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Theomedes was pacing. Noting unusual there, he often paced before making any decision. About matters of state, about royal banquet invitations—which sometimes overlapped—but especially about matters of war. 

“There’s no alternative but to say yes,” Theomedes repeated for the fourth time that morning, wishing he had another option. “Though I detest the very idea of stepping foot in their insipid country. But our alliance is fragile at best and, with Patras forming their own ties to Vere, they could easily overpower us if they wished.” An argument Damen had heard before.

“Let them try. Our warriors are strong; our steels, sharp,” boasted Kastor. This, too, was nothing new, as was his father’s sigh.

“And our leaders naïve, I see,” said Theomedes ignoring Kastor’s glare. “Vere and Patras’s military tactics may not be up to par, but they outnumber us two to one. They could starve us out. And that’s only after they’ve removed a considerable number of our soldiers. I won’t risk it.”

“Why not say you’re too scared?” accused Kastor in yet another attempt to undermine their father’s rule. Damen turned away, wishing to avoid witnessing another verbal lashing. No such luck. 

“Is it fear to stand in front of an adversary and admit your weaknesses?” It always started with a lesson. “A wise leader knows when to stand aside for the good of his people. A wise leader does not let pride or stupidity get in the way of his decisions. A wise King thinks of everyone else before he does about himself.” And ended with a scolding. “That’s something you’ve never understood. Thank the gods you’re not required to.” Damen didn’t need to look to know his brother was seething. Kastor might have resigned himself with the line of succession, but a daily reminder was probably unnecessary. Damen hated being privy to these discussions. Why was he here? “You will not accompany your brother to Vere,” Theomedes told Kastor, “I won’t have you destroy this treaty with your loud mouth.”

Damen turned to face his father. “Accompany me? What about you, father?

“Weren’t you listening? Akielos needs a competent ruler on the throne at all times.” Completely unnecessary. “You will go to Vere in my stead and give them my regards and best wishes. That should satisfy our host and fulfill our appearance of friendship.”

Our host. “Father—” Damen wanted to argue.

“End of discussion,” Theomedes said. “Bring whomever you like; I’m keeping a sound advisor at my side, after all.” Kastor seemed pleased. “Nikandros will communicate with you if anything should require your immediate attention.” 

Damen left before his brother and father started shouting again.     

Nikandros had walked into the palace in Ios and Damen’s rooms—more like barged in, though Nikandros would deny such behaviour—as soon as he had received his orders from the King. What he daren’t say to Exalted, he had no reservations saying it to his friend.

“I should be accompanying you,” insisted Nikandros.

Damen rather wished he wouldn’t, though he wouldn’t say so out loud. “Father needs you to help look after the kingdom,” he said instead. “I support his decision; there’s no one I trust more.”

“Is that why you want me away?” asked Nikandros. “Because you trust I’ll keep Kastor in line or so I won’t be able to intervene in Vere?”

That was the problem when Damen’s closest advisor had known all of his secrets since they were infants. However, “Kastor doesn’t need watching over.” Damen didn’t miss Nikandros’s scoff. “And do you think that little of me to believe I’ll break down once I step foot in the palace?”

“No, that is not what worries me.”

“Your worry is misplaced,” Damen assured him. “I have no hope that my presence will accomplish anything in that regard.” He expected his presence would, in fact, make matters worse. What was his father thinking? He was thinking Damen had more diplomacy than even Theomedes thought was required in the situation.

“Your use of the word ‘hope’ is enough cause for worry. Damen—”

“Even if your concern was deserved, I doubt it’s necessary when it comes to Laurent.” But Damen hadn’t needed or wanted diplomacy since negotiations with Vere first started. In the beginning, because he didn’t think Laurent deserved any. And later…

“King Laurent. You would do well to remember his station,” warned Nikandros. “And yours.”

“You always said he wasn’t my equal. Well, he’s my superior now.” Damen didn’t need to add he always considered Laurent far his superior, if not in terms of rank then when it came to everything else. He suspected Nikandros already knew that.

“My opposition to the match was never a matter of title, as you well recall. Your own father has paraded you in front of suitors with less fortune or position than a second son to a powerful and still-growing kingdom.”

“I remember. I must do my duty. And Akielos must always have an heir,” Damen recited.

“If that were the only obstacle,” said Nikandros before he turned to leave. Damen sunk back into his chair, already exhausted, though the day had only started. How would he manage until it was time to board the ship? “I’m sending my best man with you. He’s a soldier not a governess, so try not to do anything reckless.”

Damen closed his eyes until the door was closed and he was finally left alone to process the news. His impending return to Vere. To Laurent.

“He’s a Veretian, Damen,” repeated Nikandros exasperated. It seemed nothing Damen said could make Nikandros ignore that fact. 

Damen had returned home certain that Nikandros would approve. He had expected his father and Kastor to give him grief about choosing a Veretian of all things, but his father could be appeased by the solidified alliance such a union would bring. Damen knew that with the right arguments, Theomedes would see the benefits. Never mind that Damen was in love with his betrothed, that mattered but little. But he hadn’t anticipated Nikandros’s reaction.

“I haven’t known you to be prejudiced,” retorted Damen. “I thought surely your years in Delpha would have prevented it.”

“It’s exactly because of that that I feel I know a great deal more about the matter than you do.” Damen rolled his eyes. Here Nikandros was again with his two years more experience, as if that gave him infinitely more wisdom. “Never mind the fact that Vere is reputable for its debaucheries and proclivity for cheats and deceits. His family is notorious.”

“That’s hardly something to hold against him.”

“His father was a well-known tyrant who ruled with fear and bribery. His uncle was worse. And they dare call us barbarians. At least, we mean what we say. We meet them on the battlefield head on with our demands. They hide behind masks and tight-laced tunics, as if their delicate lavish clothes can hide the serpents underneath.”

It was just like Nikandros to use Damen’s own words against him. Damen had maintained such an opinion of Veretians for years and hadn’t shied away from sharing his thoughts with those closest to him. But Laurent was different. “Not even you can maintain all Veretians to be the same. Neither Auguste nor Laurent are.”

“King Auguste, I grant you,” agreed Nikandros. “He seems determined to right his father’s wrongs. But Laurent is hardly his brother.”

“He’s just as good, if not better.”

“You barely know him.”

“I know enough!”

“You know only what he wishes to show.”

“So now I’m blinded?” shouted Damen. “Or worse, too much of an imbecile to recognize I’m being duped?”

“Of course you’re blinded,” replied Nikandros with the calm composure Damen envied. “By fair hair and a handsome face. Which might be well and good for anybody else, but not for the heir of Akielos. I don’t wish to injure you, but your duty requires you to think of more than yourself.”

Damen put his palms against the windowsill, his back to Nikandros and his eyes to the sky, willing his tears not to fall down. “He’s so much more than you know.”

“I’ll wager he’s more than you know as well. Young, inexperienced, a second son,” Nikandros reminded him, “and not a fair prospect for you. It’s only been a season; I’ve known you to forget lovers from a lengthier dalliance without trouble.”

“It isn’t like with the others,” muttered Damen.

“Maybe it isn’t,” conceded Nikandros reluctantly. “But one day, when you do make an advantageous match, it will be to someone from a noble, respectable family, someone who can ensure the continuation of your lineage.”   

His words were clear. Not Laurent.

Days passed without warning. Weeks bled into months. Damen tried to hide it as best he could, especially when Nikandros was visiting, but everyone could tell he was distracted. Luckily, they all attributed it to something else. To someone else entirely.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” she asked as Damen was overseeing the final preparations before they were to set sail in an hour.

“I wouldn’t dare, my lady,” he replied. He hadn’t actually planned on seeing her at all before his departure. Most of the palace was still asleep as the sun was not even up yet. Though, truth be told, even if he had planned to leave later in the day, bidding Jokaste farewell was the furthest thing from his mind.

“Can’t you take me with you?” she pleaded, doe-eyed and with a treacherously angelic smile. Damen couldn’t help but smile, finding it hard to remember it had once worked.

“I was especially requested not to,” he said. “My brother was quite insistent.”

“He flatters me,” she said coyly.

“And you? Do you return his sentiments?” There was a time Damen had convinced himself that an affirmation would have wounded him. He wondered when Jokaste had realized he’d dropped the charade.

“I am a free spirit, as you well know, Damianos.”

“But does Kastor?” He guessed no.

“He shall learn,” she said. “It isn’t in my nature to attach myself at the first compliment. You and I are similar in that way.”

“True.” It had taken much effort for Jokaste to take an interest in him. Or so she’d wanted him to believe, more likely. She was quite clever, he thought fondly. He had been so focused on winning her favour to pay much attention to his reasons for pursuing her in the first place. 

“And yet there is one person who might be an exception to this rule,” she said pointedly looking at him. She knew better than to believe he held a strong attachment to her. Still, she couldn’t be accused of giving up without a fight. Even a fight that she predicted she’d lose.

“So you and I are similar in that as well,” he murmured nodding his goodbye before turning his gaze back to the sea.

They left shortly after dawn. If the men weren’t disgruntled enough to be heading to Vere, they certainly resented the early rise. Not Damen. Regardless of promises made to Nikandros, when the first hint of light emerged from the night sky, Damen was up from a restless night and ready to embark upon his ship.

Pallas was the first to greet him once he came aboard. Though Nikandros liked to refer to Pallas as his man, seeing that he was currently stationed in Delpha, Damen too knew Pallas since the boy’s first tournament where he’d distinguished himself not only for his abilities but for his charms as well. A silly reason to cheer a champion for, Nikandros had said, but Damen had been particularly intrigued. Soon enough, Pallas had become a lover, then a friend.

There was a time Pallas had been too shy to speak properly in Damen’s presence, especially in Damen’s chambers, though for entirely different reasons. Now, there he was, talking Damen’s ear off so as to mask the fact that he’d been instructed to keep a close eye on him. 

Damen wasn’t paying attention; he was too preoccupied with making sure that all the crates were on board. He had put much effort into selecting his best chitons, though he doubted it would matter.

The ship’s cargo also contained a myriad of gifts among each passenger’s personal effects. Gifts not only to be bestowed upon the bride and groom, but also to their gracious host. Damen already knew the gifts his father had carelessly chosen wouldn’t appeal to Laurent. The new King. Damen remembered the news of his coronation four years ago. And the tragedy that preceded it.

He wouldn’t have been welcome then, and he certainly wouldn’t be welcome now that so much time had passed without a word. It seemed a lie that Damen would once again cross the river to step on those distant shores. There was a time the thought would had left him yearning. Now, beneath that feeling, lay fear and guilt. How to behave? What to say?

How to rectify his wrongs?

Weeks later, at last, when the ships arrived in Vere, the procession waiting for them looked everything proper. Every man dressed impeccably, if a little too extravagantly. The docks held what Damen assumed to be nobles and rich, minor families ready to greet the new arrivals. The road leading to the royal palace was lined with soldiers in fine blue uniforms. Behind them, the populace scorned at the Akielon visitors. No doubt, they questioned the need for the invitation that had been extended.

Even if the peace had been years in the making, no Akielon had come here since Theomedes’s diplomatic visit five years ago, at King Auguste’s request, with the intent to negotiate the treaty that now kept war at bay. Theomedes had been reluctant; Kastor, opposed. But Damen had found Auguste’s proposition sound. He thought Auguste—a worthy opponent—would be a fierce friend. Of course, Auguste’s favour was not the only one he had sought.

Even though the populace had woken to gawk at their arrival and most of the masters had been instructed to greet them, one person’s absence was keenly felt. His countrymen saw it as an affront; Damen was ashamed of the part he’d played in Laurent’s decision to not welcome them himself, along with a restlessness derived from years of thinking of him but lacking the courage to reach out.

They were escorted inside the palace promptly. More noble families waited inside, lining the large hallway and the throne room itself, culminating in what Damen assumed were Laurent’s closest advisors standing close to the empty seat on the dais. The servers had been instructed to attend the Akielons and ply them with food and drink while the Veretians were clearly waiting for something. Laurent always did have a penchant for grand entrances, recalled Damen with a fond smile.

“Prince Damianos. Welcome,” said the King once Theomedes had been greeted and then requested to retire to his rooms. His father hadn’t wanted to stay in the Veretian’s presence any longer than he had to. Kastor hadn’t been in the room with them, so as not to offend.

“Your Majesty,” said Damen as he bowed.

The King rose from his throne and walked down the steps to Damen. “None of that. There’s no need for formalities between friends.”

Damen liked him already. “Auguste, then,” Damen greeted him once he was close enough. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet. Friendship is my greatest wish as well.”

“I knew we’d understand each other.” Auguste smiled as he embraced Damen. “Come, you must be tired after your journey. Our negotiations can wait, but the celebrations begin tonight. I’ll wager you’d like to rest until then.”

Damen headed towards the entrance with Auguste’s arm around his shoulders when the doors burst open. A skinny young man with chin-length blond—almost silver—hair walked through as if the room was his own possession. No hint of nervousness to being in the presence of his King.

“I’m not intruding, am I?” he asked eyeing Damen and Auguste’s proximity.

“You are, as was your intention, I’m sure,” replied Auguste. “We expected you over an hour ago.”

“What for?” the young man asked, innocently frowning while looking at Damen and pretending not to know the significance of his arrival. Insulting his very presence. The little brat.

Shockingly, Auguste laughed. “Damianos, meet my brother.”

That explained it. Though Damen already disliked the rascal, he bowed as was expected. “Prince Laurent.”

“Your Highness,” he answered without granting a bow in return. He wasn’t greeting the Akielon Prince but correcting his form of address.

“We’ll see you tonight, I trust?” Auguste asked his brother.

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“A pity,” said Damen. “I’ve heard tales of your proclivity for parties and general merriment.”

To his great credit, Auguste laughed. Prince Laurent’s piercing blue eyes, however, narrowed and his severe chin turned up and away from Damen before he walked out without another word.

“Charming,” Damen muttered before he could catch himself. Auguste raised a brow. Fearing of offending his host, Damen began apologising.

“Don’t,” Auguste said with an easy smile. “I know Laurent’s abrasive nature doesn’t speak well to his character. You’ll learn to see beyond it in time.”

Damen held back a scoff. Not likely.

Damen stood, facing the throne raised on the marble steps, at the same place he had been when he’d met Auguste years ago. People chattered all around him, several directly to him, but he couldn’t understand a word even with the room so loud as to drown his heartbeat.

But it didn’t drown the sound of the double doors opening behind him. The same doors Laurent had walked through when they’d first met, except now Damen heard more than just Laurent’s footsteps. He must have been accompanied by a large number of courtiers and guards, though Damen couldn’t see any.

For when he turned towards the open doors, there stood Laurent. He seemed taller, and leaner too. Rumours of Laurent’s military prowess had reached even Akielon gossip and they were to be believed by the way his tunic clung to him. His high collar and all those infernal laces did nothing to hide the muscle mass Laurent sported underneath.

He was dressed in sparkling gold, white laurels sown onto the fabric, and a crown adorned with blue sapphires atop his head. His hair seemed to be tied and disappearing behind his shoulders. His eyes were harsh and his lovely face, devoid of a smile. He was immaculate; the Ice Queen in all his perfect glory.

He walked towards Damen as slow as was respectable. Damen felt like a prisoner waiting for his sentence. Before Laurent could reach him, Damen leaned forward into a bow. Dutifully, the rest of his party followed.

From his downward glance, Damen only saw Laurent’s boots and then his hand dropping from behind him to his side with his fingers gesturing for Damen to rise. Damen’s breath caught when his eyes met Laurent’s. He was struggling to maintain eye contact while Laurent regarded him with lazy disinterest. Damen’s stomach sunk as if beaten.

Custom dictated Laurent speak first, but he appeared to have no inclination to do so.  He was unbothered by the silence or with keeping Damen’s eyes on him, not allowing him to look away. Laurent would torture the prisoner first. If he deserved it.

A nobleman misunderstood Laurent’s lack of words. “Your Majesty, may I introduce His Royal Highness, Prince Damianos of Akielos,” he boasted proudly as though he claimed an acquaintance with Damen.

“We are acquainted,” said Laurent, ignoring the hushed voices. “Have someone escort His Highness to his rooms,” he said after a moment with an impatient gesture of his hand to the man undoubtedly working too hard for his King’s favour. As Laurent walked away, he added to the congregation, “The feast begins at sundown.”

Damen remained rooted in place when the doors closed and everyone started talking at once. Attendants were waiting, ready to show him the way to his chambers, and Pallas was watching him intently, but his feet wouldn’t move. He could only recount what he’d just witnessed: the starburst ring on Laurent’s finger, the tips of his hair touching the middle of his back, his fast-paced exit, the slight hint of mud on the bottom of his boots.

The way he’d avoided saying Damen’s name.

That evening’s feast was everything Damen had expected it to be. Vere never spared any expense. It seemed as though the entire kingdom’s nobility had been invited, along with several representatives from both Patras and Akielos. No doubt the wedding would be an even grander affair.

Servants were making the rounds with various trays containing drinks and small bites of the rarest delicacies. And the nobles were fawning about, lavishly dressed, and each with a pet on their lap. Where the masters wore enough clothing to make one suffocate simply by looking at them, the pets wore as little as possible, their bodies adorned by jewels only.

“Subtle, aren’t they?” said Pallas.

Wandering hands and lips had no care for the people who might be watching. The masters weren’t watching each other but rather the few pets performing in the center of the reception hall. Exotic dances were on the menu and it wasn’t unusual for one of Damen’s men to claim a dish once the song ended.

“Why not join them?” asked Damen.

“I’m fine right here,” answered Pallas.

“Oh for— I don’t need supervision,” protested Damen.

Pallas cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my Prince, but Nikandros warned me you’d say that.”

“What else did he say?” asked Damen. Pallas was always so formal despite their intimacy and subsequent friendship. It made it very difficult for Damen to stay cross with him.

“To pay your attempts to send me away no mind.”

“As you’ve mentioned, I am your Prince,” he pointed out. “I could order you away.”

“Certainly,” agreed Pallas though he didn’t give any indication that he intended to move. Damen sighed. “May I ask what this is regarding?” asked Pallas. “Why do I need to stay close to you for the length of this visit?”

“You don’t,” repeated Damen.

“Why does the Kyros think I do?”

“He has little faith in me.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” said Pallas boldly before remembering himself, “My Prince. He always speaks very highly of you.”

“He’s required to.” Pallas raised both eyebrows, incredulous. Damen smiled. “He wants the best for Akielos. And for me.”

“Aren’t you the only one that should be the judge of that?”

“One would think,” muttered Damen.

“Still, I say let us not dwell on things we cannot change. I have my orders, as do you,” said Pallas. Damen frowned. “To ensure the continuance of our alliance with Vere,” explained Pallas. “Maybe even to strengthen the relation. I’d say that starts with you putting your best self forward for the King. Even if he misses it, he’s bound to hear about our conduct during tonight’s feast. Any Veretian will jump at the chance to expose our unrefined manners.”

“He wouldn’t miss it.”

“He hasn’t been seen since the celebrations started.”

“Maybe he hasn’t made himself known, but he’s here.” Laurent was around here somewhere. Watching his subjects without his presence hindering their behaviour. A rare treat for a sovereign. Maybe he was watching Damen right now. Damen could only hope. “He’ll arrange for a proper entrance soon enough.”

Pallas nodded. “And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime, we drink.”

Damen was never more pleased to have accepted King Auguste’s invitation. Not that he had had much choice in the matter, seeing as his father insisted both Damen and his brother accompany him as was their duty in matters of war and, hopefully, peace. Regardless, Damen had wanted to meet the King of Vere from the instant that a treaty had been mentioned. Kastor complained about having to join them, but Damen knew his brother was grateful to have even been included. A sentiment that soon came to an end when Theomedes wouldn’t let him into the throne room upon their arrival. It would not do to insult their guests.

Kastor was however allowed to take part in the festivities. Damen would have rather the opposite. Kastor could remain silent among a diplomatic delegation and do as he was told, but it was an entirely different matter in the company of not only courtiers but soldiers and lower class Veretians. All the stories about Akielons seemed to be portrayed in Kastor’s character.

Auguste, good-natured as he was, made no mention of this.

“You would enjoy Ios,” said Damen, continuing their easy conversation. “The Ellosean Sea stretching for miles, streams and waterfalls to escape the heat, tournaments to distract, women to please.” Auguste smirked. “You must wonder.”

“To be King and have everything at your fingertips but what you truly desire,” said Auguste. “I can’t help but think it unjust.”

“It’s mad.”

Auguste laughed. “You may be right.”

“So change it.”

“My advisors would have my head. Who am I to spit on a Veretian custom that has been implanted generations ago? And especially on the suggestion of a barbarian. The horror,” mocked Auguste.

“Yet you don’t have a pet to quiet the murmurs.”

“Why should I? It only prompts lords to hasten their attempts to convince me to marry one of their daughters before I start looking elsewhere. I rather think my virtue pleases them.” How novel. Damen was well aware that he was celebrated for his prowess and the more conquests he gathered, the more approval he gained with the people. How strange that Auguste should live by different rules. Veretians certainly never demonstrated restraint, but they praised their King for it. “I wish they would say the same of my brother,” whispered Auguste.

Damen had heard of the ice in Laurent’s veins. People sneered when they talked of his refusal to take lovers or even the occasional pet during festivities where the best of Vere had to be displayed. No doubt Auguste’s physical strength and gallantry indicated a masterful lover just waiting for the perfect partner, whereas Laurent’s rudeness and intellectual pursuits equalled a frigid and impotent carper. Damen was disinclined to disagree.

“Has he never shown any interest in anyone then?” asked Damen.

“Not as far as I’m aware. Nor is he likely to if no one deigns to approach him.”

How pitiful. Damen was aware of Laurent’s beauty, overly so. He would wager all of those people who despised Laurent would still drop their pants the moment he asked. Still, “Perhaps if he allowed other people to prove their worth before dismissing them,” said Damen, not bothering to hide his displeasure. 

“I know I shouldn’t let him get away with it.”

But Damen understood. “You love him.”

“More than anything. Which he well knows to take advantage of. I suppose so must you with your brother.”

Damen smiled without a reply.

Hours later, Damen was pleasantly drunk. Auguste had moved on to talking with a man dressed in shockingly plain brown clothes, an attire that wouldn’t have stood out had he not been in a room filled with the most opulent and colourful guests in all the kingdoms. Damen’s father had retired and Kastor’s voice could be heard by the entire room, though Damen couldn’t be bothered to listen to what he said. Kastor had enough ladies to entertain as it was.

“How disappointing.” Damen turned around. He had been resting, his back against the wall next to a set of doors leading to one of the balconies, enjoying the cool breeze on his flaming cheeks. Behind the opened, clear doors and velvet curtains, his laced, black tunic concealing fair skin, Prince Laurent stayed hidden. “I expected your bastard brother to prove us wrong.”

Damen went back to his previous position, guessing the Prince did not wish to attract attention. “I doubt that,” said Damen. “I believe you couldn’t have predicted it better. How disappointing for me who’d hoped to point out your mistake twice in the same day.”

“I don’t recall being mistaken even once.”

“I expect people don’t tell you so even when you’ve judged harshly.”

“Have I said something to offend?” asked Laurent with a smirk.

“I gather you don’t need words to offend.”

“I gather you’re used to it.”

“This may shock you, but I have managed to cultivate lasting relationships throughout the kingdoms. I know my worth. You may not think much of me, but I am secure in the knowledge that you are in fact mistaken.”

“If you are as secure as you say, why insist on proving me wrong?”

“Boredom.”

“I expect you would be, at an event like this.”

Damen laughed. “Not enough books to hold your interest? Or perhaps seeing people enjoying themselves interferes with your plan to make everyone miserable.”

Laurent raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t peg you as the sort to pay any mind to court gossip.”

“I have reason to believe there is truth to it.”

“You don’t know me.”

Damen grinned. “My point exactly.”

“Alright, Damianos. Who are you then?”

Damen turned to look at Laurent. “Why not allow yourself to find out?”

Laurent looked away. “I’m not that curious.”

“So why talk to me at all?”

After a pause, Laurent said, “Boredom.”

When the King arrived, there was an unmistakable hush over the hall. Damen had known the discontent after Auguste’s death, the disappointment concerning Vere’s new sovereign. Laurent hadn’t been born to rule. But, by all accounts, he’d taken up his brother’s crown with grace.

Perhaps he’d never be as loved as Auguste had been, but it was definitely an improvement to how Laurent had been perceived but a few years ago: a meek princeling with no inclination for battle or politics. But, from what Damen had heard, Laurent had proven them wrong on both accounts. He was certainly respected, if nothing else. Although Damen would bet quite a lot of men wished for the privilege to get a leg over their King, for more than ambition.

The pets certainly made no effort to hide their lust. One pet in particular caught Damen’s eye, and unfortunately, everyone else’s.     

The red-haired pet came to perform, all the others having dissipated. He wore less jewellery than his peers, but looked all the more dazzling with the way the fire he was twirling made his hair glow. Many guests stopped their fondling to watch the extraordinary performance.

A young man, no older than eighteen, looked on unimpressed. He wore too many jewels to be an aristocrat, but was too haughty to be a pet. Pallas had left Damen’s side at some point during the night—between Damen’s ninth and tenth cup—and hadn’t been seen since. Damen’s golden-haired slave seemed to be trying not to smile at whatever his friend was saying. Damen recognized the man as Kastor’s.

Everyone else stood mesmerized, but the pet only had eyes for his King. Laurent seemed as captivated as the rest of them.

Damen emptied his cup.

When the pet had finished, Laurent was pulled aside by Prince Troveld, brother to the King of Patras and his country’s witness to the wedding that was to take place in a few days time. Years ago, Auguste had told Damen of Torveld’s intentions towards Laurent. They didn’t appear to have changed.

Laurent excused himself from a familiar man standing beside him and accompanied Torveld to a balcony.

Damen grabbed another wine-filled cup from one of the trays being passed around.

He approached the balcony doors behind which Laurent and Torveld had disappeared. He wouldn’t eavesdrop, though he was tempted. He only desired to speak with Laurent before the night ended, or even just to be beside him, away from everyone else looking on. He didn’t think he’d get a chance to explain himself—he didn’t think he’d know what to say—but he yearned for Laurent to look at him as he once did. Even if it was with scorn and derision.

Laurent certainly did not feel as he did then. How could he? He had every reason to despise Damen, to wish he’d never laid eyes on him.

And yet, being with Laurent, that feeling was the closest Damen had ever been to happy. Had Laurent felt it too?  It was hard to believe Laurent could have felt as strongly as Damen did back when they first met and now feel only contempt. Damen had used him horribly, but such feelings cannot be disregarded even by anger. At least, Damen’s couldn’t. Maybe Laurent’s didn’t compare, then.

Had he been a simple infatuation to Laurent while Damen had burned for him? Had he been a passing fancy while Laurent consumed his every thought? If Laurent were angry, it would be an indication of the truthfulness of his feelings. But his cold politeness, his ceremonious grace were worse than anything. 

Damen wasn’t stupid or demented enough to hope for reconciliation. Yet, he couldn’t help but miss Laurent’s company. He had missed it terribly these five years. He believed he could be satisfied with that only, with Laurent’s acquaintance if not his affection.

At last, after Torveld had left, Damen made himself known.

“Laurent,” he simply said in greeting. Laurent didn’t seem surprised to see him there in the slightest.

“Hello, lover,” purred Laurent. 

Damen’s breath caught. There was nothing in Laurent’s tone of the teasing he was once so fond of. Now, only cruelty remained. “It’s good to see you,” said Damen, because that would never change.

“Is it?” asked Laurent as if the information surprised yet pleased him. Damen knew better.

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”

“I’m sure. You’re revered for your honourable nature.” Laurent smiled as he would before decimating an adversary. “You’d never dare be false.”

Damen swallowed. “I never have.” His feelings had remained true, but of course he’d had a poor way of showing it.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it,” said Laurent. “After all, we hardly know each other.” Damen closed his eyes before looking away towards the black horizon. But Laurent wasn’t done. “No one could expect you to show your colours to a stranger, and one from an enemy nation at that.”

Damen glanced back at Laurent. “Former enemy.”

“If you say so,” said Laurent dismissively.

Damen sighed. “Can we talk?” he pleaded.

“I thought we were.”

“Not about our kingdoms, about us.”

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. “We are our kingdoms. Our duty is to it before anything else. Isn’t that what you said?”

Damen was unable to reply as he watched Laurent walk away and back to the festivities.

Pallas, predictably, had been awake and ready outside Damen’s rooms to accompany him to breakfast the next day. The King had issued a formal invitation to both Akielos and Patras’s representatives. Damen supposed that Pallas took his duties seriously enough to impose himself on his host.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to let me out of your sight,” said Damen. 

Pallas frowned. “Which is why I requested an invitation to breakfast.”

Damen should have known. Pallas was nothing if not thorough. “I meant last night.”

Pallas’s abrupt stop was too short-lasting to be noticed by anyone not paying attention. “I trusted you were too surrounded to attempt anything foolish.”

“That is when you should fear it the most,” teased Damen.

Pallas’s eyes widened, coaxing a chuckle out of Damen despite his sour mood. Last night was his first real interaction with Laurent since he’d arrived and he’d wasted it.

When they entered the breakfast parlour, Laurent wasn’t there. He had, however, sent someone to make his excuses. The same man Damen had noticed shadowing Laurent for most of last night and, therefore, a trusted friend. He introduced himself as Berenger.

The King had gone riding and sent word to start without him. Damen felt his shoulders drop and looked around to see Torveld’s do the same. Damen never was able to properly hide his emotions and, when he and Pallas shared a look, the latter started making his own conclusions about the nature of Damen and Laurent’s relationship. Damen bet that Pallas wasn’t too far off from the truth.

As conversation started pouring in, Pallas seemed lost in thought, content to provide as little as possible to the subject.

The Prince of Patras kept looking over his shoulder, expecting someone else to walk in at any moment. Damen would laugh—knowing that if Laurent was indeed riding, they wouldn’t be seeing him for most of the day—if he himself did not desire a different conclusion to last night’s conversation. 

For his part, Berenger seemed happy just to be in such good company. 

“I’m pleased a revision of the Akielos-Vere treaty can finally take place,” said Berenger who was seated to Damen’s left. “I’ve been trying to convince King Laurent to hold a summit for years.”

A wedding seemed as good an excuse as any. “He didn’t consider it before?” asked Damen.

Berenger lowered his voice. “He hardly considered anything after his brother’s passing. But any abrupt change in power will bring some descent among the people and so I advised him that a strong alliance with both Akielos and Patras could win him some favour.”

“Or be helpful in the event of a civil war.”

“Indeed,” said Berenger. “Quite a few serpents tried to usurp His Majesty’s place.”

“His claim is undeniable.”

“I don’t think they questioned his title so much as his abilities.”

“That’s preposterous,” said Damen astonished.

“I maintained the same opinion.”

Damen shook his head at the notion. That anyone would question Laurent’s mind and strength was utterly absurd. But he’d heard the insane argument before. “They were disposed of, I assume?”

“I petitioned for it, but the King preferred to allow them to make amends. Mercy in exchange for land and stock. Remove too little and the threat persists, remove too much—”

“—And you have a martyr,” guessed Damen. His father would say the same.

Berenger nodded. “King Auguste was just, but he was criticized for being too clement at times. His brother, I suspect, wants to see how much he can take away without retaliation.”

Damen smiled. “He likes the game.”

Berenger looked at him for a moment, almost in contemplation. “He’s more than people realise. They look at him and see what Auguste was. What Laurent isn’t.”

Damen held Berenger’s gaze. “They miss it.” Laurent was exceptional, if only they cared enough to see beyond the cold exterior that fooled so many.

“But not you?” asked Berenger.

“I’d like to think so. But even I’ve been known to be misguided where Laurent is concerned.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses? Go to Vere for the funeral, I won’t have it!”

“They are our allies, father.”

“For the time being,” replied Theomedes. “These are dangerous times. There’s bound to be a shift in power.”

“All the more reason to be there to ensure the continuance of the alliance with the new King.”

“Damianos makes a good point,” said Nikandros. Damen stared at him, shocked.

“You misunderstand. The people of Vere will never accept that weakling fool as their King.” Damen’s knuckles cracked. Nikandros was already slowly moving in front of him to prevent any rage-induced recklessness. “When they demand his head and a new sovereign takes his place, we need to be standing on the right side.”

“And do nothing to support our friends?” shouted Damen. How could his father even suggest not standing with Laurent? He was his brother’s heir.

“Our treaty never spoke of friendship.”

When his father left, not interested in hearing any other arguments on the subject, Damen turned to Nikandros. “It’s not right.”

Nikandros sighed. “I’m inclined to agree.” He took hold of Damen’s arm. “But it’s not your place to offer condolences.”    

“As a Prince and the heir of Akielos, I believe it is my place.”

“As the former lover of the new King of Vere, the last person he needs to hear from is you.”

Damen retracted his arm with a growl and walked away. As the doors closed behind him, he heard Nikandros’s huff.

He slammed open the doors of his own rooms and dismissed everyone inside. How could he be expected to do nothing? Laurent needed him. Laurent shouldn’t be alone.

But, reluctant as he was to admit it, maybe Nikandros was right. Maybe Damen was the last person Laurent needed.

Tears threatened to fall when Damen thought of Laurent’s devastation. When he thought of Auguste. Damen wasn’t only Laurent’s ‘former lover’; he’d been Auguste’s friend. He couldn’t do nothing.

Damen sat down at his desk and held his quill, contemplating the words that would convey how much his thoughts were with Laurent. Always.

The court of Arles at its best was something many would kill to witness. Everything about these people seemed too polished for Damen’s tastes, but on this occasion, they had outdone themselves. Everyone was wearing their best colours. The crowd was composed of rubies, amethysts and emeralds.

Even Damen had made an effort with the sapphire tunic that he’d bought last year despite the fact that it reminded him of Laurent’s eyes. Or maybe because of it. Only Berenger had foregone custom and dressed in plain black. Damen nodded in encouragement.

When the trumpets sounded, everyone rushed to create an aisle down the middle of the room. The bridegroom was standing under an altar at one end, Torveld beside him.

At the other end, the trumpets hushed and the doors opened. As the bride, but also a demonstration of a renewed alliance between Vere and Patras, it was only fitting that she be escorted by her King.

As her rank surpassed that of her husband-to-be, Vere had been the logical choice to hold the wedding. Not to mention the splendour that the celebrations promised to have.

No one could deny the beauty of the young lady, but it paled in comparison with the man on her arm. Laurent wasn’t dressed as extravagantly as Damen knew he could be—probably not wanting to steal focus—but his efforts had been fruitless. Even without his highest title, Laurent would capture the eyes of everyone in every venue he found himself in.

Until recently, according to the rumours, no one had managed to hold Laurent’s attention. The whispers had changed since Damen’s arrival. When they talked of the King, word was that his red-haired pet wasn’t far behind.

As it was the evening before, the pet in question was to perform. He was to be the last act, after many others—not nearly as admired—would flaunt their talents in a scandalous display of depravity. Damen didn’t keep his shock a secret from Laurent, as he moved to stand beside the King while the first pets began tearing each other’s clothes off in a simulated fight that Damen knew had been forced upon Veretian pets for decades.   

“Their performances are expected but not forced,” said Laurent in answer to Damen’s accusations. 

“Slaves aren’t made to put on a show in Akielos.” They’re quiet and demure. Chaste.

“Not in public.”

“And pets don’t?” Damen could only imagine what lengths pets needed to go to in private quarters.

“Pets do what they must to secure favour, like any jester or merchant. I wonder how often your slaves collect their winnings and leave you. Or leave of their own will at all.”

“They’ve never wanted to.” Slaves wouldn’t think of asking for compensation, monetary or otherwise. To please was reward enough.

“Is that so?” Laurent rolled his eyes while taking a sip from his cup. Water.

Damen looked at his slave with Kastor’s. Could he seek something else? After observing him, Damen was inclined to think so. “Sometimes we want things, but we’re not at liberty to speak,” said Damen. “Sometimes the fear of consequences keeps us from being true to ourselves.” Laurent’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “My sla— Erasmus hasn’t been trained to consider his own desires. I want to allow him that.”

“He won’t as long as he has yours to please,” pointed out Laurent.

Damen gulped. “I agree.” No master would keep a slave who didn’t want them. Of course, the situation had never arisen before. As far as Damen knew.

“What of his friend?” Of course, Laurent would notice. Damen thought about how Kastor would react to knowing his own slave preferred the company of someone else.

“I’d like both of them to remain here,” decided Damen. “Not as pets. Not unless they choose it.” They wouldn’t.

Laurent paused, shifting his gaze away, looking anywhere else but at Damen. It was something the Laurent of five years ago would have done.

But since Damen had returned to Vere, Laurent had consistently looked at him without pause in every one of their interactions. Almost challenging Damen to doubt his indifference, confronting him with the harsh truth, that Laurent no longer cared for Damen’s good opinion.

As the silence became stifling, Laurent nodded and walked away. Damen wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he knew Laurent wouldn’t forget about Damen’s request. About Erasmus and Kallias.

Sneaking out of the castle had been no easy task. Courtiers couldn’t care less about the second son’s past-times, but gossip surrounded the Akielon Prince even before he’d stepped foot on Veretian soil. Pets, especially, could be trusted to whisper amongst themselves and on to their masters.

Laying on the grass, his pale clothes in stark contrast with the ground beneath, Laurent looked radiant. Laurent’s hair, now untied, had been ruined from its delicate state by the wind. Damen had never encountered a more accomplished rider. Laurent’s horse was attuned to his needs in a way Damen only dreamed of from his own beast. Damen had never seen Laurent in battle, or even wield a weapon, but he could only imagine what Laurent could achieve from atop his majestic stallion with just a little training.

Damen longed to show him. To hand him a sword, watch Laurent’s feet master the steps and his wrists dance. Discover new muscles over time, touch his wide shoulders and feel his toned arms around Damen’s hips.

He’d heard from Auguste that Laurent had demanded to learn battle skills. He showed promise, though little interest. Perhaps Damen could change that. He’d suggest it on the ride back.

For now, he wouldn’t interrupt the blissful silence, the warmth of Laurent’s hand in his as they lay side by side, their legs pressing against one another.

Laurent turned to face Damen, to demand yet another kiss that Damen was only too willing to give. Damen’s mouth and tongue were hot on Laurent’s lips and then his neck. Damen smiled at Laurent’s pleased moan.

One of Damen’s legs was now between both of Laurent’s and Damen felt his cock stirring. Laurent’s hands were gripping Damen’s curls while Damen’s own fingers were working tirelessly on Laurent’s laces. The blasted things had become easier to untangle after numerous similar encounters, but Damen still cursed them for keeping him from completely losing himself to Laurent’s touch.

Laurent’s now raised knees trapped Damen’s body and encouraged its rocking to both their pleasure. Damen’s lips, leaving Laurent’s neck for his—at last—revealed collarbone, left traces on as much skin as he could reach. Laurent’s preference for high collars did have an advantage.

With no fear of being disrupted, clothes were quickly shed and groans mingled with the rustling of the leaves. Damen imagined spending many afternoons this way.

Time wasn’t wasted. The wedding celebrations were barely over that Laurent had called a meeting to discuss the real reason for Akielos’s visit: the alliance. While most of the guests were still jovially celebrating, Damen joined Laurent, and a select few noblemen, to discuss the renewal of the treaty along with, hopefully, more effective trade policies. 

Berenger was, of course, present as his intellect rendered him invaluable. Damen had looked for Pallas to bring him along—when he ignored why Pallas had been asked to accompany him, Damen had to admit that he enjoyed the young man’s company—but, once again, hadn’t found him anywhere. He was no doubt having a better time than his King.

When Damen entered the room, Laurent wasn’t looking anywhere near him. Damen couldn’t have expected much; this meeting was about the future of the kingdoms, it should have been more important than any understanding he could have reached with Laurent, if any such there was.

When the first treaty had been signed, it should have continued to stand for generations, exactly as it had been redacted. But the treaty had been written with the assumption that the next Veretian sovereign—who would have upheld it in turn—would be King Auguste’s descendant. No one, not even Akielos, had wanted it to apply to a monarch from another family but the one in power at the time. No one had expected Auguste’s heir to be his brother. Not only would they negotiate new terms, but the treaty had to be revised to include other heirs besides descendants. 

The proposed changes were presented to Damen.

Legitimate heir.

“Absolutely not.”

“Your Highness—”

“Inheritance laws are particular to each kingdom. You won’t have a say in who will be declared Akielos’s heir.”

“We wouldn’t. But Vere will not treat with someone its own laws will not recognize.”

“Akielos shouldn’t have to lose its seat because of an antiquated myth.”

“Why should it matter? King Theomedes doesn’t lack an heir. News from across the Ellosean Sea claim your own is within reach.”

Damen frowned. He looked to Laurent, who he found already staring back.

“News which are to pass through the hands of so many hardly have much truth left.”

“Be that as it may,” said Berenger, “I’m afraid, Your Highness, you won’t find our ways to be easily changed. Legitimacy is an indisputable requirement.”

“And if I refuse to sign?”

“On behalf of your father, you mean?” said Laurent. “It won’t shock us. Alliances break all the time. They are, after all, created by men. And, as you well know, men’s fancies waver. They can change their minds at a moment’s notice, even when promises have already been handed. But I trust your father at least won’t be so readily inconstant.”      

Pallas had noticed Damen’s bad humour immediately. Damen had proceeded to recount the meeting.

He was certain that his father wouldn’t oppose Vere’s decision. He wouldn’t jeopardize the alliance by demanding the impossible. Theomedes wouldn’t find a reason for consternation, not when another option seemed within reach. He’d probably use Damen’s anger as an excuse to get him to pick a bride. He was surprised his father hadn’t mentioned it yet. Everyone else seemed to be more informed on the subject than Damen himself.

“I see,” said Pallas.

“Do you? Because I still think it insane.”

“I meant I see that you’re clearly more upset about the rumours surrounding Lady Jokaste and yourself.”

“Those rumours have been around for a while. It’s not the first time that some ignorant fool has made mention of it.”

“But it is the first time the King of Vere has been made aware of it.”

Damen looked at Pallas for some time without offering a response. “Did Nikandros say something?”

“No,” said Pallas, not surprised. Of course Nikandros would know. “But I was aware you had visited Vere once before. And I was tasked with observing you. I observed.”

Pallas was lucky Damen’s mood rendered him eager to vent. Which he did at length.

“I cannot believe he would be so quick to forget you,” said Pallas.

“It has been nearly five years.”

“And what’s five years to an eternal love?”

“Not quite so eternal, it seems.”

“I don’t believe it. A man does not recover from such devotion of the heart.”

“You’re steady in your conviction, yet you don’t even know him.”

“I’ve heard your account. Who knows him better than you?”

“Maybe no one did. But I can’t pretend to know him as he is now. Now, we’re strangers; worse than strangers, for we could never become acquainted.”

“Strangers with years of history. Yes, I dare say you are at a disadvantage.” Damen suspected Pallas was mocking him.

“I am,” insisted Damen. “Were we to meet now, no past mistakes or pain, I believe he could fall in love with me. But—”

“Again. He did once. He might again.”

That evening, Damen joined the usual feast with one goal in mind.

Unusual though it was, Laurent wasn’t hidden as he so often enjoyed being to observe his subjects. Damen even saw some Veretian soldiers laughing at something he said. People always doubted the fact, but Damen trusted that Laurent was well liked by the people he allowed to see him.

Berenger certainly seemed genuinely fond of his King. Damen was surprised not to find him anywhere.

Damen approached the group of loud boisterous soldiers around Laurent. With a wave of Laurent’s hand, they dispersed, but not before Damen heard a few of them mutter their appreciation of Laurent. Damen’s growl wasn’t heard over their laughter.

“Well?” asked Laurent. He took a sip from his cup as he waited for Damen to reveal his purpose. Wine.

“I wanted to continue today’s conversation.”

“You thought you had a better chance of making your case without other people around? Appeal to my generous nature?”

Not what he’d been referring to, but Damen admitted it would have crossed his mind. “Yes.” Laurent was shocked. “Erasmus and Kallias were overjoyed after you talked to them. They didn’t show much reaction in front of me, but I hear they’re singing your praises. They can’t believe you’re allowing them to stay. To be free. But I know you are brilliant and fair. You wouldn’t scour from change if you thought it right.”

“As I recall, neither do you.” It was the first time Laurent had made any allusions to their time together without scorn. Damen was grateful Laurent didn’t argue his point about the succession by reiterating objections Damen knew he still had about Kastor.

“I want our kingdoms to move forward.” Ours. Like it was a joint venture. Like, once again, Damen and Laurent were united.

“It’ll take time.” Damen didn’t know if Laurent meant the amendment of Vere’s succession laws or a chance for their relationship to heal.

When a servant walked by, Laurent dropped his empty cup on a tray. Damen hadn’t even noticed when it had all gone. Judging by the way Laurent wouldn’t move from against the wall, that cup hadn’t been his first of the night.

Damen carefully grabbed Laurent’s arm and manoeuvred him to the double doors along the wall, while shielding Laurent with his massive body. He didn’t miss Laurent’s gaze lingering.

Once they were outside, and the hall, deserted, Laurent dropped all pretence and stumbled while holding on to Damen’s chiton.

“If you’re not careful, you’ll tear it off,” said Damen.

“We wouldn’t want that. I can only imagine how much effort went into picking the most outrageously ornate chiton to impress me.”

”I didn’t think you noticed.”

“How could I not?”

But Laurent kept pulling on the material until, eventually, Damen had to shift his arm around Laurent’s waist. Laurent’s warm hand came to rest on Damen’s significantly colder skin. With Laurent so close, Damen could smell the wine on his skin. How he wished for Laurent to embrace him without its influence. 

Damen led Laurent to his rooms. The same ones he’d had when he had been only a Prince. He’d never claimed his father’s rooms. They had been Auguste’s before.

It felt too familiar. Following Laurent to his bed. Making sure no one saw them. Except those who wouldn’t say a word.

It was all so different now. The only reason Laurent accepted Damen’s help was because he wouldn’t allow his subjects to see him in this state. It wasn’t the evening Damen had looked forward to.

The guards opened Laurent’s doors on his command. At least, Laurent trusted Damen not to do anything untoward. If he didn’t, Damen trusted Laurent to leave him outside and fall to the floor to sleep there. As it was, Damen walked Laurent to his sleeping suite and laid him down on the bed. He removed his boots, nothing else. 

When Damen had covered Laurent with a heavily embroidered blanket, he looked up to see Laurent smiling, eyes closed. Damen murmured a good night and walked away quietly.

He heard Laurent’s whisper just as he was about to close the door behind him. I miss you.

Damen saw Pallas leaving his room. Damen expected Pallas to walk over and lead him to breakfast as he’d done the last few days, but when Pallas saw Damen waiting for him, he distractedly informed Damen that he would instead be joining the soldiers for his first meal.

Damen barely had time to raise a surprised eyebrow that Pallas had bowed and skipped down the hall. Damen shrugged.

His spirits had considerably improved. Hopefully, Laurent would be in attendance this time. Laurent missed him. All of his attempts to push Damen away, to make him believe that he was the last thing on Laurent’s mind were actually a way to mask how Laurent was truly feeling.

Damen wished Laurent had been honest with him. Damen understood why he hadn’t, of course. But now that he knew Laurent still felt something, he couldn’t help but wish Laurent would be waiting for him, ready to start anew.

He grinned on his way to the parlour; even Berenger and Torveld’s presence wouldn’t ruin his good humour.

That is, until he saw who else was joining them.

The pet was elegantly dressed—he could almost fool a stranger into thinking he belonged to the noblest of families—and purposely sitting a seat away from Laurent to preserve some decency. But pets were generally in the company of their master when the latter intended to show them off; rarely would a master show such consideration to his pet as to invite him to intimate gatherings.

Laurent’s message was clear.

By the looks of it, Damen wasn’t the only one to realise the significance. Torveld’s eyes and pursed lips betrayed his feelings.

Damen had been mad to expect anything else. When Laurent shared his heart, he gave it entirely.

The clank of Damen’s fork on his plate did not achieve to turn Laurent’s head. Berenger was attempting to hold a conversation with Torveld and Laurent was satisfied to keep his thoughts to himself while he nibbled his second orange of the day. He hadn’t lost his taste for them. The pet sneaked smiles at Damen at every opportunity. Damen had half a mind to leave.

Before he could make the decision himself, a servant was admitted into the room with a letter addressed to Damen on his tray. He recognized Nikandros’s handwriting.

The letter was short, barely a few lines. His father had been attacked. He was now looked after by the physicians. Kastor and Jokaste had been imprisoned. Nikandros demanded Damen’s immediate return.

It was only as he finished reading that Damen noticed everyone had stopped speaking. He must have looked a fright, judging by Berenger’s concerned frown. He couldn’t organize his thoughts, much less reassure Laurent’s guests. Kastor.

He met Laurent’s steady gaze. If anyone could guess the reason for Damen’s dismay, it was him. And Laurent wouldn’t be surprised.

Laurent held Damen’s gaze and only blinked when Damen stood up quickly enough to shock the cutlery. He didn’t request to be excused. He couldn’t find the words. He simply walked out as he heard Laurent instruct someone to ready the ships. 

Out of the corner of Damen’s eye, he saw Pallas embracing a man. He was wearing Vere’s colours and standing among the procession of soldiers come to see them off. But despite his polished armour, the man seemed more pirate than soldier. His hair was longer than Pallas’s, down to his shoulders, and he hadn’t cleaned his beard in quite a while. Damen did not doubt that he was very popular among his comrades, and apparently with Damen’s own men as well. But the man’s focus was solely on Pallas and he seemed content to hold him just a little longer.

Damen jealously wished for such a goodbye.

He’d rushed out of breakfast this morning without even mentioning the contents of Nikandros’s letter. But news must have spread and Laurent had surely received confirmation about the reason for his sudden departure by now.

But he wasn’t standing beside his trusted advisor. Berenger was busy conversing with Torveld. Damen thought that Torveld would relish having Laurent’s attention inevitably more focused on Patras from now on. But even he seemed in a sour mood. Which probably had everything to do with the pet standing beside them as if he was privy to the kingdom’s affairs. For all Damen knew, he was. Who knew what manner of court gossip the pet was regaled with within the King’s chambers.

Damen didn’t have much time, but he’d wait for as long as he could. He knew that Laurent wouldn’t remain absent when the Akielon delegation took its leave.

Would he?

It was his duty to bid them goodbye on behalf of his kingdom—although it seemed that its entirety had come along to observe for themselves the shocking news which took the Akielon Prince away ahead of schedule.

They all speculated about Theomedes’s health and his bastard son’s treachery. No surprise there. But Damianos’s lover, her involvement couldn’t have been predicted. Damen sighed angrily, hoping Laurent knew better than to believe those tales. Even though Damen was aware it wouldn’t change anything, he refused to have Laurent think that his heart belonged to someone else. It hadn’t for five years. And it never would; he’d love Laurent when existence or when hope was gone. 

When Laurent finally was announced, shuffled boots rushed to step aside and conversations became murmurs. It was fitting that he would enter to bid them goodbye as he had, to welcome them. Same entrance no matter the setting; same flair for the dramatic no matter how many years passed.

Laurent came to stand in front of Damen but instead of looking him straight in the eye, Laurent seemed to have trouble finding a spot for his gaze to land on.

Later, Damen might think of all the things he should have said. But, now, surrounded by the court and its guests, words failed him and he only wanted to look upon Laurent for as long as he was able.

When Laurent’s eyes eventually settled on his, Damen dropped to one knee and into a bow, his eyes fixed on the ground.

Damen looked up at Laurent’s shocked face, a quit gasp defined by his open mouth and wide eyes.

Damen gulped as he heard the hush around them. Everyone staring, no doubt in consternation, at the Akielon Prince kneeling in front of another kingdom’s monarch, and one with a long history of animosity. If Nikandros were here, Damen would never hear the end of it. As it was, the incident was bound to reach his ears anyway.   

Damen grasped Laurent’s hand in both of his and grinned when he noticed the reddening of Laurent’s cheeks.

Damen gathered his courage and took Laurent’s hand in his. His skin was warm and Damen remembered how Laurent’s touch had thrilled him the night before. He’d been even hotter then, flushed from too much mulled wine.

For all of Damen’s courage, his hands still shook and he feared he’d lose his grip. But Laurent was smiling and his hopeful eyes encouraged Damen to utter words he’d kept quiet for longer than he usually would. But this was Laurent, fierce yet delicate Laurent, and Damen had been afraid of driving him away with his passionate declarations. But now, he was bound to leave soon and he couldn’t wait anymore.

He wanted more time. He’d been given a second chance and he’d wasted it, too scared to speak up and rectify his wrongs. Damen couldn’t have expected Laurent to wait for him. To wait for him still.

“I was struck the moment I clapped eyes on you. But I’ve come to find that there are many beautiful things about you beyond your looks. Allow me to devote my life to your happiness.”

Laurent nodded and pulled on Damen’s arms to wrap themselves around him. The two kissed as they had so many times, yet like nothing before.

Damen kissed Laurent’s hand, his lips lingering slightly. The populace might not notice, but Laurent certainly would.

When Damen raised himself up, his hand was still holding Laurent’s and he met Laurent’s eyes, begging him not to let go. Laurent didn’t. Until Damen had to step away and let the nobles say what they will.

“What if they don’t agree?” asked Laurent.

“Are we not princes? Are we not free with our hearts?”

Laurent grew serious. “You know we aren’t. They’ll say the match is doomed.”

Damen kissed his betrothed with invincible conviction. “Let them.”

Damen was unable to look away. He watched the shore get smaller, more distant, and his vision flood by unshed tears.

It had all been so fast. He hadn’t had time to take his leave properly. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted the chance for a proper goodbye in these circumstances. When he had envisioned the conversation he wanted—needed—to have with Laurent, it wasn’t while he was plagued with thoughts of his father’s injury and his brother’s betrayal. He’d waited too long.

And now it was too late.

“Is it?” Damen turned to see Pallas walking towards him, his arms crossed and looking towards Vere’s port and what lay beyond. 

Damen sighed. “You know it is. I’m sure you’ve heard the news. 

Pallas frowned. “Kastor and Jokaste are captives. The Kyros’s letter was plain about the certainty of your father’s recovery.”

“What?” What did that have to do with anything?

“Forgive me,” said Pallas, not wishing to make light of the situation. “What I mean is, he’s well looked after. Would a small delay alter anything?”

“Delay?” Why would he delay? What could possibly come of it?

“Isn’t that what you wish for?” asked Pallas shaking his head. “More time?”

Damen scoffed. “More time won’t change the outcome. I was already too late when I came here.” He was too late the moment he left years ago. “I know when I’m defeated.”

“I’ve never know that to happen,” smirked Pallas.

“It’s my own fault,” Damen knew.

“If you’re the author of your misery, then only you can fix it.”

Damen shook his head. “I won’t destroy his chance at happiness for mine.”

“Wasn’t the whole point that you’re his best chance at happiness?”

“I thought so, long ago. And I was foolish enough to think it when I embarked upon this voyage. Even when I saw him again.” Damen brushed away a tear.

“I thought so the entire time we were there. I still do,” insisted Pallas.

Damen rounded on him. “How can you say that? His choice is clear.” He lowered his voice, “You didn’t see him at breakfast, but you can’t be so blind.”

“It’s because I’m not blind that I see what His Majesty is trying to hide.”

“Well, he had no reservations keeping it secret this morning.”

Pallas’s eyes widened, a smile playing on his lips. “Has he confessed something to you, then?”

“To me and the whole world.”

Pallas paused. “I don’t understand.” Damen thought his friend was looking at him as if he was insane. “Why leave if he’s made his feelings for you known?”

“For me?” But, clearly, Pallas was the insane one.

Pallas seemed at a loss for words. “Who else?”

“The pet,” cried Damen.

“What pet?” asked Pallas in a tone matching Damen’s.

“The red-haired one,” spit Damen.

“Ancel?”

Damen grasped the railing tighter. “Of course you and he would be acquainted.”

“I only know of him because he’s been introduced to me. By Lord Berenger.” Damen’s jaw clenched. Laurent wanted to make sure everyone knew. He needn’t have gone to that much trouble. “As his pet.”

Damen’s eyes widened. As his pet.

As who’s pet? “You can’t mean—”

Pallas nodded. “Ancel’s contract has been bought by Lord Berenger.”

Damen was unable to look away. He watched the shore disappear and his vision flood by endless sea.

It had all been so fast. He hadn’t been able to formulate a response. He hadn’t been able to do more than nod as he heard Pallas shout for the ship to be turned around at once. Back to Vere. To Laurent.

He couldn’t waste any more time.

He couldn’t be too late.

The ship hadn’t even docked that Damen jumped over the railing and ran back to the palace. The soldiers seemed reluctant to stop him with that crazed look he must have had in his eyes and Berenger waved a hand asking them to let Damen through. Ancel was at his side with raised eyebrows. Damen’s grin had never been wider.

He ran passed the throne hall and up the stairs. Four guards stood outside Laurent’s rooms. They all shook their heads at Damen’s question. So he ran back down, passed the gallery and into the gardens. He crossed the path lined with plum trees and rose bushes and kept running through the field leading to the stables. The stable boy startled and shook his head at Damen’s question.

Where could he be?

Damen hurried back inside the palace, up the stairs and through a golden archway, stopping with his palms pressed against the doors, his head down and his breath rapid. With no guards around, Damen opened the doors and walked into the library.

At first glance, it seemed empty. But a few things on one of the desks looked scattered enough for Damen to know Laurent had to have been there. He was maddeningly strict about the state he wanted his library to always be in. A quill had been left in a hurry, a few drops of ink staining the wood. And balled-up parchments surrounded one perfect handwritten letter.

Damen, knowing the author’s hand, couldn’t help but pick it up.

I can sit no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You’ve been here days and I’ve failed to make my feelings known. I must do so now.

I’ve given my heart away only once. Never, I fear, to be returned.

For you alone , I extended the invitation. For you alone , I was persuaded to entertain all these guests, wishing you would be one of them.

I have thought of nothing else for months. I have dreamed of nothing else but to be in your presence once more. Have you not seen this?

I could never conceal myself entirely from you. You know me too well. And even after all these years, I know you. But I know not what foolish act of duty made you reconsider your heart and break mine five years ago.

Perhaps I’m the foolish one. For I still hope you’ll change your mind, back to what it was that fateful summer that has plagued my memories since. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.

I’ll wai

Damen turned around as he heard the quiet shuffling of feet. He couldn’t hide his shock when he glimpsed Laurent’s appearance from behind the shelves.

Laurent’s hair was usually uncommonly neat. He always took care to push it back into a perfect braid that tragically hid his luscious locks from sight. But Damen had to admit that the way it allowed Laurent’s features to be on full display couldn’t prove to be a disappointment. Damen often wondered why Laurent bothered to seem so pristine. He would be striking whatever his hair looked like.

Laurent’s braid had been pushed to the side and undoubtedly hadn’t been brushed since. A few hairs stuck to his temples and his face was over-heated. Striking.

Laurent was rooted in place, staring at the parchment in Damen’s hand as though if he looked hard enough it would disintegrate. Damen couldn’t allow Laurent to believe that his words were anything to be ashamed of. He would gladly sculpt them out until they became as permanent a fixture as their meaning.

He put the letter back on the desk and walked towards Laurent, not stopping until his body touched every bit of Laurent’s.

“Damen,” whispered Laurent on his lips.

With his hands on Laurent’s cheeks, Damen kissed him until only breathing could force them apart. Until he tasted salt mingled with Laurent’s citrus tongue. As he pulled away, his thumbs brushed Laurent’s tears.

“Forgive me for not coming back when I should have. I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

Laurent shook his head. “I have loved none but you.”

Damen smiled. “I dared not wish. But even in agony, I couldn’t stop myself. I loved you always. I won’t be away long enough for you to doubt it again.”

Damen felt rather than heard Laurent’s sigh. “But you will.”

“Not if you come with me.”

Laurent rolled his eyes but barely. “You can’t leave with the sovereign of another kingdom, even an allied one.”

“I can when he happens to be my betrothed.”

“You still want to marry me?”

“I never stopped. Whatever else I might have stupidly given up, my heart is not so easily swayed. I only wish I’d been strong enough to listen to it only.”

Laurent closed his eyes. Damen was happy to keep their foreheads pressed against one another. He wasn’t going anywhere. 

Dear Nikandros,

You will have surely learned the news before this letter reaches you. Father will be shocked but you, I suspect, less so.    

Do try to be happy for your King and friend. I will need you. You’ve handled Kastor’s execution and Jokaste’s exile, as I knew you would. I trust you will always do right by me. You have failed but once. As have I.   

I understand the reasons that led you to speak against my union with Laurent. But I can assure you no one could make me as happy as Laurent has and will. And I intend to tell him so, every day if necessary until he no longer doubts my devotion. I never want anything to come between us, least of all me.

Do you remember what my father always says? A wise king thinks of everyone else before he does about himself. I may want Laurent selfishly, but the kingdom needs him. There’s no mind like his. He is tactful and calculating, and collected when I would be rash. He wasn’t born for the crown, but it fits him better than anyone I’ve known. I am determined to vow to be his not just to satisfy my heart’s desire but to secure our kingdom’s future. And nothing and no one will persuade me otherwise.

Believe me very truly

Your affectionate friend

Damen

As to the matter of heirs, I wouldn’t fret. Our family is a large one, cousin, and I know just the person I would trust that title with.