opened his mouth to reply and found his words stopped by the startling touch of Laurent’s fingers against his lips, a thumb brushing his jawline. It was the sort of absent touch that any master at the table might give to a pet. But from the shocked reaction that rolled over the courtiers at the table, it was clear that Laurent did not do this sort of thing often. Or ever.

In the stretched-out moment that followed, Damen thought explicitly about killing him.

“Torveld’s servant is better supplied than you are,” was all Laurent said. “I don’t have sleeves to carry handkerchiefs in,” said Damen. “I wouldn’t mind being given a knife.” “Or a fork?” said Laurent.

flirting.....

It was wasteful of nature to have bestowed those looks on one whose character was so unpleasant. 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 golden hair made it worse.

HELLO???????

Damen had never before seen half a dozen soldiers reduced to compliant housekeeping by the sheer force of one man’s personal arrogance. It was almost instructive. Halfway through the proceedings, Laurent stepped back to lean his shoulders against the wall.

i love him

“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.”

and yet.....

“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.”

LMAOOO

If only my murder weren’t the catalyst, it’s a scheme I would wholeheartedly support.”

I’m sure my uncle has approached you to spy for him, on very generous terms.” “He has.” Remembering the banquet: “He asked me to bed you, then report back to him.” Damen was forthright. “Not in those words.” “And your answer?” That, unreasonably, annoyed him. “If I’d bedded you, you’d know

Damen felt a certain amount of empathy with the man: Laurent could inspire homicidal tendencies simply by breathing.

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.

HUHHHHHH

He would be paying for any relative freedom with a period of enforced proximity to Laurent.

.....

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

He was not insensible to the irony of his situation, riding out to protect the man who had done all he could to grind him under his heel.