Fic: The White Dove - Part 1
2022-Jun-01, Wednesday 06:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
summeryewberryTitle: The White Dove
Author: Summer Yewberry
Fandom: Captive Prince
Pairing: Damen/Laurent
Characters: Laurent, Auguste, Damen, Jord
Rating: Mature
Words: 30,000
Status: Complete, in 7 parts.
Keywords: Post-King's Rising, Auguste Lives, Drama, Angst, Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Politics, Courtly Intrigue, The Veretian Court, Sexual Content, Family Drama, Brotherly Love, Fix-It, Miraculous Resurrection, Fairy Tale Elements, Explicit Language, Original Characters, Disregards the Short Stories
Also found at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39356373/chapters/98492253
Summary: As Laurent works to stabilise his kingdom after his uncle's defeat, a man shows up in Arles looking just like Auguste. Since it's not possible for his brother to be back, there's only one possible explanation: someone if trying to hurt him and overthrow the crown once again.
Chapter 1: The Statue and the Man
"Laurent!"
The voice belonged to Auguste, and Laurent jolted from his sleep.
A bird chirped softly outside his window, and the dawn glowed pale blue through his room. Nothing stirred except his own heartbeat, although he knew there were guards just outside his door. This high in the palace, not even the sounds of the kitchens could be heard. Later in the day the training ground would ring with commands and steel, but in the early morning there was nothing but the wind and the birds to rouse the quiet of the Royal Suite at Arles.
Auguste's voice still hovered in the space between dream and awake, and Laurent threw back his sheets. The days were growing noticeably shorter and colder, and his manservant hadn't yet appeared to set the fire, so the King's rooms held a chill as Laurent reached for a robe. He hadn't dreamt of Auguste so vividly in a long time. It was almost like he had been right there in the palace gardens again.
Laurent let himself relax for a moment in the privacy of his own room, and rested his head against the window frame. He drew a deep breath.
The city of Arles stretched from the walls of the castle to the far walls of the city, still cloaked in shadows. Wisps of smoke rose dimly in the early light, and a few candles flickered where early workers rose, and where the Night Watch still patrolled the streets. In the East, the sky glowed with the promise of a new day, a pale blue and lavender that was already growing fast.
As expected, it wasn't long before there was a noise at the door, and Laurent straightened again and smoothed his features.
His manservant, Perrin, carried a basin of gently steaming water.
"Your Majesty!" He froze when he caught sight of Laurent already awake. "Forgive me; I had not seen to your fire yet."
Laurent waved him away in forgiveness.
He let the man putter around his rooms setting up his wash basin, before seeing to the fire and the wardrobe.
Laurent took the opportunity to wash his face and hands, and to brush out his hair before Perrin returned with his day clothes, already mentally planning the day ahead. Most pressing was sorting out which courtiers and nobles were loyal to him, and which were still loyal to his uncle. Separate out the lesser poison from the more deadly sort that might still see his crown taken from him.
Perrin was a swift dresser, full of impersonal and professional skill, and a secret part of Laurent missed Damen's care at dealing with all those laces. Not that Damen had dressed him in a while, but being back in this palace reminded Laurent painfully of Damen's first clumsy fumblings upon which he had looked with so much scorn, unsurprised that a giant brute struggled with the delicate fastenings.
Laurent pushed aside the old memories of Damen. It wouldn't do to dwell on sentiment in this place, and it would only make his work here much harder.
He and the King's Guard had only arrived in Arles at sundown, after a meandering ride home. The towns through which his troop rode on their way north saw hundreds of people spill into the streets to see their new king, the commoners eager and welcoming all along the roads. The nobles on the other hand? Some of those were far less happy to see Laurent, though they accepted him into their forts as duty dictated. The scale of that potential problem stretched ahead of him. Divided loyalties were one problem he couldn't afford to let fester before he and Damen officially moved their new capital to Marlas.
The work at Arles weighed on his shoulders.
This place was full of history, and for him every hallway held memory traps of anguish and rage.
No wonder he was dreaming of Auguste for the first time in a long time. Though the late Regent's body had been tossed into a pit and burnt with other executed criminals in Ios, the ghosts of Vere still lingered in this place.
Laurent took some time for a small breakfast, before he decided to make his way down to the gardens, to the statue that didn't really look like Auguste, but it was better than nothing.
It was still early and the sun was peering over the palace walls without much warmth as Jord and Enguerran fell into step behind him. Snow would start falling any day now and the grass of the Golden Courtyard shone white with frost. A stiff wind from the north promised a cold winter to come.
By the garden entrance, Lazar and a young soldier Laurent remembered vaguely as Rene greeted them. "Your Majesty."
"Wait here; I won't be long."
They would make sure he was undisturbed until he returned. Only Jord and Enguerran stayed with Laurent when he stepped around the hedges and into the private space that was dedicated to the royal family.
The garden that surrounded Auguste's statue was on a hill that sloped down from the statue's plinth with cascades of lavender, towards the kitchen gardens below. It gave the illusion that Auguste was looking out over the walls, to the kingdom beyond. For years now, Laurent had not been able to smell lavender without thinking of his brother.
But when he walked into the private garden that morning there was no sign of Auguste.
Laurent stopped, at first not understanding what he was seeing.
There was the familiar plinth on which the statue stood, with its curling inscription: Prince Auguste Aleron Richard Lucien of Vere. The geometric flowerbeds full of lilies and jonquils at the base of the plinth were the same as ever. But the top of the plinth was empty.
Cold rage curled in Laurent's bowels. He had been away from Arles too long, and his uncle had had the place to himself much of that time.
"Guards!" His ears rang and red choked his gaze so densely his could hardly see Lazar and Rene race around the corner. "What happened to my brother's statue?"
Both of them stood stock still. Lazar's confusion was obvious even through Laurent's fury, and it struck him that Lazar had never been in these gardens before.
Rene, though, was pale as ash, and Laurent turned on him.
His voice came out cold. "Did my uncle have the statue removed?"
"Your Majesty," Rene's voice at least was calm as any soldier. "These gardens were tended in preparation for your arrival yesterday. The statue of your brother was cleaned by gardeners then; I observed them myself."
"Find me these gardeners," Laurent snapped, "and gather guards! Find out what happened to the statue!"
Rene didn't need to hear any more; he ran. A shout of "Guards!" echoed ahead of him.
Lazar crouched by the empty plinth as if to examine it. Jord's eyes were raking over the entire garden, and Enguerran had his hand on his sword, as if expecting a threat.
In short order, the private garden was full of people. Enguerran gave his own orders to secure the castle until everyone was accounted for, and the peace of the morning was well and truly ended.
Pain twisted in Laurent's chest, but he let none of his men suspect as much, directing one section to rouse and question the night guards, and another section to find any other staff who may have heard or seen anything. If he looked like he wanted to flay anyone alive, that only encouraged them to move faster.
"Yes, Your Majesty!" they chorused, with a few "Your Highness" scattered among them, whether out of confusion or resentment he couldn't tell.
Laurent's heart ached to turn back and scour the garden, as though his eyes were not to be trusted, if only he was missing something, but he had not survived Arles alone for over six years by listening to his heart. So he pushed the statue brutally from his mind and set his sights on the tasks he had planned for himself.
The palace hallways were a quiet welcome as Laurent made his way back inside.
After raising the age limit on pets and closing the ring to the more debauched entertainments, his next step was bringing Vere and Akielos closer. The border needed to be disarmed, and Laurent had some reading to do on free trade and movement laws. Perhaps a long journey into the library's archives would take his mind off the stolen statue.
The Seafarer's Guild wanted to meet to set up a more open trade route along the coast and a reduction in taxes to Akielos, and Laurent was already drafting a reply in his head as he headed toward the library.
Even before he reached the familiar doors, the young soldier, Rene, hurried along the hall towards him.
"Your Majesty!" he was pale enough the Laurent's stomach tightened in foreboding. "There's a body. In the garden."
Laurent froze. "A body?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Captain Enguerran is on guard."
What did that mean? An intruder? A thief? "Show me!"
Rene nodded and turned, leading Laurent back the way he had come.
Confusion and dread warred with fury in Laurent's head. This was not what he had expected on his return to Arles. The honeyed violence and backstabbing plots he had expected should have included power-hungry Lords, not the theft of palace statues or bodies in the garden.
The slope that led from Auguste's plinth was covered in guards when they returned. The delicate lavender teemed with the blue and steel of Laurent's men, and the shine of breast plates and swords in the morning sun. Whatever peace Laurent had once found in this place was no more, dispelled by soldiers and tension.
Jord signalled where Enguerran had his sword pointed at the ground.
Laurent could see nothing between the lavender shrubs and he let his guard fall aside as he stepped closer.
At first all he saw was white silk - it could have been a bundle of cloth caught among the bushes - followed by long, blond hair, much like his own.
"What is going on here?" he asked.
"Your Majesty," Enguerran nodded. "He's alive."
"He?" It was only now that Laurent was close enough to see the body curled up on the ground that he could see the movement. The man's white clothes were stained with dirt, and his hunched shoulders trembled as though with cold.
Jord was almost as white as the silk at their feet. "Your brother, Your Majesty."
Laurent never remembered what he thought in that moment. He only knew that he was grabbing hold of the blond hair to drag it back and reveal the man's face.
A ghost gazed back at him.
Auguste's blue eyes squinted against the light, and instead of fighting back, he shook against the ground like a newborn lamb, weak and trembling.
"What is going on?" Laurent didn't remember reaching for his dagger, but it was in his hand and pressing against the man's neck. "Who are you?"
Auguste blinked and squinted, a soft sound of pain coming from his mouth and scraping against the memories in Laurent's head, abrasive like sandstone. A familiar face and a familiar voice. Laurent's bruised heart screamed agony, and he grit his teeth.
"Who are you?" he repeated, colder this time. "How did you get in here?" The metal of his dagger flashed in the sun, hovering a hair's breadth from the pulse point in the man's neck; a very living, beating pulse point under pale skin. Laurent could see the bob of an Adam's apple, and pale stubble that had already begun to grow.
Whereas Auguste's statue had always been a little wrong about the cheekbones and brow, this man was the perfect likeness, down to the pink spot on one temple, the one blemish Laurent remembered. Too perfect. Laurent's heart raced, and his mind alongside it.
"L... Laur..." The man tried to speak, but Laurent moved the blade so that it hovered just under the man's left eye, where he definitely wasn't going to miss it.
"That's 'Your Majesty', to you."
The man blinked again. A moment later his eyes rolled, unfocused, and Laurent had to drop him to avoid the twitching, shaking limbs.
He stepped back, holding onto the coldness in his chest, lest his men start talking. Whatever was happening, it was not something he could allow to weaken him.
"Put him in chains and have Paschal see to him," Laurent said.
Enguerran nodded and made a gesture to the rest of the King's Guard. After a moment's hesitation, Jord moved in to seize the trembling man, quickly followed by Lazar.
Laurent didn't wait to watch. He strode back to the palace, trying to calm his racing heart, careful that none of his feelings showed on his face. No one would know how much this intruder had affected him.
Huet stepped forward at Laurent's gesture.
"Send our fastest rider to the border. King Damianos should still be at Marlas; tell him to make his way to Arles with all the speed he can muster."
Huet nodded and peeled away down a different hallway.
It would still take at least five or six days for a fast rider to reach Delpha, and just as long for Damen to ride back if he came alone. Which meant that Laurent had almost two weeks to work on this problem on his own. Thankfully "alone" was a position very familiar to him.
"Your Majesty, I hoped to speak with you on a matter of security," a young soldier stopped beside him. It was the same one from earlier.
Laurent regarded him with all the coolness he could manage. "What is it, Rene?" He knew Rene had been stationed at Arles these past few months, though not among his uncle's personal guard. That meant he was an unknown quantity. Rene was young enough that he would have been a new guard shortly before Laurent's departure, barely out of the recruit's barracks. Right now, the man stood tall and met his eyes with a gaze that showed resolution and intelligence.
"I intercepted a letter intended for another guard."
Laurent's attention perked. "Intentionally or by accident?"
"Intentionally. I had begun to suspect..." Rene reached into his doublet, and Laurent tensed until he saw it really was just a letter. "Not all your guards can be trusted."
The seal had been broken, and Laurent skimmed the sloping writing, taking in the broad details of the letter. It was from Lord Vitalis de la Rocha writing to a lowly guard. The letter thanked him for continued support against the illegitimate king and advised him to be patient while unnamed associates continued doing their work. Some of the Lords were forming a united front against their king. Well, well.
Laurent closed the letter slowly and regarded Rene. "You read it?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. I had to be certain it proved disloyalty before I spoke to you. I knew your uncle had loyal supporters among the men and I've been intercepting some of their messages since then."
Laurent didn't let his interest show, but he had to admit he was impressed by the initiative. "You believe there are traitors among the guard who would see me harmed?"
Rene inclined his head in a thoughtful. "Maybe not of their own accord. But I think they could be swayed by a strong Lord making promises of advancement in exchange for information or favours. If enough guards hesitate before defending you, it could make a difference in your safety."
Laurent considered as he slid the incriminating letter into his own pocket and fingered the medallions of office he had tucked away there. He had a number of positions that needed to be filled in his new court, but he only knew a few of the courtiers and staff who could be trusted. Weeding out his uncle's supporters, or at least converting them, was one of his most pressing tasks. The fewer knives poised at his back, the more secure his kingdom.
Either way, Rene was one man over whom Laurent would need to keep watch, one way or another.
"You know the guard for whom this letter was intended?" Laurent asked.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Laurent passed him a medallion, a mark of his authority. "Take this to Enguerran. Tell him to have a sergeant's patch found for you. Then deal with this traitorous guard as you see fit. Sergeant Rene."
Rene pinked, making his freckles fade into the colour. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
They stepped aside as Jord and Lazar dragged Auguste's muscular frame between them. The man had apparently passed out somewhere along the way, and Laurent watched with cool eyes as they carried him towards the physician's rooms.
Seeing Auguste carried by made something ache deep in Laurent's chest, as if he was seven years younger, standing in another hallway altogether, his uncle's shadow at his back. It took him only a moment to set the feeling aside with all the practice gained throughout those years. Auguste had been dead for a long time now. Whoever this man was, he deserved nothing of Laurent's broken heart.
"Did you work for my uncle?" Laurent turned back to Rene, his voice neutral.
"I'm a trained guard. I work for the Crown." Which was a non-answer that only proved Rene was as smart as Laurent thought he was.
"And what did you make of my uncle?"
"Permission to speak freely?"
Laurent granted it with a gesture.
Rene took a breath. "A man who prefers the company of children is one who wields power mostly for his own pleasure, rather than for the protection of the kingdom or the weaker within it. I was close to giving up my career when the news came from Ios that he'd been executed. That is why I'm still here." He spoke honestly and made a good impression. That was no guarantee of truth - not here in Vere - but it was a reason to believe this was a young man with promise.
"Can you write as well as you read?" Laurent wanted to know.
"Yes, but my penmanship wouldn't let me pass for an educated man."
"It won't need to. Send a message to Lord Vitalis in reply to this letter, posing as our traitorous friend. Tell him to come to court as soon as possible. I don't want him suspecting anything. When he arrives, come and find me; I would like to speak with Lord Vitalis myself."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Do you have men you can trust?"
"I know of a few."
Laurent nodded. "Good. Keep them close, and keep me notified if you find anything else."
His first day back in Arles had barely begun, and already Laurent had found himself entangled in a new conspiracy. Or perhaps it was he same old one begun by his uncle. Only time would tell, and Laurent resolved to stack the deck in his own favour as much as possible by keeping close to him any people who were likely to make a move either way.
His crown was hard won. He would not lose it to the challenges that arose to take it from him now.
-
Laurent waited until after lunch to see to his new prisoner. By then, he'd sent a letter to the Seafarer's Guild to meet in a few weeks, and Laurent had even started on the stack of correspondence his uncle's abrupt execution had left behind.
None of it helped settle the questions that pressed at his mind. Who was this man that looked so much like Auguste? Where had he come from? And why was he here now?
Laurent found the still weak figure chained to a cot in Paschal's rooms.
Faux-Auguste's long hair had been tied back with a ribbon, his clothes had been changed, and he'd obviously been cleaned in the past several hours. Now, he lay limp in the bed, eyelids fluttering when Laurent entered.
Jord and Lazar stood guard out of sight, and the only other objects in the room were clear across the far side, in accordance with dangerous prisoners. While it was doubtful this man could swing a sword in his current condition, Laurent had to approve of the foresight in taking all precautions until they knew more. Jord may have lacked judgement in some matters, but he was doing everything now to make up for his mistakes on the road.
"He is still weak," Paschal said, when he saw Laurent. "I can't find anything wrong with him. Apart from the weak muscles and a fever, he appears to be in good health."
"Thank you, Paschal."
Auguste's blue eyes watched him as Laurent stepped around the side of the bed, eerily familiar and completely out of place in this time.
Laurent stood tall and still, and refused to look away, suppressing his pain with ruthless efficiency. He had no time for that and he had faced far worse challenges in his life.
"Who are you?" Laurent asked again. "How did you get into the palace?"
A long breath stirred the quiet room, Auguste's chest rising under the blanket, and he lifted his chin with a certain amount of pride. "My name is Auguste Aleron Richard Lucien of Vere, eldest son of King Aleron. I don't know how I got here." Auguste's voice was just as familiar as Laurent remembered, deep and with a warm timbre he hadn't heard in many years. The man was a good actor, Laurent had to give him that.
"Liar."
"I'm speaking the truth," the man said. "The physician... I think I know him; I know that face, and you..." he swallowed. "You look like my brother, but older. More serious."
Laurent saw no guile but that didn't mean much. He had dealt with far more treacherous people in his life. His steps were slow around the bed as they watched each other. He said nothing, waiting for this Auguste to incriminate himself.
"And you're wearing a royal coronet," the man cleared his throat. "I have to know, are you my brother, Laurent? I don't know where I am or how I got here, I swear. I..." he sighed and sank back in bed. "Why am I so weak?"
Laurent cast his eyes across the room and nodded to Jord. "Come."
"Your Majesty?" Jord stepped forward.
The effect was dramatic. Chains clanked where they hit the side of the cot and large eyes stared.
"Jord?" Auguste's voice came weak and hopeful.
Jord acknowledged the address with a nod. "Your Highness," he straightened, glancing at Laurent, caught out between two sets of identical blue eyes. "Uh... I mean... I don't know how I should address him."
"For now, 'Impostor' should serve well enough," Laurent said, feeling not the least guilty for putting Jord on the spot. It was worth it to see the impostor's reaction. His mind raced. "Has he been checked for birthmarks?"
Jord nodded again. "A spot on the back of his calf, two scars on his left arm, and one at his side as if from a blade."
Like from a sword thrust into his abdomen exactly where the armour plates ended and where the blade could arc up into his chest. Laurent would never forget the way Damen had killed Auguste.
Someone had done their research.
Laurent turned and strode from the room, his head swimming. He knew those scars, just as he knew it was impossible for any man to come back from the dead. The resemblance was uncanny. Impossible.
He stopped at a window, his ears ringing with his own scattered thoughts. Moulded panes formed into the image of a rose, petals and thorns glittering red and green in the light. The whole hallway was lit in colour, tinting everything Laurent could see. Outside, the palace gardens would be lying dull in the cool light, greying with the oncoming winter. Auguste's statue should have been out there, still and cold as ever. Instead it had been stolen away and there was a strange man in Laurent's palace and in his head, throwing everything into disarray.
Laurent's heart thudded and ached but he didn't let it show when he saw Jord's reflection behind him in the leaded glass.
"He looks like-" Jord began.
Laurent turned on him. "I know who he looks like! He was my brother, Jord!"
"Apologies, Your Majesty. He was my prince too."
Laurent sucked in a breath past the painful weight in his chest. He hadn't forgotten, had even counted on Jord's history in the Prince's Guard to agitate the man in Paschal's rooms. But at once the memory that Jord had once been Auguste's man stared him in the face. He hadn't felt so trapped by the past in quite a while.
"Do you remember the story of the Maiden Blanche?" Jord started.
"No. This is not a fairy tale." This was his life, and he'd known fairy tales weren't real many years ago. None of them had ever been real again after Auguste died and had taken with him the last dreams or fairy tales that Laurent might still have had.
A voice that sounded like Damen's whispered hope in his ears, and he pushed it carefully aside. As much as he looked the part of a hero with his broad shoulders and strong thighs, Damen was no fairy tale prince either. Laurent knew only too well that Damen was far from perfect, no matter how much his warm eyes promised forever after.
"I want him alive for now," Laurent said, more firmly. "Keep questioning him to find out what he knows. Do not answer his questions; tell him nothing, and remind Paschal of the same." Jord had served Auguste too. If anyone could tell a fraud it would be Jord.
"And if he maintains who he says he is?"
"You know as well as I do that that's impossible. But I will not put it past my uncle to arrange a contingency in case I ever returned to Arles. Something guaranteed to hurt me and confuse the line of succession."
"You think this is an arranged situation?"
"Don't you? Those scars are far too convenient and he's obviously been well prepared. We need to keep all options open."
Jord nodded.
Laurent half turned before he stopped himself. "Enguerran will need to return to his duties as Captain of the Guard, particularly in the barracks, and when he does I will be relying on you. You disappointed me once in the Prince's Guard; do not let it happen in the King's Guard."
Jord sagged a little in relief. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Despite his missteps, Jord was loyal. Enguerran had other duties now that they were back in the capital, and with Jord hungry to redeem himself, Laurent could think of no one who would keep him safer. Or at least, no one who wasn't at Marlas right now.
It didn't take him long to track down the guards who had dismantled his uncle's rooms. They confirmed that after Laurent's instructions arrived from Ios, they had destroyed all the Regent's things, including his crest, saving only the jewellery to be melted down. Even the wall hangings were burnt. A traitor to the crown had no cause to be remembered.
"You asked us to destroy everything," the guard said. "Although we needed to keep some of the documents for record keeping."
"What documents?"
Laurent spent the next few hours searching through documents in the library's archives, but in vain. Mostly they were deeds of lands awarded and redistributed among his uncle's allies, particularly to the northern Lords Emilion, Audin, and Foucault. Then there were the laws on public indecency that Laurent would have to adjust, but nothing he didn't already know. There was no sign of plans after Laurent returned from the border, as though his uncle had never even considered the possibility.
Had the Regent been so confident of his success that he hadn't made any contingency plans? Laurent doubted it. He knew his uncle. The schemer had never left things to chance. The only possibility that made any sense right now was that the Regent had set up a decoy Auguste on the off-chance that Laurent should make it back to Arles. Perhaps he had even asked some of his old supporters to set it in motion should he die, if only for revenge from beyond the grave. Laurent couldn't put anything past him.
By the time the sun dipped again to the west, a headache was threatening.
As Laurent paged through his uncle's handwriting, he could only think of people wanting to destabilise the kingdom, perhaps by causing a crisis of succession, or by affecting him personally, provoking him into mistakes on which they could then capitalise. It was the only explanation that made sense for a man to show up looking as much like Auguste as did the one downstairs. Maybe he was working with one of the Lords, or maybe this man just wanted to be king himself.
With the old Regent's faction still chafing at their new ruler, and the new alliance with Akielos still so fragile, Laurent needed to strengthen his position as King to stabilise the kingdom, otherwise everything he had worked and bled for would crumble. He had expected challenges ahead, maybe even violence, but not this assault on his emotions. And there was only one man who had ever torn his emotions to pieces like this.
But his uncle's papers held no answers for him. If he'd arranged it, his uncle certainly hadn't saved any papers about training a faux-Auguste as a contingency plan. Yet it was inconceivable that no one knew. Someone had to know, because someone had placed the impostor in Laurent's palace. He only needed to find out who.
Laurent resisted the urge to rub his temples even though the only other people in the library were a research scholar in the far corner and Enguerran ever watchful by the door.
Vere needed solid rule. A man looking like the elder crown prince could bring a lot of trouble.
Rene found him as the candle light was beginning to strain Laurent's eyes, but he had no answers either.
No one had seen Auguste's statue disappear or heard anything unusual. No one had seen any unusual people around. All household staff were accounted for and cleared of suspicion. Rene had sent men into the city in case anyone heard or saw anything there, but he had yet to hear back, and Laurent suspected neither of them had any more hope of answers further afield.
No. Laurent was certain all his answers lay here in the palace at Arles, if not in the library itself.
On his way to his own rooms, he avoided Paschal's hallway where the impostor lay.
He only picked at his dinner, staring unseeing at a formal letter of introduction from the Vaskian Empress greeting the new King of Vere, but his mind was on his brother - the real one.
One midsummer there had been a travelling troupe in the palace, with jugglers and acrobats. The strongman had been granted permission to throw little Laurent in the air for fun, and Laurent had been so wound up he followed Auguste to his room that night and talked his ear off in sheer excitement.
Auguste had always indulged him. He had never turned Laurent away, even if he wanted to sleep.
He had taught Laurent how to ride and hold a sword with more patience than any of their teachers, even before their mother's death brought them even closer. That kind of love still made Laurent's heart warm all these years later.
As the palace fell quiet again, he allowed Perrin to help with his clothes, before falling into an exhausted sleep.
That night, he dreamt of white wings.
On to Part 2
Author: Summer Yewberry
Fandom: Captive Prince
Pairing: Damen/Laurent
Characters: Laurent, Auguste, Damen, Jord
Rating: Mature
Words: 30,000
Status: Complete, in 7 parts.
Keywords: Post-King's Rising, Auguste Lives, Drama, Angst, Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Politics, Courtly Intrigue, The Veretian Court, Sexual Content, Family Drama, Brotherly Love, Fix-It, Miraculous Resurrection, Fairy Tale Elements, Explicit Language, Original Characters, Disregards the Short Stories
Also found at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39356373/chapters/98492253
Summary: As Laurent works to stabilise his kingdom after his uncle's defeat, a man shows up in Arles looking just like Auguste. Since it's not possible for his brother to be back, there's only one possible explanation: someone if trying to hurt him and overthrow the crown once again.
Chapter 1: The Statue and the Man
"Laurent!"
The voice belonged to Auguste, and Laurent jolted from his sleep.
A bird chirped softly outside his window, and the dawn glowed pale blue through his room. Nothing stirred except his own heartbeat, although he knew there were guards just outside his door. This high in the palace, not even the sounds of the kitchens could be heard. Later in the day the training ground would ring with commands and steel, but in the early morning there was nothing but the wind and the birds to rouse the quiet of the Royal Suite at Arles.
Auguste's voice still hovered in the space between dream and awake, and Laurent threw back his sheets. The days were growing noticeably shorter and colder, and his manservant hadn't yet appeared to set the fire, so the King's rooms held a chill as Laurent reached for a robe. He hadn't dreamt of Auguste so vividly in a long time. It was almost like he had been right there in the palace gardens again.
Laurent let himself relax for a moment in the privacy of his own room, and rested his head against the window frame. He drew a deep breath.
The city of Arles stretched from the walls of the castle to the far walls of the city, still cloaked in shadows. Wisps of smoke rose dimly in the early light, and a few candles flickered where early workers rose, and where the Night Watch still patrolled the streets. In the East, the sky glowed with the promise of a new day, a pale blue and lavender that was already growing fast.
As expected, it wasn't long before there was a noise at the door, and Laurent straightened again and smoothed his features.
His manservant, Perrin, carried a basin of gently steaming water.
"Your Majesty!" He froze when he caught sight of Laurent already awake. "Forgive me; I had not seen to your fire yet."
Laurent waved him away in forgiveness.
He let the man putter around his rooms setting up his wash basin, before seeing to the fire and the wardrobe.
Laurent took the opportunity to wash his face and hands, and to brush out his hair before Perrin returned with his day clothes, already mentally planning the day ahead. Most pressing was sorting out which courtiers and nobles were loyal to him, and which were still loyal to his uncle. Separate out the lesser poison from the more deadly sort that might still see his crown taken from him.
Perrin was a swift dresser, full of impersonal and professional skill, and a secret part of Laurent missed Damen's care at dealing with all those laces. Not that Damen had dressed him in a while, but being back in this palace reminded Laurent painfully of Damen's first clumsy fumblings upon which he had looked with so much scorn, unsurprised that a giant brute struggled with the delicate fastenings.
Laurent pushed aside the old memories of Damen. It wouldn't do to dwell on sentiment in this place, and it would only make his work here much harder.
He and the King's Guard had only arrived in Arles at sundown, after a meandering ride home. The towns through which his troop rode on their way north saw hundreds of people spill into the streets to see their new king, the commoners eager and welcoming all along the roads. The nobles on the other hand? Some of those were far less happy to see Laurent, though they accepted him into their forts as duty dictated. The scale of that potential problem stretched ahead of him. Divided loyalties were one problem he couldn't afford to let fester before he and Damen officially moved their new capital to Marlas.
The work at Arles weighed on his shoulders.
This place was full of history, and for him every hallway held memory traps of anguish and rage.
No wonder he was dreaming of Auguste for the first time in a long time. Though the late Regent's body had been tossed into a pit and burnt with other executed criminals in Ios, the ghosts of Vere still lingered in this place.
Laurent took some time for a small breakfast, before he decided to make his way down to the gardens, to the statue that didn't really look like Auguste, but it was better than nothing.
It was still early and the sun was peering over the palace walls without much warmth as Jord and Enguerran fell into step behind him. Snow would start falling any day now and the grass of the Golden Courtyard shone white with frost. A stiff wind from the north promised a cold winter to come.
By the garden entrance, Lazar and a young soldier Laurent remembered vaguely as Rene greeted them. "Your Majesty."
"Wait here; I won't be long."
They would make sure he was undisturbed until he returned. Only Jord and Enguerran stayed with Laurent when he stepped around the hedges and into the private space that was dedicated to the royal family.
The garden that surrounded Auguste's statue was on a hill that sloped down from the statue's plinth with cascades of lavender, towards the kitchen gardens below. It gave the illusion that Auguste was looking out over the walls, to the kingdom beyond. For years now, Laurent had not been able to smell lavender without thinking of his brother.
But when he walked into the private garden that morning there was no sign of Auguste.
Laurent stopped, at first not understanding what he was seeing.
There was the familiar plinth on which the statue stood, with its curling inscription: Prince Auguste Aleron Richard Lucien of Vere. The geometric flowerbeds full of lilies and jonquils at the base of the plinth were the same as ever. But the top of the plinth was empty.
Cold rage curled in Laurent's bowels. He had been away from Arles too long, and his uncle had had the place to himself much of that time.
"Guards!" His ears rang and red choked his gaze so densely his could hardly see Lazar and Rene race around the corner. "What happened to my brother's statue?"
Both of them stood stock still. Lazar's confusion was obvious even through Laurent's fury, and it struck him that Lazar had never been in these gardens before.
Rene, though, was pale as ash, and Laurent turned on him.
His voice came out cold. "Did my uncle have the statue removed?"
"Your Majesty," Rene's voice at least was calm as any soldier. "These gardens were tended in preparation for your arrival yesterday. The statue of your brother was cleaned by gardeners then; I observed them myself."
"Find me these gardeners," Laurent snapped, "and gather guards! Find out what happened to the statue!"
Rene didn't need to hear any more; he ran. A shout of "Guards!" echoed ahead of him.
Lazar crouched by the empty plinth as if to examine it. Jord's eyes were raking over the entire garden, and Enguerran had his hand on his sword, as if expecting a threat.
In short order, the private garden was full of people. Enguerran gave his own orders to secure the castle until everyone was accounted for, and the peace of the morning was well and truly ended.
Pain twisted in Laurent's chest, but he let none of his men suspect as much, directing one section to rouse and question the night guards, and another section to find any other staff who may have heard or seen anything. If he looked like he wanted to flay anyone alive, that only encouraged them to move faster.
"Yes, Your Majesty!" they chorused, with a few "Your Highness" scattered among them, whether out of confusion or resentment he couldn't tell.
Laurent's heart ached to turn back and scour the garden, as though his eyes were not to be trusted, if only he was missing something, but he had not survived Arles alone for over six years by listening to his heart. So he pushed the statue brutally from his mind and set his sights on the tasks he had planned for himself.
The palace hallways were a quiet welcome as Laurent made his way back inside.
After raising the age limit on pets and closing the ring to the more debauched entertainments, his next step was bringing Vere and Akielos closer. The border needed to be disarmed, and Laurent had some reading to do on free trade and movement laws. Perhaps a long journey into the library's archives would take his mind off the stolen statue.
The Seafarer's Guild wanted to meet to set up a more open trade route along the coast and a reduction in taxes to Akielos, and Laurent was already drafting a reply in his head as he headed toward the library.
Even before he reached the familiar doors, the young soldier, Rene, hurried along the hall towards him.
"Your Majesty!" he was pale enough the Laurent's stomach tightened in foreboding. "There's a body. In the garden."
Laurent froze. "A body?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Captain Enguerran is on guard."
What did that mean? An intruder? A thief? "Show me!"
Rene nodded and turned, leading Laurent back the way he had come.
Confusion and dread warred with fury in Laurent's head. This was not what he had expected on his return to Arles. The honeyed violence and backstabbing plots he had expected should have included power-hungry Lords, not the theft of palace statues or bodies in the garden.
The slope that led from Auguste's plinth was covered in guards when they returned. The delicate lavender teemed with the blue and steel of Laurent's men, and the shine of breast plates and swords in the morning sun. Whatever peace Laurent had once found in this place was no more, dispelled by soldiers and tension.
Jord signalled where Enguerran had his sword pointed at the ground.
Laurent could see nothing between the lavender shrubs and he let his guard fall aside as he stepped closer.
At first all he saw was white silk - it could have been a bundle of cloth caught among the bushes - followed by long, blond hair, much like his own.
"What is going on here?" he asked.
"Your Majesty," Enguerran nodded. "He's alive."
"He?" It was only now that Laurent was close enough to see the body curled up on the ground that he could see the movement. The man's white clothes were stained with dirt, and his hunched shoulders trembled as though with cold.
Jord was almost as white as the silk at their feet. "Your brother, Your Majesty."
Laurent never remembered what he thought in that moment. He only knew that he was grabbing hold of the blond hair to drag it back and reveal the man's face.
A ghost gazed back at him.
Auguste's blue eyes squinted against the light, and instead of fighting back, he shook against the ground like a newborn lamb, weak and trembling.
"What is going on?" Laurent didn't remember reaching for his dagger, but it was in his hand and pressing against the man's neck. "Who are you?"
Auguste blinked and squinted, a soft sound of pain coming from his mouth and scraping against the memories in Laurent's head, abrasive like sandstone. A familiar face and a familiar voice. Laurent's bruised heart screamed agony, and he grit his teeth.
"Who are you?" he repeated, colder this time. "How did you get in here?" The metal of his dagger flashed in the sun, hovering a hair's breadth from the pulse point in the man's neck; a very living, beating pulse point under pale skin. Laurent could see the bob of an Adam's apple, and pale stubble that had already begun to grow.
Whereas Auguste's statue had always been a little wrong about the cheekbones and brow, this man was the perfect likeness, down to the pink spot on one temple, the one blemish Laurent remembered. Too perfect. Laurent's heart raced, and his mind alongside it.
"L... Laur..." The man tried to speak, but Laurent moved the blade so that it hovered just under the man's left eye, where he definitely wasn't going to miss it.
"That's 'Your Majesty', to you."
The man blinked again. A moment later his eyes rolled, unfocused, and Laurent had to drop him to avoid the twitching, shaking limbs.
He stepped back, holding onto the coldness in his chest, lest his men start talking. Whatever was happening, it was not something he could allow to weaken him.
"Put him in chains and have Paschal see to him," Laurent said.
Enguerran nodded and made a gesture to the rest of the King's Guard. After a moment's hesitation, Jord moved in to seize the trembling man, quickly followed by Lazar.
Laurent didn't wait to watch. He strode back to the palace, trying to calm his racing heart, careful that none of his feelings showed on his face. No one would know how much this intruder had affected him.
Huet stepped forward at Laurent's gesture.
"Send our fastest rider to the border. King Damianos should still be at Marlas; tell him to make his way to Arles with all the speed he can muster."
Huet nodded and peeled away down a different hallway.
It would still take at least five or six days for a fast rider to reach Delpha, and just as long for Damen to ride back if he came alone. Which meant that Laurent had almost two weeks to work on this problem on his own. Thankfully "alone" was a position very familiar to him.
"Your Majesty, I hoped to speak with you on a matter of security," a young soldier stopped beside him. It was the same one from earlier.
Laurent regarded him with all the coolness he could manage. "What is it, Rene?" He knew Rene had been stationed at Arles these past few months, though not among his uncle's personal guard. That meant he was an unknown quantity. Rene was young enough that he would have been a new guard shortly before Laurent's departure, barely out of the recruit's barracks. Right now, the man stood tall and met his eyes with a gaze that showed resolution and intelligence.
"I intercepted a letter intended for another guard."
Laurent's attention perked. "Intentionally or by accident?"
"Intentionally. I had begun to suspect..." Rene reached into his doublet, and Laurent tensed until he saw it really was just a letter. "Not all your guards can be trusted."
The seal had been broken, and Laurent skimmed the sloping writing, taking in the broad details of the letter. It was from Lord Vitalis de la Rocha writing to a lowly guard. The letter thanked him for continued support against the illegitimate king and advised him to be patient while unnamed associates continued doing their work. Some of the Lords were forming a united front against their king. Well, well.
Laurent closed the letter slowly and regarded Rene. "You read it?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. I had to be certain it proved disloyalty before I spoke to you. I knew your uncle had loyal supporters among the men and I've been intercepting some of their messages since then."
Laurent didn't let his interest show, but he had to admit he was impressed by the initiative. "You believe there are traitors among the guard who would see me harmed?"
Rene inclined his head in a thoughtful. "Maybe not of their own accord. But I think they could be swayed by a strong Lord making promises of advancement in exchange for information or favours. If enough guards hesitate before defending you, it could make a difference in your safety."
Laurent considered as he slid the incriminating letter into his own pocket and fingered the medallions of office he had tucked away there. He had a number of positions that needed to be filled in his new court, but he only knew a few of the courtiers and staff who could be trusted. Weeding out his uncle's supporters, or at least converting them, was one of his most pressing tasks. The fewer knives poised at his back, the more secure his kingdom.
Either way, Rene was one man over whom Laurent would need to keep watch, one way or another.
"You know the guard for whom this letter was intended?" Laurent asked.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Laurent passed him a medallion, a mark of his authority. "Take this to Enguerran. Tell him to have a sergeant's patch found for you. Then deal with this traitorous guard as you see fit. Sergeant Rene."
Rene pinked, making his freckles fade into the colour. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
They stepped aside as Jord and Lazar dragged Auguste's muscular frame between them. The man had apparently passed out somewhere along the way, and Laurent watched with cool eyes as they carried him towards the physician's rooms.
Seeing Auguste carried by made something ache deep in Laurent's chest, as if he was seven years younger, standing in another hallway altogether, his uncle's shadow at his back. It took him only a moment to set the feeling aside with all the practice gained throughout those years. Auguste had been dead for a long time now. Whoever this man was, he deserved nothing of Laurent's broken heart.
"Did you work for my uncle?" Laurent turned back to Rene, his voice neutral.
"I'm a trained guard. I work for the Crown." Which was a non-answer that only proved Rene was as smart as Laurent thought he was.
"And what did you make of my uncle?"
"Permission to speak freely?"
Laurent granted it with a gesture.
Rene took a breath. "A man who prefers the company of children is one who wields power mostly for his own pleasure, rather than for the protection of the kingdom or the weaker within it. I was close to giving up my career when the news came from Ios that he'd been executed. That is why I'm still here." He spoke honestly and made a good impression. That was no guarantee of truth - not here in Vere - but it was a reason to believe this was a young man with promise.
"Can you write as well as you read?" Laurent wanted to know.
"Yes, but my penmanship wouldn't let me pass for an educated man."
"It won't need to. Send a message to Lord Vitalis in reply to this letter, posing as our traitorous friend. Tell him to come to court as soon as possible. I don't want him suspecting anything. When he arrives, come and find me; I would like to speak with Lord Vitalis myself."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Do you have men you can trust?"
"I know of a few."
Laurent nodded. "Good. Keep them close, and keep me notified if you find anything else."
His first day back in Arles had barely begun, and already Laurent had found himself entangled in a new conspiracy. Or perhaps it was he same old one begun by his uncle. Only time would tell, and Laurent resolved to stack the deck in his own favour as much as possible by keeping close to him any people who were likely to make a move either way.
His crown was hard won. He would not lose it to the challenges that arose to take it from him now.
-
Laurent waited until after lunch to see to his new prisoner. By then, he'd sent a letter to the Seafarer's Guild to meet in a few weeks, and Laurent had even started on the stack of correspondence his uncle's abrupt execution had left behind.
None of it helped settle the questions that pressed at his mind. Who was this man that looked so much like Auguste? Where had he come from? And why was he here now?
Laurent found the still weak figure chained to a cot in Paschal's rooms.
Faux-Auguste's long hair had been tied back with a ribbon, his clothes had been changed, and he'd obviously been cleaned in the past several hours. Now, he lay limp in the bed, eyelids fluttering when Laurent entered.
Jord and Lazar stood guard out of sight, and the only other objects in the room were clear across the far side, in accordance with dangerous prisoners. While it was doubtful this man could swing a sword in his current condition, Laurent had to approve of the foresight in taking all precautions until they knew more. Jord may have lacked judgement in some matters, but he was doing everything now to make up for his mistakes on the road.
"He is still weak," Paschal said, when he saw Laurent. "I can't find anything wrong with him. Apart from the weak muscles and a fever, he appears to be in good health."
"Thank you, Paschal."
Auguste's blue eyes watched him as Laurent stepped around the side of the bed, eerily familiar and completely out of place in this time.
Laurent stood tall and still, and refused to look away, suppressing his pain with ruthless efficiency. He had no time for that and he had faced far worse challenges in his life.
"Who are you?" Laurent asked again. "How did you get into the palace?"
A long breath stirred the quiet room, Auguste's chest rising under the blanket, and he lifted his chin with a certain amount of pride. "My name is Auguste Aleron Richard Lucien of Vere, eldest son of King Aleron. I don't know how I got here." Auguste's voice was just as familiar as Laurent remembered, deep and with a warm timbre he hadn't heard in many years. The man was a good actor, Laurent had to give him that.
"Liar."
"I'm speaking the truth," the man said. "The physician... I think I know him; I know that face, and you..." he swallowed. "You look like my brother, but older. More serious."
Laurent saw no guile but that didn't mean much. He had dealt with far more treacherous people in his life. His steps were slow around the bed as they watched each other. He said nothing, waiting for this Auguste to incriminate himself.
"And you're wearing a royal coronet," the man cleared his throat. "I have to know, are you my brother, Laurent? I don't know where I am or how I got here, I swear. I..." he sighed and sank back in bed. "Why am I so weak?"
Laurent cast his eyes across the room and nodded to Jord. "Come."
"Your Majesty?" Jord stepped forward.
The effect was dramatic. Chains clanked where they hit the side of the cot and large eyes stared.
"Jord?" Auguste's voice came weak and hopeful.
Jord acknowledged the address with a nod. "Your Highness," he straightened, glancing at Laurent, caught out between two sets of identical blue eyes. "Uh... I mean... I don't know how I should address him."
"For now, 'Impostor' should serve well enough," Laurent said, feeling not the least guilty for putting Jord on the spot. It was worth it to see the impostor's reaction. His mind raced. "Has he been checked for birthmarks?"
Jord nodded again. "A spot on the back of his calf, two scars on his left arm, and one at his side as if from a blade."
Like from a sword thrust into his abdomen exactly where the armour plates ended and where the blade could arc up into his chest. Laurent would never forget the way Damen had killed Auguste.
Someone had done their research.
Laurent turned and strode from the room, his head swimming. He knew those scars, just as he knew it was impossible for any man to come back from the dead. The resemblance was uncanny. Impossible.
He stopped at a window, his ears ringing with his own scattered thoughts. Moulded panes formed into the image of a rose, petals and thorns glittering red and green in the light. The whole hallway was lit in colour, tinting everything Laurent could see. Outside, the palace gardens would be lying dull in the cool light, greying with the oncoming winter. Auguste's statue should have been out there, still and cold as ever. Instead it had been stolen away and there was a strange man in Laurent's palace and in his head, throwing everything into disarray.
Laurent's heart thudded and ached but he didn't let it show when he saw Jord's reflection behind him in the leaded glass.
"He looks like-" Jord began.
Laurent turned on him. "I know who he looks like! He was my brother, Jord!"
"Apologies, Your Majesty. He was my prince too."
Laurent sucked in a breath past the painful weight in his chest. He hadn't forgotten, had even counted on Jord's history in the Prince's Guard to agitate the man in Paschal's rooms. But at once the memory that Jord had once been Auguste's man stared him in the face. He hadn't felt so trapped by the past in quite a while.
"Do you remember the story of the Maiden Blanche?" Jord started.
"No. This is not a fairy tale." This was his life, and he'd known fairy tales weren't real many years ago. None of them had ever been real again after Auguste died and had taken with him the last dreams or fairy tales that Laurent might still have had.
A voice that sounded like Damen's whispered hope in his ears, and he pushed it carefully aside. As much as he looked the part of a hero with his broad shoulders and strong thighs, Damen was no fairy tale prince either. Laurent knew only too well that Damen was far from perfect, no matter how much his warm eyes promised forever after.
"I want him alive for now," Laurent said, more firmly. "Keep questioning him to find out what he knows. Do not answer his questions; tell him nothing, and remind Paschal of the same." Jord had served Auguste too. If anyone could tell a fraud it would be Jord.
"And if he maintains who he says he is?"
"You know as well as I do that that's impossible. But I will not put it past my uncle to arrange a contingency in case I ever returned to Arles. Something guaranteed to hurt me and confuse the line of succession."
"You think this is an arranged situation?"
"Don't you? Those scars are far too convenient and he's obviously been well prepared. We need to keep all options open."
Jord nodded.
Laurent half turned before he stopped himself. "Enguerran will need to return to his duties as Captain of the Guard, particularly in the barracks, and when he does I will be relying on you. You disappointed me once in the Prince's Guard; do not let it happen in the King's Guard."
Jord sagged a little in relief. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Despite his missteps, Jord was loyal. Enguerran had other duties now that they were back in the capital, and with Jord hungry to redeem himself, Laurent could think of no one who would keep him safer. Or at least, no one who wasn't at Marlas right now.
It didn't take him long to track down the guards who had dismantled his uncle's rooms. They confirmed that after Laurent's instructions arrived from Ios, they had destroyed all the Regent's things, including his crest, saving only the jewellery to be melted down. Even the wall hangings were burnt. A traitor to the crown had no cause to be remembered.
"You asked us to destroy everything," the guard said. "Although we needed to keep some of the documents for record keeping."
"What documents?"
Laurent spent the next few hours searching through documents in the library's archives, but in vain. Mostly they were deeds of lands awarded and redistributed among his uncle's allies, particularly to the northern Lords Emilion, Audin, and Foucault. Then there were the laws on public indecency that Laurent would have to adjust, but nothing he didn't already know. There was no sign of plans after Laurent returned from the border, as though his uncle had never even considered the possibility.
Had the Regent been so confident of his success that he hadn't made any contingency plans? Laurent doubted it. He knew his uncle. The schemer had never left things to chance. The only possibility that made any sense right now was that the Regent had set up a decoy Auguste on the off-chance that Laurent should make it back to Arles. Perhaps he had even asked some of his old supporters to set it in motion should he die, if only for revenge from beyond the grave. Laurent couldn't put anything past him.
By the time the sun dipped again to the west, a headache was threatening.
As Laurent paged through his uncle's handwriting, he could only think of people wanting to destabilise the kingdom, perhaps by causing a crisis of succession, or by affecting him personally, provoking him into mistakes on which they could then capitalise. It was the only explanation that made sense for a man to show up looking as much like Auguste as did the one downstairs. Maybe he was working with one of the Lords, or maybe this man just wanted to be king himself.
With the old Regent's faction still chafing at their new ruler, and the new alliance with Akielos still so fragile, Laurent needed to strengthen his position as King to stabilise the kingdom, otherwise everything he had worked and bled for would crumble. He had expected challenges ahead, maybe even violence, but not this assault on his emotions. And there was only one man who had ever torn his emotions to pieces like this.
But his uncle's papers held no answers for him. If he'd arranged it, his uncle certainly hadn't saved any papers about training a faux-Auguste as a contingency plan. Yet it was inconceivable that no one knew. Someone had to know, because someone had placed the impostor in Laurent's palace. He only needed to find out who.
Laurent resisted the urge to rub his temples even though the only other people in the library were a research scholar in the far corner and Enguerran ever watchful by the door.
Vere needed solid rule. A man looking like the elder crown prince could bring a lot of trouble.
Rene found him as the candle light was beginning to strain Laurent's eyes, but he had no answers either.
No one had seen Auguste's statue disappear or heard anything unusual. No one had seen any unusual people around. All household staff were accounted for and cleared of suspicion. Rene had sent men into the city in case anyone heard or saw anything there, but he had yet to hear back, and Laurent suspected neither of them had any more hope of answers further afield.
No. Laurent was certain all his answers lay here in the palace at Arles, if not in the library itself.
On his way to his own rooms, he avoided Paschal's hallway where the impostor lay.
He only picked at his dinner, staring unseeing at a formal letter of introduction from the Vaskian Empress greeting the new King of Vere, but his mind was on his brother - the real one.
One midsummer there had been a travelling troupe in the palace, with jugglers and acrobats. The strongman had been granted permission to throw little Laurent in the air for fun, and Laurent had been so wound up he followed Auguste to his room that night and talked his ear off in sheer excitement.
Auguste had always indulged him. He had never turned Laurent away, even if he wanted to sleep.
He had taught Laurent how to ride and hold a sword with more patience than any of their teachers, even before their mother's death brought them even closer. That kind of love still made Laurent's heart warm all these years later.
As the palace fell quiet again, he allowed Perrin to help with his clothes, before falling into an exhausted sleep.
That night, he dreamt of white wings.
On to Part 2
