The Summer Palace (Captive Prince, #3.5; Captive Prince Short Stories, #2)

by C.S. Pacat

‘Tell me as soon as the King approaches, I want to be informed right away.’ Damen felt a burgeoning delight. ‘It’s not a servant.’ Laurent turned.

I’ve missed my bois

I thought about you coming. I thought about what it would be like here, with you.’ ‘Like this,’ said Damen. He kissed the top of Laurent’s bare shoulder, then his jaw. ‘No, I—thinking about you and being with you are different, you’re always more powerful, more—’ ‘Go on.’ Damen felt a wellspring of pure pleasure, laughing against his neck. ‘Stop my mouth,’ said Laurent. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying.’

When Damen had woken next, it had been deep night, and his room had been empty of the people who had thronged it. He had turned his head to see Laurent lying beside him, fully clothed on top of the covers, still wearing that tattered, bloodstained chiton, in a sleep of utter exhaustion.

‘You’re here early.’ As if only now noticing this. ‘Yes.’ Laughing. ‘I planned to greet you on the steps. Veretian protocol.’ ‘Come out and kiss me in front of everyone later.’

Later he would show Laurent the stables and the library, and the path that wound through the gardens, through the trees of orange and almond. He wondered if he could coax Laurent into sea bathing or swimming. Had he done it before? There were marble steps down to the sea, and a beautiful spot for diving, where the water was calm, with no undertow. They could set up a silk awning in the Veretian style, cool shade for when the sun was at its height.

Soft

They stopped at one of them. Laurent plucked a white flower from the low-hanging branches, and lifted his hand to tuck it into Damen’s hair, as if Damen were a youth from the village. ‘Are you courting me?’ said Damen. He felt foolish with happiness.

‘I don’t think about her often. Only when I come here.’ ‘You don’t take after her.’ ‘Oh?’ ‘Her statue in Ios is three feet tall.’ The corner of Damen’s mouth twitched. He knew the statue, on a plinth in the north hall. ‘There’s a statue of her here. Come and meet her.’ It was part of the nonsense they were sharing, a whim, to show Laurent. He tugged; they came to an arched open garden. ‘I take it back, you’re just like her.’ Laurent said it looking up. The statue here was bigger. Damen was smiling; there was delight in seeing Laurent explore himself, a young man who was sweet, teasing, at times unexpectedly earnest. Having made the decision to let Damen in, Laurent had not gone back on it. When the walls went up, it was with Damen inside them.

‘I’ll take care of your son,’ said Laurent. ‘I’ll protect his kingdom as if it were my own. I’ll give my life for his people.’ Above them, the sun was high and bright, and encouraged a retreat to the shade line. The boughs of the trees around them were heavy with scent. Laurent said, ‘I won’t let him down. I promise you.’ ‘Laurent,’ said Damen, as Laurent turned back from the statue to face him.

‘You served me,’ said Laurent. ‘Let me serve you.’

Laurent stood in sandals and simple cotton, a white-petalled flower in his hair. If you ignored his manner, he looked like a slave of the old style, the face too beautiful to be anything but handpicked, the white chiton like a garment chosen for him by a follower of the classical ways, who preferred their household to embody simplicity and natural beauty. If you did not ignore it, he looked like what he was: Veretian aristocracy, royalty in his every movement, in the tilt of his chin, in the sweep of his gaze. He might have been extending a signet ring to be kissed, or tapping his boot with a riding crop. His blue eyes gave little away, his full lips that Damen had recently kissed were most often seen in a hard line, or curled in cruelty. He had strolled into the baths as though they belonged to him. They did.

Laurent was very close. His fingers at Damen’s shoulder were unpinning the golden lion, unfastening the catch and sliding the pin out through the fabric. He was bare, but for the sandals. Damen was fully clothed. More often between them, it had been the reverse.

Neither of them spoke. He wondered what Laurent was seeing. He wondered what Laurent was remembering, if it had happened in Laurent’s mind the same way it had happened in his own. Water hit the marble as Laurent squeezed the sponge. He experienced it physically, the sound loud, a crack. He shuddered when it touched him, because it was so warm, and gentle, against the scars. He felt the heat of the water and the soft touch of the sponge, softer than he had imagined, so that a second shudder, a tremor, passed through him.

It was gentler between his shoulders than it had been against his chest. Flesh and self were linked. The cleansing was slow, attentive, drizzling water, then soaping his skin. It was healing something he hadn’t known needed to be healed. Like breathing, it was necessary, even as the tenderness of it was too much, gentleness where he had never expected Laurent to be gentle.

‘Believe you’d make it back to Akielos? Yes. I did. You were a force of nature. It was infuriating to fight you. Frightening to have you on my side.’ ‘Frightening?’ ‘You didn’t know how afraid I was of you?’ ‘Of me? Or of yourself?’ ‘Of what was happening between us.’

‘I’m better than Nikandros.’ He wasn’t sure why that returned him Laurent’s laughter, but it did, soft and breathless, saying, ‘I know. You have vanquished me. Let me up.’

‘The truth is you’re very sweet, aren’t you,’ said Damen, taking Laurent’s fingers in a tangle of towel. He dumped a towel over Laurent’s head before he could answer, and enjoyed watching Laurent emerge from it with his hair mussed.

Laurent began to look around for a wrap to wear, but Damen took his hand instead. ‘We don’t need one. Come on.’ ‘But what about—’ ‘This is Akielos. We don’t need them. Come with me.’

Entering the royal chambers, the view was of gauzy white, and of marble and sky, the wide, graceful interior opening out onto a balcony. Laurent walked right out onto it, leaning his naked body against the marble balustrade and closing his eyes with the sun full on his face. He let out a breath that was part laughter at what he had done, part disbelief. Damen came out and fitted himself lazily alongside Laurent, enjoying the sunlight too, and the air from the sea, that winked in an expanse of blue. Laurent’s eyes opened. Laurent said, ‘I like it here. I like it here so much.’

‘So, on the balcony, but not in the gardens,’ said Laurent. He was leaned against the wall. Damen had taken a step back. ‘We’re not quite on the balcony.’ ‘I can’t keep track. You had us walk here naked.’ ‘This is Akielos. We can do things your way in Vere.’ He thought about it. ‘It’s cold there.’ ‘And in our new palace,’ said Laurent, ‘on the border?’ Damen felt warmth pool in his stomach. ‘Our new palace.’ Softly, into Laurent’s ear. He had returned into Laurent’s physical space, irresistibly. ‘I’m just—’ ‘Talking,’ said Damen. ‘Yes.’ ‘I want do it slowly, the way you like,’ said Damen, and Laurent closed his eyes. ‘Yes.’