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“You hit like a milk-fed catamite,” said Damen.
Finally, Laurent said, “You overestimate my influence over my uncle.” Damen began to speak, but Laurent cut him off. “No. I—” Laurent’s golden brows had drawn slightly together, as though he had encountered something that did not make sense. “You would really sacrifice your pride over the fate of a handful of slaves?” He had worn the same look on his face at the ring; he was gazing at Damen as though he was searching for an answer to an unexpected problem. “Why?” Anger and frustration broke free of their bonds. “Because I am stuck here in this cage, and I have no other way to help them.” He
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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, if that’s even what this was. Nor was he naive enough to think that Laurent was acting out of any altruistic impulse. Laurent was doing this for some twisty reason of his own.
Laurent was a nest of scorpions in the body of one person. Torveld looked at him and saw a buttercup.
You’ve never applied yourself seriously to anything in your life.” “Haven’t I? Well, then it’s nothing serious, uncle. You have no cause to worry.”
Well instructed. Damen’s mind supplied the answer, sly as a suggestion murmured in his ear. He frowned at it.
“I warned you about Nicaise because he is not Councillor Audin’s pet. Haven’t you guessed yet whose pet he is?” Laurent said, and then, when he didn’t answer: “Ancel is too old to interest my uncle.”
Omgggggggggggg
A golden prince was easy to love if you did not have to watch him picking wings off flies.
