Kings Rising (Captive Prince, #3)

by C.S. Pacat

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

‘You will bear it,’ said Damen, holding Makedon’s gaze, ‘as I have borne it. Or do you think yourself above your King?’

‘We’ve come to ride with you,’ said Jord.

Very carefully, he made himself do nothing.

A ludicrous boyish hope flared that someone would come to help him, and, carefully, he extinguished it. Since the age of thirteen, there had been no rescuer, for his brother was dead.

The Akielon slave would (of course) assume treachery on the part of the Veretian forces, after which he would launch some sort of noble and suicidal attack at Charcy that he would probably win, against ridiculous odds.

The heavy oak hit Govart in the ear, with the sound of a mallet striking a wooden ball. Govart staggered and went down.

‘You had me tied up and locked in a room with Govart. Do you think name-calling will hurt my feelings?’

‘There was a man I was supposed to meet. He’s got all these ideas about honour and fair play, and he tries to keep me from doing the wrong thing. But he’s not here right now. Unfortunately for you.’

He killed, and it was simply that men got out of his way, or were dead.

‘Which girl from the village was called Kyra?’ ‘They all were. Damianos.

He had known it would not be some stupid fantasy of showing Laurent his country; of Laurent leaning against the marble balcony at Ios, turning to greet him in the cool air overlooking the sea, his eyes bright with the splendour of the view.

It’s not naive to trust your family. He had said that, once.

Before Damen could open his mouth to respond, Laurent announced that he would likewise change the provisions among his own troops, so that there would not be a disparity. In fact, everyone from soldiers to captains to kings across both troops would receive the same portion, and that portion would be determined by Makedon. Would Makedon inform them now what that portion was to be?

It was pointless. There were two dozen slaves here, while the number of times Laurent had had sex in his life could probably be counted on one hand. Laurent was just going to be dragging twenty-four young men back to his rooms to sit around doing nothing. They wouldn’t even be able to unlace Veretian clothing.

To preserve their arrangements of scrupulous equality, Laurent was in the Queen’s chambers, beyond that wall.

Isander would be flushed with pride at being chosen for the task. Attend me. Damen felt his hands curl into fists.

In Akielos, kings did not elevate their status. It was up to those around him to lower themselves.

His eyelashes drew attention to themselves. Damen made himself look elsewhere.

He lifted the wine blindly. The cup was empty.

I’d wager you never thought a prince could be jealous of a slave. At this moment I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat. Torveld’s words.

‘No,’ said Damen. ‘I know where he’s gone.’

All the breath left his throat. He stood, stripped, unready for it. Will you use even that against me? he wanted to say, and didn’t.

‘No fight’s ever fair. Someone’s always stronger.’

Laurent’s blade teased, slipping away without follow-through. Laurent enticed, then stepped back.

You’re not good enough. You would have come for revenge, and I would have killed you. That’s how it would have been between us. Is that what you would have wanted?’ ‘Yes,’ said Laurent. ‘He was everything I had.’

But he couldn’t speak the past away, and Laurent wouldn’t thank him if he did. He took up his sword and left the hall.

‘Should I have told him I didn’t enjoy it?’ said Laurent. ‘But I did enjoy it. I liked it most near the end, when you broke down.’

He and Laurent were good at pretending.

It was like the offer of a door from an impermeable wall.

Later, Makedon leaned in and gave Damen this serious advice: ‘You shouldn’t judge the Veretians so harshly. They drink well.’

His hands came up to steady Laurent’s waist, his heart behaving strangely. It was sweetly, impossibly illicit. He felt the ache in his chest.

Laurent was going to wake with a blinding headache fuelling his corrosive tongue, and pity anyone who ran into him then.

‘I miss you,’ said Laurent. ‘I miss our conversations.’ It was too much. He remembered being strapped to the post and half killed; sober, Laurent had made the line very clear, and he was aware that he had crossed it, they both had. ‘You’re drunk,’ said Damen. ‘You’re not yourself.’ He said, ‘I should take you to bed.’ ‘Then, take me,’ said Laurent.

‘I tried to kill you. I can’t seem to go through with it. You keep overturning all my plans.’

‘Yes, uncle.’

He felt a flutter of illicit joy when he thought of it.

Laurent entered, an edge to his grace, like a leopard with a headache, around whom one must tread very, very carefully.

‘I miss you too,’ he said. ‘I’m jealous of Isander.’ ‘Isander’s a slave.’ ‘I was a slave.’ The moment ached. Laurent met his gaze, his eyes too clear. ‘You were never a slave, Damianos. You were born to rule, as I was.’

We are the Kings of Akielos and Vere. We will keep our state, and come to him in Ios when we ride in at the head of armies. He faces Vere and Akielos united. And he will fall to our might.’

‘Laurent of Vere. They say you’re frigid. They say you rebuff all your suitors, that no man has been good enough to prise your legs apart. I believe you thought it would be brutish and physical, and maybe a part of you even wanted it that way. But you and I both know that Damen does not make love like that. He took you slowly. He kissed you until you started to want it.’ Laurent said, ‘Don’t stop on my account.’ ‘You let him undress you. You let him put his hands on you. They say you hate Akielons, but you let one into your bed. You weren’t expecting what it felt like when he touched you. You weren’t expecting the weight of his body, how it felt to have his attention, to have him want you.’ ‘You left out the part near the end, when it was so good I let myself forget what he’d done.’ ‘Oh dear,’ said Jokaste. ‘That was the truth.’ Another pause.

‘It’s heady, isn’t it?’ said Jokaste. ‘He was born to be a king. He’s not a stand-in, or a second choice, like you are. He rules men just by breathing. When he walks into a room, he commands it. People love him. Like they loved your brother.’

‘My dead brother,’ said Laurent helpfully. ‘Shall we now do the part where I spread for my brother’s killer? You can describe it again.’

All of Laurent’s features whitened in reeling shock, and he stared at Jokaste as though he had been struck. Even through his own shock, Laurent’s sheer horror was excessive. Damen didn’t understand it, didn’t understand the look in Laurent’s eyes, or in Jokaste’s. Then Laurent spoke in an awful voice. ‘You have sent Damianos’s son to my uncle.’

No one had bothered him since.

Laurent said, ‘No. I’m not here to—’ He said, ‘I’m just here.’

He must have been here for hours. Someone had kept the servants out. Someone had kept everyone out. His generals and his nobles and every person who had business with the King had been turned back. Laurent, he realised, had guarded his solitude for him.

If he had been offered this as an adult, he couldn’t remember it. He couldn’t remember ever having needed it, except that maybe he had needed it since the bells had rung in Akielos, and never allowed himself to ask for it. Body leaned in to body and he closed his eyes.

He let his lips form a half-smile. ‘You aren’t going to offer me one of your gaudy Veretian handkerchiefs?’ ‘You could use the clothing you’re wearing. It’s about the same size.’ ‘Your poor Veretian sensibilities. All those wrists and ankles.’ ‘And arms and thighs and every other part.’ ‘My father’s dead.’

‘I hated you,’ said Laurent. ‘I hated you so badly I thought I’d choke on it. If my uncle hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed you. And then you saved my life, and every time I needed you, you were there, and I hated you for that, too.’