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The first time was three weeks after the Regent was strung up on the palace gates.
“We should talk,” Damen said.
Laurent looked up from his book, expression carefully blank. “Should we?” He had been avoiding Damen as best he could since the execution, and knew it was an action that would not go unnoticed, or unpunished. This, then, was his punishment. But he deserved it.
Damen sat down beside him on the haphazard pile of cushions Laurent had made in the corner of their shared room, gently pushing the book away. He curled his knees up to his chest and lowered his head, leaning close to Laurent, trying to make himself appear smaller. Damen always did that when he was about to say something that Laurent wasn’t going to like. “Yes,” Damen said. “I think we need to.”
Laurent sat up very straight, lifting his chin and ignoring Damen’s pleading gaze as best he could. “Then talk,” he said.
“Laurent. If you don’t want to, then…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know he hurt you. But he’s dead, Laurent. He’s gone.”
Laurent laughed. It was a short, sharp, furious sound. “Gone,” he repeated. He turned to Damen. “Is that what you think?” He continued without waiting for an answer, the words dripping from his lips like venom, piercing and painful. “He’s gone for you. He’s gone for Vere and Akielos. But he will never be gone for me, Damianos. Do you understand that? Do you understand that he will always be here, under my skin, echoing your hands on my body, your lips on my skin, your cock inside of me?”
Damen exhaled harshly. His hands were curled into fists. “He’s not here, Laurent,” he said. “Not anymore.”
Laurent shook his head. “He was right, you know – I did ask him to stay with me. I liked it.” Damen flinched back and stared at him, horrified, and Laurent thought, It’s finally happened. He’s disgusted by me, as he should be.
But Damen whispered, “You didn’t know anything else.”
It was Laurent’s turn to flinch. He stood up abruptly, the book falling from his lap. “I cannot – I do not wish to speak of this.” He turned his head away, hair falling into his face like a fragile golden shield against Damen’s worried gaze. “Not now.”
Damen stood too, still hunched a little, keeping a careful distance. He touched Laurent’s shoulder, barely a brush of his fingertips, and murmured, “I’m sorry I brought it up.”
Laurent swallowed, hard, controlled. There was something wild and painful in his throat, burning and pricking at his eyes, and he fought hard to keep it down. “No,” he replied. “You are right. We should talk. But not now.” Laurent exhaled and turned back into him, into the warmth of Damen’s chest. “I don’t want to say something I will later regret. I know I have already caused you enough pain.” He let his hand rest, feather-light, upon the new scar on Damen’s abdomen, where Kastor had left his last mark six weeks previous.
Damen covered his hand and kissed his brow, and the lump in Laurent’s throat rose again. “Not now,” he agreed. “Not until you’re ready.”
I will never be ready, Laurent thought.
*
The second time was a year after their kingdoms united, shortly followed by their kings.
Their new palace was being built on the old border from the torn-down remains of Marlas, Ravenel, and Fortaine, two hundred miles west of Acquitart, where Laurent and Damen had currently taken up residence. One of Laurent’s first acts had been to restore the crumbling little relict of a castle, and though it was a bit too cold for Damen’s liking, they both enjoyed the beautiful mountain vistas, the charming village, and occasional visits to Halvik’s clan. It was a welcome change from the chaos of several months earlier as they’d struggled to sort out tangled politics and tie up all the loose ends necessary to create the New Artesian Empire.
Laurent was unused to leisure days, and Damen often teased him about how he kept trying to find new ways to keep busy – he started keeping a journal, which was a well-guarded secret that only Damen knew. Damen had once asked to read it, to which Laurent replied with an arctic glare. He didn’t ask again.
But he did help with Laurent’s other new hobbies, including redecorating and remodeling the castle, expanding the horse stables, and providing the village with new livestock, homes, an inn, and a bank. Jord actually oversaw much of the work, and when Laurent saw him slipping away with the cheerful, freckled innkeeper, he hoped that meant Jord was also recovering from the events of the past year.
A part of him couldn’t believe that Jord had remained loyal, after what Laurent had done. He couldn’t believe anyone had stayed loyal to him, at times. And yet. There he was, with more friends and allies than ever before.
Some of those friends were more unexpected than others. Laurent loved to sit near the new village fountain and play with the local children, who found endless entertainment in the little games, puzzles, and books he brought them. One day, one of the castle’s alaunt hounds gave birth, and at Laurent’s request the kennel master presented him with a basket full of squirming brown puppies which he in turn presented to the children. It was not terribly practical, giving away a litter of finely-bred hunting dogs to peasant families, but Laurent delighted in the squeals of the children as the pups yipped in their arms and toddled around their feet.
Damen watched him with soft, doting eyes the whole time. Laurent knew that it didn’t take much for Damen to look at him like that – whenever Laurent so much as smiled at one of the children Damen would practically melt. But this time, one of the little girls actually climbed up on his knee to give him a kiss on the cheek, and Laurent swore Damen almost swooned. His own face was probably beet red.
The girl beamed up at him, clutching the runt of the litter tight against her yellow tunic. “Thank you, milord,” she said, with the artless adoration of a child. She held the puppy up. “Help me name her!”
The puppy licked his face and Laurent wrinkled his nose, charmed despite himself. “Hmm,” he said, pretending to give the matter a great deal of thought. The girl watched, wide-eyed and excited. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “Perhaps you could call her Félicité. For luck.”
The girl nodded and bounced on his knee before hopping off, cradling the puppy like a baby. “Félicité,” she repeated, awed. “My lucky pup.”
“Yvette!” A stocky peasant woman came running from a nearby house, wagging her finger at the little girl. “Yvette, you never listen –” She stopped short at the sight of Laurent, sitting on the edge of the fountain, with children and puppies playing all around him. It must have made a very surreal scene. Her gaze lingered on his crown, and she blanched. “Oh – Your Highness, milord, I…I apologize for my daughter’s insolence –”
Laurent shook his head, standing and brushing himself off, looking down at Yvette. “It was not insolence, just gratitude. You have a very brave daughter,” he told her. “Now she will have a loyal hound at her side to preserve that bravery.” He nudged Yvette on to her mother, who was still pale as a ghost. “Good day to you both.”
It took a while for him to make his way through the crowd of exultant children and startled parents, but when he did return to where Damen stood beside their horses and guard, he was filled with a sense of accomplishment that he was still growing used to. Damen gave him the dopiest smile Laurent had ever seen.
“Oh, what,” Laurent said, rolling his eyes. “Do you want a puppy as well? I’m afraid I’ve run out.”
Damen grinned wider. “Why would I need one, when I have you?”
“Do not,” Laurent said with mock outrage, “compare me to a drooling hound. We both know that would be you.”
Damen nodded good-naturedly as they both swung themselves up onto their horses and started back to the castle. “Fair enough. You’re more of a cat, anyway. Prickly but fond of coddling.”
Laurent nudged his horse into a canter without warning.
“Hey!” Damen started after him with a shout and the pound of hooves. Laurent allowed himself to pity their guards for a moment before urging his horse into a gallop.
Damen didn’t stand a chance.
*
Later that day, the two of them rode to a nearby lake which they often frequented in the summer, when it was warm enough to swim in. Now that the autumnal chill had set in, they could only sit at the water’s edge and dip their feet in, watching the silver fish dart around their ankles in the cool, clear shallows. No guards accompanied them – this was a secret place, secluded by a small stand of willows and birches. The lake itself was in the mountain lowlands, where few but goats and stray elk ventured. There was no one, other than the two kings, for miles.
The two of them were wrapped in Damen’s cloak, nestled together against the wide trunk of the willow closest to the water. Laurent would have felt vulnerable and exposed if it were not for Damen’s warmth close against him, both of them bare-chested and with half-laced breeches. If it were summertime, they would not have breeches at all.
Laurent let his head fall upon Damen’s chest, listening to the steady, content thud of his heartbeat and tracing the lines of old scars with light fingertips. He reached Damen’s arm and the cuffs on their wrists clinked together, a metallic, musical sound. Damen hummed and wrapped his other arm more securely around Laurent’s shoulders, thumb rubbing a small, soothing circle into his back. Laurent sighed and stretched a little, body still awash with pleasure, and the dormant desire for more, soon. It settled in his limbs and chest like a dull ache, but not an unwanted one.
Damen shifted against him, but only to lift his hand and card it through Laurent’s hair. “It’s getting long,” he remarked, eyes as warm as his body.
“Mm,” Laurent agreed, glancing up at him for but a moment. “I’ve considered cutting it. But you seem to enjoy having something to grab onto.”
Damen laughed, genuine and loud, his chest rumbling with it. “True,” he said. His tone sobered. “You know I love it no matter what, though.”
Laurent tipped his head up. “I’ve been considering dying it black,” he told Damen earnestly. They stared at each other, Laurent with a serious expression and Damen with one of horror, for exactly nine seconds before Damen cracked up, snorting and shaking his head. Laurent snickered and nipped his collarbone. “Kidding, obviously. But perhaps not…it might be worth it for the look on your face.”
“I’d still love you,” Damen said easily, smiling. Laurent flushed, and tucked his face in the hollow of Damen’s throat, trying to sort out his messy, tumbling thoughts. Even after two years, it was harder to think around Damen, especially about things like this. He must have been silent for a long time, because Damen’s fingers brushed his jaw, questioning. “Everything alright?”
Laurent took another second to steady himself. Then he said, quietly, “Do you remember when you asked me about my uncle?”
Damen tensed, and his heartbeat stuttered, his reactions as unrestrained as always. Laurent waited it out. “I remember,” Damen finally said, with effort.
“I think,” Laurent said, “I am ready to talk, to you, about that.” He lifted his head from Damen’s chest and untangled them somewhat, so that they were both leaning against the tree trunk, eye to eye. “What do you want to know?”
Damen swallowed, his gaze a mix of concern and trepidation. “Whatever you want me to know,” he replied carefully. “Nothing more.” He bit his lip. “We don’t have to –”
Laurent shook his head. “There would be no secrets between us, you said once.” Damen reached out tentatively, letting his hand settle on Laurent’s shoulder, a kind of unspoken assent. Laurent tipped his head back against the tree. “And this is a secret kept between us for too long.”
There was a pause, during which the leaves around them rustled, whispering in the breeze, and Laurent’s gaze caught on a bird taking flight from across the lake, black wings spread against the darkening blue sky. Its call was a sharp, short cry that echoed eerily through the air. If he listened closely, he could hear their horses snorting and nickering to each other, grazing in the sweet grass farther into the trees. And beneath it all, he could hear their breathing, Damen’s deep and even, his own hitched and uncertain before he spoke again.
“It didn’t start immediately,” he began, trying to make his tone conversational; casual, like he was talking about the weather and not the worst years of his life. “After my father died, and then Auguste, I went into mourning. All of Arles did. It was a whole spectacle, everyone wearing black and covering their faces with veils and trying to outdo one another with floral displays and I hated all of it. I went to the funeral and afterwards, after they were buried, I cried because it was all too much. It wasn’t the first time but it was the worst, and my uncle was there; he was the only one there, and I thought he shared in my sorrow. His brother had died too, after all.”
Damen squeezed his shoulder; reassuring, regretful. Laurent took a breath and forced himself to continue – and once he did, the words just kept coming. “I stayed locked in my apartments at first, but then I started having dreams and would wake up sobbing and soaked in sweat, and I didn’t know what to do except go to him. He was always there for me, even when I woke him in the middle of the night, he…he would always let me stay with him.” Telling it aloud, Laurent knew how silly and naïve it must sound, in hindsight, but at the time…at the time it had been innocent. At first.
“And then…then the dreams weren’t so bad but I was lonely so I still went to him and that was when –” Laurent exhaled. “I was thirteen and I didn’t know of his…tastes. I didn’t understand even when the touching first started. He made it seem as if it wasn’t…as if he wasn’t doing anything wrong. And when I told him I was uncomfortable he would act as if my reaction was the only shameful thing about it. He would guilt me into wanting it. Make me scared that if I didn’t let him, he wouldn’t be there for me anymore.”
Damen made a low sound that could have been hurt or anger or both.
“I didn’t want to be alone. I was more terrified of that than of what he did, at first. He had a way of…of justifying everything he did. He always called me a child if I tried to refuse him. When I didn’t, I was a man. He would say I was becoming a man, but he never called me that. Just ‘boy.’” Laurent shuddered and turned his head away. “His boy.”
Damen was going to say something. Laurent didn’t want him to. He pressed on. “After I stopped resisting, it started happening more frequently, and the touching was…more. I didn’t know what was happening until it was too late, and even then he persuaded me that it wasn’t wrong, was it, for men to love each other? And that was how they showed their love. And then he asked me if I loved him, and I said yes, and he told me to prove it, and…” Laurent couldn’t look at Damen. “When I was fourteen he made me suck his cock. Often.”
“Laurent –” Damen’s voice was wrecked.
“He gave me sweets afterwards,” Laurent continued, as if he’d said nothing. “And he started to give me gifts other times, little baubles to wear on my wrist or ears. The first time we fucked he gave me a ruby necklace so heavy it hurt to wear it. A bit like a collar, actually. But I would wear it. I thought…for a while, I really thought he loved me.” Laurent paused. “He never did – I’m not certain he ever loved anyone. All the boys he fucked were just like the trinkets he gave me – shiny, but easily used and discarded. Even his own nephew.”
He chanced a look at Damen. Damen’s brow was furrowed, his jaw set, and his lips twisted into an unreadable line. “But I lasted longer than all the others,” Laurent said. Once, he had actually been proud of that, in a sick sort of way. “He kept me in his bed until I was fifteen. I tried to stay in it even after that.”
Damen’s grip on his shoulder tightened. Laurent stared at the sky. “Like you said, I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t want to be alone. It wasn’t until later that I…that I understood the extent of what he’d done. And even then…” Laurent forced himself to meet Damen’s eyes. It felt important to do that, right then. “My uncle changed me,” he said. “How do you think I was able to survive the Veretian court? I learned manipulation from the very best. I learned cruelty from him. In many ways we are quite alike, my uncle and I.”
“You are nothing,” Damen said urgently, “like your uncle.”
Laurent shrugged. “There is a taint in my family, Damianos. Auguste and my father were free of it. We were not. Maybe I was, once, but my uncle dragged me down with him.”
“He did not taint you,” Damen whispered, and Laurent shivered at the fierceness in his tone. “You are not unclean because of what he did to you. You are not broken or damaged or –” Damen exhaled. “What he did to you was wrong. That doesn’t make you wrong, too.”
Laurent swallowed harshly. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I liked it. I wanted him to –”
“You didn’t know,” Damen said firmly. “You were a child, an innocent child who trusted the only family you had left, and he took advantage of you. That isn’t your fault.”
Laurent relaxed in increments. Damen was not disgusted by him. Damen was…defending him. He was not really surprised, of course – Damen had certainly shown how he felt about it at the Kingsmeet when the Regent had revealed it to him. Laurent had been surprised then. No. He had been shocked then; shocked that Damianos, the Prince-killer, would be the only one who ever took his side. How terribly ironic it all was.
“It wasn’t until I was with you that I realized it could be…different,” Laurent admitted. “Sex was never…it was always so complicated, always a game to be won. And I always lost.”
Damen frowned, troubled. “Then…at Ravenel…”
“I didn’t know how it would be,” Laurent replied honestly. “I hoped it would be different, better; but I’d learned not to hope for more. I just wanted…something; something with you. Before you left.”
“But I never left,” Damen murmured. “I’ll never leave, so long as you wish me to be by your side.”
Laurent flushed and knew Damen could see it even in the shade of the tree. “It was better,” he whispered, feeling the need to say that aloud, to assure Damen that what they had was good. “It was the first time I fully trusted you, I think. I felt as if…as if I would do anything you asked in that moment. It was terrifying. I felt like I was giving you a sword and baring my neck to it. To you.”
“I was still your slave, then,” Damen said.
Laurent shook his head, slightly. “You were always a king. Even when you were not.” He looked up at Damen. “My king.”
Damen’s face wavered between two warring, unknown emotions, and then he wrapped an arm tight around Laurent and pulled him close, until their noses were almost touching. It was so intimate that Laurent found it difficult to hold his gaze, but he did, even as Damen looked at him like he was the most beautiful being he had ever seen.
It had taken him a long while to give a name to that look in his eyes. A look of equal parts adoration, astonishment, and happiness. A look of love. Laurent smoothed his hand across Damen’s jaw, marveling as he leaned into it, open and willing as ever. This man loved him. Him, Laurent, even though he’d thought himself unlovable, had made himself unlovable, for so long.
“And you are mine,” Damen told him, cradling Laurent’s cheek in the palm of one large, gentle hand. His lips parted, and a line appeared between his brows. “Do you…do you still feel that way? Like you’ve given me a sword and…”
“No,” Laurent replied automatically. “Sometimes,” he amended. “I’m not like you, Damen. I cannot simply show someone all of my weaknesses and trust them not to use that knowledge against me. It’s always been used against me in the past.”
“I would never do that to you –”
“I know,” Laurent said. “You are a man of honor, and though it took…a regrettably long time to realize that, I believe you now. If I did not, I would not have told you all of…this.” Damen’s tension eased, the solid curve of his body softening infinitesimally. “So I suppose I feel as if…as if you still hold the sword, but it is sheathed. And you have let the blade grow dull, over the years, because you have never used it against me, not once.”
“Consider the blade utterly useless at this point,” Damen chuckled. “I’ve long since melted it down to make armor for you. Or threw it off a cliff. Or into the sea. I suspect some unlucky whale has it now.”
Laurent smiled helplessly. “Let us pray the whale never decides to take revenge, then.” Damen leaned in to kiss him, not on the lips but on the tip of his nose. Laurent’s lips parted in surprise and Damen did kiss him there then, with a chasteness and sweetness Laurent would never grow tired of.
“Thank you,” Damen said into the warm space between them when the kiss broke. “For telling me, I mean. I know it wasn’t easy.” He hesitated. “And I know you don’t want my pity, but I am sorry, Laurent. What happened to you…if I had never fought Auguste, your uncle wouldn’t have had the chance to –”
Laurent put a finger over his lips. “Do not blame yourself for that, Damianos,” he said. Pleaded, more like. “You and I both know that my uncle is to blame for the events at Marlas. It was him who sent Auguste onto that field in the first place. You did not know my uncle, or Auguste, or me. If you had…” Laurent sighed. “It might have ended differently. But you did not, and it did not, and there is nothing we can do to change it. It is all in the past, whether we like it or not.”
Damen’s eyes were still brimming with guilt, but he nodded and kissed Laurent’s brow. “Your uncle is in the past, too,” he said into Laurent’s hair. “Just another ghost.”
“Ashes to ashes,” Laurent mused.
There was a silence. The sky was a deep cerulean now, and the sun was dying on the horizon in a vibrant orange and pink stain that streaked above their heads, smudged tendrils grasping for a little more light. The sunset was reflected on the surface of the lake like a rippling mirror, making it twice as bright, twice as stunning. The bird Laurent had seen earlier flew back to the earth, to its roost in the reeds, cawing its farewell to the fading day.
The mountains, snowcapped already, were painted in rose and tangerine on their steep white slopes, uneven canvas with the sun as their backdrop. They seemed to glow, and as the sun slipped below them there was a moment where Laurent could imagine that another world lay on the other side, a place of celestial radiance where there were no crowns or swords or ghosts.
Looking at it, Laurent found himself saying, “We still have the future ahead of us. Best to put our past behind us, where it belongs.”
“Yes,” Damen agreed. “The future is ours.” He looked out at the sunset, mouth lifting slightly. “A kingdom and this,” he said, so soft Laurent barely heard.
But he did, and he drew on Damen’s hand, startling him when he lifted it to his lips and kissed each knuckle with sudden boldness. Damen’s fingers curled, so much larger than his own, yet when Laurent’s mouth pressed tenderly over his wrist, tracing the veins and tendons just beneath the surface, Damen looked as if every ounce of strength had left his body. Which was, of course, impossible. But it was a satisfying thought nonetheless.
“This,” Laurent repeated. Damen’s eyes were half-lidded, his hand warm on Laurent’s face. “I never thought I would get to have this,” he whispered, a quiet confession. “Or a kingdom,” he added. “And yet here we are.”
“And here we’ll stay,” Damen replied, bringing them together, and in his embrace, Laurent saw a future worth looking forward to.