Prince's Gambit (Captive Prince, #2)

by C.S. Pacat

It meant sharing a horse.

forget enemies sharing one bed trope, i love me some enemies sharing one horse trope

‘My proportions are better suited to riding pillion than yours are,’ said Laurent. ‘Mount. I will mount behind.’ So Damen swung into the saddle. A moment later he felt Laurent’s hand on his thigh. Laurent’s toe nudged into the stirrup. Laurent pushed up behind him, shifting until he was snug in position. His hips fitted unselfconsciously to Damen’s. Once he had settled, he clasped his arms around Damen’s midsection. Damen knew this about riding pillion: closer, it was easier on the horse. He heard Laurent’s voice from behind him, a little more oddly strapped-down than usual, ‘You have me over the back of your horse.’ ‘It’s not like you to give up the reins,’ Damen couldn’t help saying. ‘Well, I can’t see the way over your shoulders.’ ‘We could try some other arrangement.’ ‘You’re right: it should be me in front and you carrying the horse.’

The horse’s rolling gait pushed their bodies together in constant rhythm.

Laurent saw to the horses. Damen saw to the fire. Damen was aware that Laurent was taking more time with the horses than was necessary or usual. He ignored it. He built the fire. He cleared the earth, gathered fallen branches and broke them down to the correct size. And then sat down beside it and said nothing.

‘I thought killing was easy for you,’ said Laurent. His voice was rather quiet. ‘I thought you did it without thinking.’ ‘I’m a soldier,’ said Damen, ‘and I have been for a long time. I’ve killed on the sawdust. I’ve killed in battle. Is that what you mean by easy?’ ‘You know it isn’t,’ said Laurent, in that same quiet voice.

‘I know your feelings towards Akielos,’ said Damen. ‘What happened at Breteau…it was barbaric. I know it must mean very little to you to hear me say that I’m sorry for it. And I don’t understand you, but I know that war will bring worse, and you are the only person I have seen working to stop it. I couldn’t let him hurt you.’

‘In my culture, it is customary to reward for good service,’ said Laurent, after a long pause. ‘Is there something you want?’ ‘You know what I want,’ said Damen. ‘I am not going to release you,’ said Laurent. ‘Ask for something short of that.’ ‘Take off one of the wrist-cuffs?’ said Damen, who was learning—he realised somewhat to his surprise—what Laurent liked. ‘I give you too much leeway,’ said Laurent. ‘I think you give no more or less than you want to give, with anyone,’ said Damen, because Laurent’s voice had not been at all displeased. Then Damen looked down and away. ‘There is something I want.’ ‘Go on.’ ‘Don’t try to use me against my own people,’ said Damen. ‘If it comes to—I can’t do this again.’ ‘I would never have asked that of you,’ said Laurent. Then, when Damen looked at him with flat disbelief: ‘Not out of sweetness. There is little sense in pitting a lesser sense of duty against a greater one. No leader could expect loyalty to hold under those circumstances.’

‘I’ve never seen a throw like that,’ said Laurent. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Every time I see you fight, I wonder how it is Kastor got you in chains and onto a ship to my country.’ ‘It was…’ He stopped. It was more men than I could handle, he almost said. But the truth was simpler, and tonight he was honest with himself. He said, ‘I didn’t see it coming.’

‘I’m sure you would have sidestepped it,’ said Damen. ‘I remember the night your uncle’s men attacked you. The first time he tried to kill you. You weren’t even surprised.’ There was a silence. Damen felt from Laurent a careful immanence, as though he was deciding whether or not to speak. Around them night was falling, but the fire kept the light warm. ‘I was surprised,’ said Laurent, ‘the first time.’ ‘The first time?’ said Damen. Another silence. ‘He poisoned my horse,’ said Laurent. ‘You saw her, the morning of the hunt. She was already feeling it, even before we rode out.’ He remembered the hunt. He remembered the horse, fractious and covered in sweat. ‘That…was your uncle’s doing?’ The silence stretched out. ‘It was my doing,’ Laurent said. ‘I forced his hand when I had Torveld take the slaves to Patras. I knew when I did it…it was ten months to my ascension. Time was running out for him to make a definitive move against me. I knew that. I provoked him. I wanted to see what he would do. I just—’ Laurent broke off. His mouth twisted in a small smile that had no humour in it at all. ‘I didn’t think he’d really try to kill me,’ he said. ‘After everything…even after everything. So you see I can be surprised.’ Damen said, ‘It’s not naive to trust your family.’ ‘I promise you, it is,’ said Laurent. ‘But I wonder, is it less naive than the moments when I find myself trusting a stranger, my barbarian enemy, whom I do not treat gently.’

‘I know you’re planning to leave when this border fight is done,’ said Laurent. ‘I wonder if you’re still planning to use the knife.’ ‘No,’ said Damen. ‘We’ll see,’ said Laurent.

Damen now knew the precise number of arrows Laurent needed to have trained on him in order to shut him up. It was six.

Laurent said clearly in Veretian: ‘Get up.’ And then stumbled, as the rider restraining him twisted his arm brutally behind his back, then took a fistful of his golden hair and shoved his head down. Laurent didn’t struggle when his hands were lashed behind his back with strips of leather, and a wider strip fitted over his eyes as a blindfold. He just stood with his head bowed. His golden hair fell about his face, but for one restraining fistful. He didn’t resist the gag either, though it came as a surprise; Damen saw his head jerk back a little, reflexively, as a cloth was shoved into his mouth.

These were the men who had destroyed Tarasis—the men that he and Laurent had been seeking, but who had found them, instead.

Laurent didn’t comply. Laurent answered him back in Vaskian, but—for once in his life—Laurent got only two words out before the man simply did what most people wanted to do when speaking with Laurent: he hit him.

The other men stopped laughing. They started shouting back. Attention shifted. Bows lowered. Not all the bows: Damen had no doubt that, given a day or two, Laurent could have these men at each other’s throats. But they didn’t have a day or two.

The clan leader stepped in close, too close to hit Laurent—close enough that he was breathing all over Laurent when he slid his hand slowly down over Laurent’s body. Damen moved before he realised it, heard the sounds of impact and resistance, felt the burn in his veins. His faculties were obliterated by anger. He was not thinking about tactics. That man had laid hands on Laurent, and Damen was going to kill him.