Fic: The White Dove - Part 4
2022-Jun-01, Wednesday 07:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
summeryewberryHeader in Part 1
Back to Part 3
Chapter 4: Past Meets Future
When the sun rose, Laurent made his way down to the physician's rooms, if only because he couldn't think of a better way to chase away dreams than to see the living nightmare.
The past week had done the man good. There was colour in his cheeks again, and he sat up in bed when Laurent walked in with Jord and Rene. Chains clanked where he was still locked to the bed. A desperate kind of hope shone in his eyes, so bright and familiar that it hurt to look at them, and Laurent forced himself not to look away.
Auguste looked exactly the same as the day he had ridden into battle, as though no time had passed. It was uncanny.
"Laurent! You-" He stopped himself and took a breath. "I gather you are King here now. Your men won't tell me anything, but the way they treat you..." His voice dropped when he spoke again. "What happened to father?"
"King Aleron is dead," Laurent said, shortly.
"I gathered that," grief crossed Auguste's face, a pain that Laurent refused to feel sympathy for. "But how?"
Laurent watched him, but nothing about him seemed false. He spoke carefully: "It was a stray arrow at the battle of Marlas. From our side."
"What about Uncle?" Still no hint of guile.
Laurent kept his face expressionless. "Executed for killing the King. The council convicted him fairly."
The shock and grief were clear and undisguised on that familiar face.
Had his Auguste always been this this easy to read? Laurent's memory whispered yes.
"When? Please, have you been alone all this time?"
Laurent ignored the question and instead stepped closer, resting his hand on the bar where the chains were attached. If this man tried anything, Laurent wanted to see his eyes. Right now there was nothing but wide blue concern, but that would change.
"What was the name of my old nursemaid?" Laurent asked, quieter and closer.
Auguste didn't hesitate. "Antoinette."
"What did my brother secretly gift me on my eighth birthday?"
"A key to the palace library."
"You've been well trained."
"Trained?"
"Crown Prince Auguste died on the battlefield at Marlas," Laurent kept his voice flat and impassive. "But you know that, of course, as does everyone in this kingdom. Including whoever has helped you on this infiltration."
"You still think I'm an impostor? I guess I can't blame you for that, it must be at least seven years if you're King, but I can't explain any more than that. You have to believe me."
"Have I?"
"How can I prove it?" Auguste's eyes darted all over his face, as though trying to take in everything at once. "Do you remember when you were little, when I taught you how to hold a sword, and we would pretend to kill Akielons and bring back the Artesian Empire?"
"Anyone could have overheard that."
"All right. Do you remember when you were seven, what you told me that night after midsummer dinner? You came to my bedroom and you whispered in my ear that you were going to marry the strongman one day."
Laurent forced himself not to react. He did remember that. It was a distant memory, a whisper between two princes in the dark, but it was true.
"I told you that was fine by me and that the only objection our parents would have would be that he was not a noble. You didn't understand why the difference in status would matter."
Laurent stood frozen, the ice spreading with each word of truth.
"And then you disappeared into your books for - it seemed like - years. You told me your books were all you would ever need and one day I joked about you marrying a library. You gave me that look you give people when they are too dumb for you to explain."
Laurent's heart raced, and he wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore.
A gentle hand reached for his where it lay on the bar between them, the touch so familiar, it made something in his chest expand and grow so large it ached. That touch was an echo of memory stretching through the years. He knew it as well as he'd ever known anything, the skin was the same, the calluses, the gentleness.
"Laurent?" Auguste had gone grey in the face, and he was staring in disbelief at the gold cuff normally hidden under his sleeves.
Laurent stepped carefully back.
"That's an Akielon slave cuff. Laurent, please tell me you weren't..."
Horrified at the conclusion Auguste had come to, Laurent spoke quickly. "I wasn't." He shook his sleeve back down over the cuff, hiding it from view. It helped to ground him, but his mouth kept moving. "It's a promise I made. To someone who cares about me." He didn't know why he was telling this man anything. Silence was safer. Except that he did know why he wanted to tell the truth. This man looked too much like Auguste to say anything else.
He knew now why Jord had excused himself from guarding this man.
Before he could reveal anything else, Laurent turned and left the room.
-
Shaken, Laurent walked towards the library.
He hadn't meant to aim for the library, but that was where his feet carried him like a lost child.
No one had touched the table where he had left his work, but someone had switched the chair for a more comfortable one marking it as the King's table for as long as he deigned to use it.
Laurent resisted the urge to throw something across the room.
It wasn't safe for him to be around the impostor, not if he couldn't control himself or let things slip. It was worse than with Uncle, but then again, Laurent had always loved Auguste best. This had always been his vulnerability, and one of which he was well aware.
Even worse, he had gained no new information on their prisoner.
Laurent could not see him again, not until Damen arrived. It wasn't safe for him or his country. Perhaps seeing Damen would be enough to scare Auguste into giving up his accomplices, and Laurent could get another opinion from someone who had met the real Auguste, albeit briefly.
He lost track of time as he made his way through the stack of letters and legal documents he had gathered, determined to think of nothing but his work. Servants brought food to him, but apart from that he didn't break until the afternoon.
Laurent only put his work down when he saw Rene stand in the doorway, his hair a bright contrast with his pale face. In his hand was a letter.
"Sergeant?" Laurent waved him closer.
Once they were alone, Rene passed over the letter.
Laurent skimmed the sloping handwriting. It was a month old, dated from when Laurent had still been in Akielos, and as he read, the library grew colder and closer around him.
... appreciate your support concerning the pretender "King"...
... like-minded Lords have a plan in place...
... cannot have a weak prince ascend the throne...
... select a new Regent among us until the succession is resolved...
... am ready to set the plan in motion...
Regards, Lord Emilion
Laurent's heart raced as he placed the letter on his table. "How did you get this?"
"Lord Foucault sent it with a letter swearing his allegiance to you." Rene passed over a second letter.
"The rats are turning on each other," Laurent mused as he started reading the second page. It was exactly as Rene had said: a Lord begging for forgiveness and swearing his fealty, promising proof of treason as his penance.
Laurent leaned back, regarding both letters. There was always a possibility this contrition was an act, but Laurent could handle that betrayal when and if it came. For now, he held one more piece of evidence against Emilion.
"Have a summons sent to Lord Emilion," he said.
Rene nodded. "He will be in the throne room within days. Should I send for the council?"
Laurent glanced back at the letter. "No, not yet." Alone, this letter was enough to suggest treason, but it may not be enough to expose whatever Emilion had been working on. He would need to plan something bigger for that exposure.
A new plan formed in front of Laurent's eyes. The letter provided some proof, probably enough for a trial, but Laurent wanted something iron-clad and undeniable. He would have to provoke Emilion. If nothing else, it would reveal how Emilion would react to the challenge.
He hid a smile. "Make it a direct summons. Make sure he knows he's being confronted."
Rene bowed his way out of the room.
The incriminating letter found a more secure place in Laurent's legal papers.
-
Something brushed Laurent's face, warm and feather light. In the darkness of his dream, Laurent saw Damen smile at him, that beautiful, warm smile that spoke of all the feelings that blossomed between them and settled in Laurent's heart.
The touch came again, something gentle and warm at his temple, and Laurent's dream faded.
His neck strained and his back ached from the position in which he'd fallen asleep, slouched over his table in the most undignified way. When Laurent opened his eyes it was dark, a few low candles giving only dim light around him, and beyond them lay only blackness. It had already been late the last that Laurent remembered, struggling to read through the council's most recent accounts in the library, given the spidery hand-writing and his own tired eyes. He hadn't meant to fall asleep at the table.
It was only when he sat up to stretch his neck that he noticed he wasn't alone. The figure beside him rose up and up, ending in a beloved smile.
"Hello, lover."
Though the face was the same as those several months ago when he'd been brought to Arles, the voice held so much more warmth, wrapping around Laurent like a blanket.
Laurent was on his feet in an instant. "Damen!"
He had just enough time to see that smile widen before he wrapped his arms around Damen's shoulders and was enfolded in the embrace.
Damen's kiss was a relief, a welcome and loving homecoming, and his arms coming around Laurent were just as warm and gentle, holding him like a treasure. Damen smelt of horses and dust from the road, his skin cold from the wind, but he was solid and everything but a dream.
"You're here? How?" Laurent spoke against his jaw.
"I sailed to Marches on the fastest ship I could find, under a half-mad sea captain. Then I left my men to follow and rode on. I changed horses and rode through the night. Your message sounded urgent." He did look like he hadn't slept, wild and windblown, and Laurent's heart swelled in his chest.
There was no one else in the library, and the palace was dead silent beyond them, so Laurent gave himself permission to enjoy Damen's embrace, just for a moment. He leaned into the broad chest and warm arms, his forehead against Damen's unshaven jaw.
Almost certainly there would be night guards at the door but no one else could see or judge them in here. For a moment, Laurent didn't need to be king of this country of snakes and poison. For a moment, he could just be himself.
"This is extremely against protocol," he said into the quiet space between them. "I was supposed to greet you properly as a visiting noble."
Damen's skin pulled into a smile. "You can greet me properly when my men arrive."
"You really came alone?"
"Pallas and a dozen of my men are on the way. They should be no more than a day behind me."
"Excellent. I will know where Lazar is going to disappear to, then." Damen's hands on his back moved slowly, large and warm and so gentle. "What time is it?"
"Early." Which didn't answer the question at all but Laurent found it hard to be annoyed right now.
As they stood there, the first bell echoed up from the city, which at least meant servants and farmers would be awake for the day. Maids would be stoking fires and in the kitchens the cooks would be starting on the day's bread. The Night Watch would be heading to their beds and new candles would mark the changing hours.
Damen's chilled skin warmed slowly, and Laurent's aching back stretched and settled from the uncomfortable position in which he'd fallen asleep.
He put himself together and stepped back. "Come. I'll explain as we walk." He held on to Damen's hand when they parted and enjoyed the smile that shone back at him.
As expected, the hallways were empty apart from Laurent's guards. Still it was safer to switch into Akielon as they spoke.
Laurent talked about the man that had been found in the palace gardens and how many courtiers still believed his uncle's lies, the treasonous letters, and his own fledgling rule. When he mentioned where the man had been found in the garden of a missing statue, Damen's eyebrows rose.
"You know as well as I do that statues cannot come to life," Laurent cut him off, "or Ios would be filled with your ancestors."
Damen inclined his head. "True enough in my lifetime. But there are stories..."
"Fairy tales," Laurent said with a dismissive wave.
"Legends," Damen added, "and more than just a few."
"Don't forget where we are," Laurent reminded him, his eyes following the curves of rose vines on the cornices above them. "Land of honeyed poison and ornate knives aimed at my back."
"You think it's another plot to destroy you," Damen nodded. "I think I would like to meet this stranger who looks like your brother."
"You will. Why did you think I asked you here?"
Damen's brown eyes warmed with amusement. "And I thought you missed me."
Laurent gave in to the smile. "Not at all. But you have your uses."
"I see." Damen squeezed his hand, acknowledging the teasing for what it was.
When they reached Paschal's rooms a distant rooster announced the morning, though it was still dim around them and only the sparse candles in the hallway stood against the darkness.
Paschal was probably still sleeping and maybe Auguste was too but Laurent could use that.
The night guards straightened when Laurent opened the door, dropping Damen's hand in the process.
Huet and Guymar stood to attention, and on the bed Auguste blinked sleepily awake. The same lurch as always made Laurent's heart ache to see him before he could smother the feeling, but he let none of that show on his face.
Auguste's hair was mused and his eyes were dazed, but that didn't last long. As soon as they found who had entered his room, Auguste was throwing off the covers. Chains clanked and pulled tight on his wrists.
"You!" Auguste's eyes were wide, with confusion and a hint of fear, as he stared at Damen. His sword-hand clenched and flexed, but he was still chained to the bed and could barely lift his arm. "Prince Damianos."
Laurent stayed silent as he stepped to the side of the room, his eyes on the two of them, watching to see what was going to happen.
"Your Highness," with a glance at Laurent, Damen replied quietly in Veretian, "it's King Damianos, now."
Damen and Auguste stared at each other, both as surprised as each other.
Auguste blinked quickly, as if forcing the sleep from his eyes.
Damen stood still in the middle of the room but his eyes moved over the man in the bed, taking in everything as if to verify what he was seeing somehow.
"Exalted," Auguste said hesitantly, with a heavy accent. Few people in Vere spoke Akielon, and even Auguste had barely learnt any of it before the war.
Damen nodded at the title.
"Laurent?" Auguste turned to him. "What is this?"
But it was Damen who answered in his fluent Veretian: "Our countries have come to an agreement, as have Laurent and I. There will be no more war."
Auguste breathed loud in the silence. "Am I to understand that there is peace between our countries now?" His voice held disbelief and still confusion, but it was stronger now that he was waking up properly. "What about Delfeur?"
"It's being ruled jointly." Damen took a deliberate step back towards Pascal's table before drawing his sword. The steel sang, sending a chill through the room, until he placed it carefully down on the table. When Damen stepped back toward the bed he was unarmed.
It was a clear gesture of goodwill, this laying down his weapon in front of a potential enemy, but Laurent didn't follow suit. Despite the guards here and outside, he preferred that at least one of them remained armed.
"Officially, our kingdoms are allies," Damen continued, "and we are working on building bridges between our people. We will make both our countries stronger with this alliance. Laurent and I have already opened the border and passed some new laws but there is more work to come. We intend to do the work together." He spread his hands to show they were empty, and Laurent caught the glint of gold on his wrist a moment before Auguste did.
He saw Auguste stiffen. "This is who you made a promise to?" The words were obviously addressed at Laurent although he was still staring at the cuff with something akin to horror. Auguste had never been slow, even if he didn't read as much as Laurent.
Laurent lifted his chin with pride; he would not be shamed by this prisoner.
"He invaded our country! He killed our people!" Auguste stared at him.
Laurent kept his voice stiff when he replied. "His father did most of that."
"He stood beside his father!"
"I did," Damen stepped in, "and I made some mistakes in doing so. I am trying to be a better king."
Auguste's right hand flexed again as though trying to reach for something but his voice was calm. "Forgive me my concern, but I know what 'better' means in your country." He spoke proudly and seriously, in a tone Laurent hadn't heard in a long time. It was the tone of a crown prince. "Your people take pride in combat and conquest, and if better means more bloodthirsty than your father then that does not reassure me, not when it's my country and my people at stake in your desire for better for Akielos. And what exactly are you doing with my little brother?"
Laurent's blood went cold with rage. "Stop acting like you care!" he snapped. "You don't know me, whatever you might think, and I am long old enough to make my own decisions."
"Laurent," Auguste's eyes begged, "I know you think you know better - you always have - but do not throw our country away like this."
Laurent tried in vain to squash the ache in his heart, but he knew his voice shook when he replied. "So that's your plan? An isolated Vere."
"What?" Auguste looked like he'd lost the thread of the conversation.
"Isn't that why you're here?" Laurent continued, coldly. "To see me fail? To see my crown fall? Will you try to wear it yourself afterwards, a newly crowned king who conveniently happens to look like Prince Auguste? Or will you be a puppet king to whichever Lord is behind this little charade? Perhaps as a pet? You'll wear the crown while your master makes you kneel for him?"
Auguste reeled back in horror.
A small, dark part of Laurent triumphed at finding the nerve and his voice chilled further. "I'll admit, the crown makes for a pretty gift, but that is not for someone else to give away. Our people deserve better and I'm going to make sure they see nothing but peace and stability under my rule. Whatever plot is unravelling here will end the same way as my uncle."
Auguste stared at him, struck dumb.
Laurent concealed his trembling by turning from the room. "Damianos!"
He waited outside for Damen to collect his sword; his hands were shaking and he breathed to still them.
Damen stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door again behind him. "He looks like I remember."
"Like when you killed him."
Damen glanced quickly at him. "Yes."
Laurent's breathing slowed but his hands didn't stop trembling.
"Laurent..." Damen's voice was very soft.
"Not here. You still smell of horses and I'm wearing yesterday's clothes, and there will be servants awake by now. Do you remember where the baths are?"
"I saw very little of the palace outside your pet residences," Damen reminded him.
That had been by design, of course, and Laurent led the way to the familiar rooms. A servant was sent to find fresh clothes for both of them and then they were alone again.
Laurent stood breathing, his heart and mind a torrent of emotion. All the fury and pain Auguste's presence raised left him torn and distracted when he should have been focused on rebuilding his country. His work wasn't his best and he wasn't sleeping well enough to work better.
This was Arles, a place in which he'd been alone for so long, and even though he knew it was the fate of kings to be surrounded by people and rule alone, he hadn't felt this isolated and helpless since he was a child.
When he raised his hands to look at them, they were still trembling, and he clenched them into fists to still them.
Damen stepped closer. "Let me attend on you." His larger hands cupped Laurent's fists, warmth in his touch.
His eyes were full of understanding, as though they could see straight into Laurent's turbulent heart. Anyone looking at Damen now could have seen the trust and affection that he wore so openly and fearlessly, and Laurent nodded, helpless to do anything else.
Damen's hands were just as gentle as they worked on his laces.
Everything was the same as the last time they had been here, the steam in the air and the scented soaps, but everything had changed in other ways. This was the place Laurent had used to manipulate Damen to try and break him, in the place he had tried so hard to hold himself together even as he lost his country.
Laurent stood stiff and still as Damen undressed him and washed him with all the care Laurent had come to know from him. Warm water and warm hands melted the tension out of his body until Laurent was himself again.
When Damen tried to wash himself, Laurent stopped him. "Let me."
There was healing in soaping up Damen's skin and in rinsing him clean. Laurent didn't linger on his scarred back and they didn't speak, but the silence was forgiving and their touches somehow more cleansing than the water.
So much had happened here between them, and the water washed them both clean.
By the time he finished, Damen has half roused but he didn't try to touch Laurent.
For the first time since returning to Arles, Laurent wanted someone. Damen was watching him with those same warm, dark eyes.
"Let me," Laurent said, and sank to his knees.
"Laurent..."
His knees ached on the tiles but it was good to remember he was doing this freely. Any other memories were washed away by the new ones he could make here.
Everything was Damen: the size of him and his warm skin, the soft touch of his hand on Laurent's face, and his voice making sounds of pleasure and saying his name like an offering. There was no space for anything else in Laurent's head. He swallowed Damen down letting it overrule every other memory. This was all that mattered now.
Damen groaned when he came, a wonderful sound that Laurent already loved as much as the rest of him.
He was almost ready to follow Damen right over the edge himself when Damen pulled him to his feet, and dropped to his knees, reversing their positions.
Damen kneeling for him like that would have had Laurent crowing only a few months ago. Instead, he caught his breath when Damen took him in his mouth, and didn't hold back when he came undone deep in his throat. For a moment, nothing else existed but this bliss and Damen's beloved face.
He held on to Damen's head, stroking his neck as the pleasure ebbed. The steam made everything hazy, but the feelings on Damen's face were clear. Laurent felt their echo in his own heart.
They didn't speak until they were both soaking in the water, side by side. Heavy contentment settled around Laurent's limbs almost warmer than the water, and he rested against Damen's shoulder in the deep bath.
"You don't believe it's him," Damen said, quiet and thoughtful. He didn't need to specify who they were talking about.
"It's impossible, but I don't want to talk about that now. Tell me about your nephew."
Damen was nothing but a proud uncle when it came to the little prince, and now was no different. "He smiles all the time now," Damen began. "He has a real gummy smile. He just seems happy all the time: happy to lie in a corner and watch the world, especially if he can see birds from the windows. His nursemaid tells me he is growing well. A large baby, she says."
"I'm not surprised." Laurent tapped Damen's broad chest making him laugh. "Has there been any sign of his mother?"
"No," Damen sobered. "She's still a wanted woman in Akielos. What kind of person leaves their child behind?"
"The kind of person who used that same child as a bargaining piece," Laurent said. "Maybe she loved him in her own way, but she still used him. I will never understand Guion either." He would never understand trading a child for a chance at power.
"Jokaste wasn't like Guion," Damen said quickly, and Laurent kissed him in apology at bringing her up. Damen sighed. "There is talk."
"Talk?"
Damen gave him a sideways look. "That Apollo is mine, instead of Kastor's son."
"Hm," Laurent trailed his fingers across Damen's chest, watching the contrast between their skin. "I'm not surprised. After all, how could Jokaste have known with certainty? She said he was born early and she was already pregnant soon after you were brought here. Time puts a question to her words."
Damen was watching him closely. "The rumours started when I was still confined to bed in Ios, when you where still holding my seat in Akielos..." He didn't need to finish the implication. Damen wasn't entirely unintelligent.
"I can't stop people from talking," Laurent told him.
"No, but you do like to start them talking."
"Only when it's to my benefit," Laurent said, honestly. "Have the Kyroi all accepted him as their Crown Prince?"
Damen relaxed again, stretching out his legs under water. "Yes. It's official. With a clear line of succession in my father's grandson, the throne is stable, especially if the Empress of Vask ever discovers any children of mine in her country."
"Then the rumours can only ever help him," Laurent said with satisfaction. "And I've been thinking, with this impostor turning up, and with how contentious my rule remains among my uncle's old allies, and given that I will certainly die without an heir... I have some second cousins, a little removed from the throne, but nobility nonetheless. Lady Bonlievre delivered a daughter not two weeks ago, and there are others. I would never push for an unwanted match, but perhaps one day you would like to introduce your nephew to some of my younger relatives. If he should find a friend or companion among them..."
"Ah," Damen murmured, "a future solidifying of our lines."
"The eternal work of kings." Veretians would never accept the bastard of a bastard ruling their country, but a foreign noble who might only be the bastard of the legitimate heir, if he married into the Veretian royal line, that may be a different matter. It was something to work towards, at least.
"I think it would be a good idea to introduce Apollo to his Veretian counterparts soon," Damen agreed. "Their friendship will be a valuable thing one day. Are you so concerned about Vere's nobles in the future?"
"It's Vere," Laurent said. Damen would know what that meant. If there wasn't a plot for Lady Bonlievre's future yet, there would be soon. At the moment, Laurent still represented the biggest target.
"Whatever you need to secure your country, I will give you."
"Our country," Laurent corrected, quietly.
"Our country," Damen agreed.
On to Part 5.
Back to Part 3
Chapter 4: Past Meets Future
When the sun rose, Laurent made his way down to the physician's rooms, if only because he couldn't think of a better way to chase away dreams than to see the living nightmare.
The past week had done the man good. There was colour in his cheeks again, and he sat up in bed when Laurent walked in with Jord and Rene. Chains clanked where he was still locked to the bed. A desperate kind of hope shone in his eyes, so bright and familiar that it hurt to look at them, and Laurent forced himself not to look away.
Auguste looked exactly the same as the day he had ridden into battle, as though no time had passed. It was uncanny.
"Laurent! You-" He stopped himself and took a breath. "I gather you are King here now. Your men won't tell me anything, but the way they treat you..." His voice dropped when he spoke again. "What happened to father?"
"King Aleron is dead," Laurent said, shortly.
"I gathered that," grief crossed Auguste's face, a pain that Laurent refused to feel sympathy for. "But how?"
Laurent watched him, but nothing about him seemed false. He spoke carefully: "It was a stray arrow at the battle of Marlas. From our side."
"What about Uncle?" Still no hint of guile.
Laurent kept his face expressionless. "Executed for killing the King. The council convicted him fairly."
The shock and grief were clear and undisguised on that familiar face.
Had his Auguste always been this this easy to read? Laurent's memory whispered yes.
"When? Please, have you been alone all this time?"
Laurent ignored the question and instead stepped closer, resting his hand on the bar where the chains were attached. If this man tried anything, Laurent wanted to see his eyes. Right now there was nothing but wide blue concern, but that would change.
"What was the name of my old nursemaid?" Laurent asked, quieter and closer.
Auguste didn't hesitate. "Antoinette."
"What did my brother secretly gift me on my eighth birthday?"
"A key to the palace library."
"You've been well trained."
"Trained?"
"Crown Prince Auguste died on the battlefield at Marlas," Laurent kept his voice flat and impassive. "But you know that, of course, as does everyone in this kingdom. Including whoever has helped you on this infiltration."
"You still think I'm an impostor? I guess I can't blame you for that, it must be at least seven years if you're King, but I can't explain any more than that. You have to believe me."
"Have I?"
"How can I prove it?" Auguste's eyes darted all over his face, as though trying to take in everything at once. "Do you remember when you were little, when I taught you how to hold a sword, and we would pretend to kill Akielons and bring back the Artesian Empire?"
"Anyone could have overheard that."
"All right. Do you remember when you were seven, what you told me that night after midsummer dinner? You came to my bedroom and you whispered in my ear that you were going to marry the strongman one day."
Laurent forced himself not to react. He did remember that. It was a distant memory, a whisper between two princes in the dark, but it was true.
"I told you that was fine by me and that the only objection our parents would have would be that he was not a noble. You didn't understand why the difference in status would matter."
Laurent stood frozen, the ice spreading with each word of truth.
"And then you disappeared into your books for - it seemed like - years. You told me your books were all you would ever need and one day I joked about you marrying a library. You gave me that look you give people when they are too dumb for you to explain."
Laurent's heart raced, and he wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore.
A gentle hand reached for his where it lay on the bar between them, the touch so familiar, it made something in his chest expand and grow so large it ached. That touch was an echo of memory stretching through the years. He knew it as well as he'd ever known anything, the skin was the same, the calluses, the gentleness.
"Laurent?" Auguste had gone grey in the face, and he was staring in disbelief at the gold cuff normally hidden under his sleeves.
Laurent stepped carefully back.
"That's an Akielon slave cuff. Laurent, please tell me you weren't..."
Horrified at the conclusion Auguste had come to, Laurent spoke quickly. "I wasn't." He shook his sleeve back down over the cuff, hiding it from view. It helped to ground him, but his mouth kept moving. "It's a promise I made. To someone who cares about me." He didn't know why he was telling this man anything. Silence was safer. Except that he did know why he wanted to tell the truth. This man looked too much like Auguste to say anything else.
He knew now why Jord had excused himself from guarding this man.
Before he could reveal anything else, Laurent turned and left the room.
-
Shaken, Laurent walked towards the library.
He hadn't meant to aim for the library, but that was where his feet carried him like a lost child.
No one had touched the table where he had left his work, but someone had switched the chair for a more comfortable one marking it as the King's table for as long as he deigned to use it.
Laurent resisted the urge to throw something across the room.
It wasn't safe for him to be around the impostor, not if he couldn't control himself or let things slip. It was worse than with Uncle, but then again, Laurent had always loved Auguste best. This had always been his vulnerability, and one of which he was well aware.
Even worse, he had gained no new information on their prisoner.
Laurent could not see him again, not until Damen arrived. It wasn't safe for him or his country. Perhaps seeing Damen would be enough to scare Auguste into giving up his accomplices, and Laurent could get another opinion from someone who had met the real Auguste, albeit briefly.
He lost track of time as he made his way through the stack of letters and legal documents he had gathered, determined to think of nothing but his work. Servants brought food to him, but apart from that he didn't break until the afternoon.
Laurent only put his work down when he saw Rene stand in the doorway, his hair a bright contrast with his pale face. In his hand was a letter.
"Sergeant?" Laurent waved him closer.
Once they were alone, Rene passed over the letter.
Laurent skimmed the sloping handwriting. It was a month old, dated from when Laurent had still been in Akielos, and as he read, the library grew colder and closer around him.
... appreciate your support concerning the pretender "King"...
... like-minded Lords have a plan in place...
... cannot have a weak prince ascend the throne...
... select a new Regent among us until the succession is resolved...
... am ready to set the plan in motion...
Regards, Lord Emilion
Laurent's heart raced as he placed the letter on his table. "How did you get this?"
"Lord Foucault sent it with a letter swearing his allegiance to you." Rene passed over a second letter.
"The rats are turning on each other," Laurent mused as he started reading the second page. It was exactly as Rene had said: a Lord begging for forgiveness and swearing his fealty, promising proof of treason as his penance.
Laurent leaned back, regarding both letters. There was always a possibility this contrition was an act, but Laurent could handle that betrayal when and if it came. For now, he held one more piece of evidence against Emilion.
"Have a summons sent to Lord Emilion," he said.
Rene nodded. "He will be in the throne room within days. Should I send for the council?"
Laurent glanced back at the letter. "No, not yet." Alone, this letter was enough to suggest treason, but it may not be enough to expose whatever Emilion had been working on. He would need to plan something bigger for that exposure.
A new plan formed in front of Laurent's eyes. The letter provided some proof, probably enough for a trial, but Laurent wanted something iron-clad and undeniable. He would have to provoke Emilion. If nothing else, it would reveal how Emilion would react to the challenge.
He hid a smile. "Make it a direct summons. Make sure he knows he's being confronted."
Rene bowed his way out of the room.
The incriminating letter found a more secure place in Laurent's legal papers.
-
Something brushed Laurent's face, warm and feather light. In the darkness of his dream, Laurent saw Damen smile at him, that beautiful, warm smile that spoke of all the feelings that blossomed between them and settled in Laurent's heart.
The touch came again, something gentle and warm at his temple, and Laurent's dream faded.
His neck strained and his back ached from the position in which he'd fallen asleep, slouched over his table in the most undignified way. When Laurent opened his eyes it was dark, a few low candles giving only dim light around him, and beyond them lay only blackness. It had already been late the last that Laurent remembered, struggling to read through the council's most recent accounts in the library, given the spidery hand-writing and his own tired eyes. He hadn't meant to fall asleep at the table.
It was only when he sat up to stretch his neck that he noticed he wasn't alone. The figure beside him rose up and up, ending in a beloved smile.
"Hello, lover."
Though the face was the same as those several months ago when he'd been brought to Arles, the voice held so much more warmth, wrapping around Laurent like a blanket.
Laurent was on his feet in an instant. "Damen!"
He had just enough time to see that smile widen before he wrapped his arms around Damen's shoulders and was enfolded in the embrace.
Damen's kiss was a relief, a welcome and loving homecoming, and his arms coming around Laurent were just as warm and gentle, holding him like a treasure. Damen smelt of horses and dust from the road, his skin cold from the wind, but he was solid and everything but a dream.
"You're here? How?" Laurent spoke against his jaw.
"I sailed to Marches on the fastest ship I could find, under a half-mad sea captain. Then I left my men to follow and rode on. I changed horses and rode through the night. Your message sounded urgent." He did look like he hadn't slept, wild and windblown, and Laurent's heart swelled in his chest.
There was no one else in the library, and the palace was dead silent beyond them, so Laurent gave himself permission to enjoy Damen's embrace, just for a moment. He leaned into the broad chest and warm arms, his forehead against Damen's unshaven jaw.
Almost certainly there would be night guards at the door but no one else could see or judge them in here. For a moment, Laurent didn't need to be king of this country of snakes and poison. For a moment, he could just be himself.
"This is extremely against protocol," he said into the quiet space between them. "I was supposed to greet you properly as a visiting noble."
Damen's skin pulled into a smile. "You can greet me properly when my men arrive."
"You really came alone?"
"Pallas and a dozen of my men are on the way. They should be no more than a day behind me."
"Excellent. I will know where Lazar is going to disappear to, then." Damen's hands on his back moved slowly, large and warm and so gentle. "What time is it?"
"Early." Which didn't answer the question at all but Laurent found it hard to be annoyed right now.
As they stood there, the first bell echoed up from the city, which at least meant servants and farmers would be awake for the day. Maids would be stoking fires and in the kitchens the cooks would be starting on the day's bread. The Night Watch would be heading to their beds and new candles would mark the changing hours.
Damen's chilled skin warmed slowly, and Laurent's aching back stretched and settled from the uncomfortable position in which he'd fallen asleep.
He put himself together and stepped back. "Come. I'll explain as we walk." He held on to Damen's hand when they parted and enjoyed the smile that shone back at him.
As expected, the hallways were empty apart from Laurent's guards. Still it was safer to switch into Akielon as they spoke.
Laurent talked about the man that had been found in the palace gardens and how many courtiers still believed his uncle's lies, the treasonous letters, and his own fledgling rule. When he mentioned where the man had been found in the garden of a missing statue, Damen's eyebrows rose.
"You know as well as I do that statues cannot come to life," Laurent cut him off, "or Ios would be filled with your ancestors."
Damen inclined his head. "True enough in my lifetime. But there are stories..."
"Fairy tales," Laurent said with a dismissive wave.
"Legends," Damen added, "and more than just a few."
"Don't forget where we are," Laurent reminded him, his eyes following the curves of rose vines on the cornices above them. "Land of honeyed poison and ornate knives aimed at my back."
"You think it's another plot to destroy you," Damen nodded. "I think I would like to meet this stranger who looks like your brother."
"You will. Why did you think I asked you here?"
Damen's brown eyes warmed with amusement. "And I thought you missed me."
Laurent gave in to the smile. "Not at all. But you have your uses."
"I see." Damen squeezed his hand, acknowledging the teasing for what it was.
When they reached Paschal's rooms a distant rooster announced the morning, though it was still dim around them and only the sparse candles in the hallway stood against the darkness.
Paschal was probably still sleeping and maybe Auguste was too but Laurent could use that.
The night guards straightened when Laurent opened the door, dropping Damen's hand in the process.
Huet and Guymar stood to attention, and on the bed Auguste blinked sleepily awake. The same lurch as always made Laurent's heart ache to see him before he could smother the feeling, but he let none of that show on his face.
Auguste's hair was mused and his eyes were dazed, but that didn't last long. As soon as they found who had entered his room, Auguste was throwing off the covers. Chains clanked and pulled tight on his wrists.
"You!" Auguste's eyes were wide, with confusion and a hint of fear, as he stared at Damen. His sword-hand clenched and flexed, but he was still chained to the bed and could barely lift his arm. "Prince Damianos."
Laurent stayed silent as he stepped to the side of the room, his eyes on the two of them, watching to see what was going to happen.
"Your Highness," with a glance at Laurent, Damen replied quietly in Veretian, "it's King Damianos, now."
Damen and Auguste stared at each other, both as surprised as each other.
Auguste blinked quickly, as if forcing the sleep from his eyes.
Damen stood still in the middle of the room but his eyes moved over the man in the bed, taking in everything as if to verify what he was seeing somehow.
"Exalted," Auguste said hesitantly, with a heavy accent. Few people in Vere spoke Akielon, and even Auguste had barely learnt any of it before the war.
Damen nodded at the title.
"Laurent?" Auguste turned to him. "What is this?"
But it was Damen who answered in his fluent Veretian: "Our countries have come to an agreement, as have Laurent and I. There will be no more war."
Auguste breathed loud in the silence. "Am I to understand that there is peace between our countries now?" His voice held disbelief and still confusion, but it was stronger now that he was waking up properly. "What about Delfeur?"
"It's being ruled jointly." Damen took a deliberate step back towards Pascal's table before drawing his sword. The steel sang, sending a chill through the room, until he placed it carefully down on the table. When Damen stepped back toward the bed he was unarmed.
It was a clear gesture of goodwill, this laying down his weapon in front of a potential enemy, but Laurent didn't follow suit. Despite the guards here and outside, he preferred that at least one of them remained armed.
"Officially, our kingdoms are allies," Damen continued, "and we are working on building bridges between our people. We will make both our countries stronger with this alliance. Laurent and I have already opened the border and passed some new laws but there is more work to come. We intend to do the work together." He spread his hands to show they were empty, and Laurent caught the glint of gold on his wrist a moment before Auguste did.
He saw Auguste stiffen. "This is who you made a promise to?" The words were obviously addressed at Laurent although he was still staring at the cuff with something akin to horror. Auguste had never been slow, even if he didn't read as much as Laurent.
Laurent lifted his chin with pride; he would not be shamed by this prisoner.
"He invaded our country! He killed our people!" Auguste stared at him.
Laurent kept his voice stiff when he replied. "His father did most of that."
"He stood beside his father!"
"I did," Damen stepped in, "and I made some mistakes in doing so. I am trying to be a better king."
Auguste's right hand flexed again as though trying to reach for something but his voice was calm. "Forgive me my concern, but I know what 'better' means in your country." He spoke proudly and seriously, in a tone Laurent hadn't heard in a long time. It was the tone of a crown prince. "Your people take pride in combat and conquest, and if better means more bloodthirsty than your father then that does not reassure me, not when it's my country and my people at stake in your desire for better for Akielos. And what exactly are you doing with my little brother?"
Laurent's blood went cold with rage. "Stop acting like you care!" he snapped. "You don't know me, whatever you might think, and I am long old enough to make my own decisions."
"Laurent," Auguste's eyes begged, "I know you think you know better - you always have - but do not throw our country away like this."
Laurent tried in vain to squash the ache in his heart, but he knew his voice shook when he replied. "So that's your plan? An isolated Vere."
"What?" Auguste looked like he'd lost the thread of the conversation.
"Isn't that why you're here?" Laurent continued, coldly. "To see me fail? To see my crown fall? Will you try to wear it yourself afterwards, a newly crowned king who conveniently happens to look like Prince Auguste? Or will you be a puppet king to whichever Lord is behind this little charade? Perhaps as a pet? You'll wear the crown while your master makes you kneel for him?"
Auguste reeled back in horror.
A small, dark part of Laurent triumphed at finding the nerve and his voice chilled further. "I'll admit, the crown makes for a pretty gift, but that is not for someone else to give away. Our people deserve better and I'm going to make sure they see nothing but peace and stability under my rule. Whatever plot is unravelling here will end the same way as my uncle."
Auguste stared at him, struck dumb.
Laurent concealed his trembling by turning from the room. "Damianos!"
He waited outside for Damen to collect his sword; his hands were shaking and he breathed to still them.
Damen stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door again behind him. "He looks like I remember."
"Like when you killed him."
Damen glanced quickly at him. "Yes."
Laurent's breathing slowed but his hands didn't stop trembling.
"Laurent..." Damen's voice was very soft.
"Not here. You still smell of horses and I'm wearing yesterday's clothes, and there will be servants awake by now. Do you remember where the baths are?"
"I saw very little of the palace outside your pet residences," Damen reminded him.
That had been by design, of course, and Laurent led the way to the familiar rooms. A servant was sent to find fresh clothes for both of them and then they were alone again.
Laurent stood breathing, his heart and mind a torrent of emotion. All the fury and pain Auguste's presence raised left him torn and distracted when he should have been focused on rebuilding his country. His work wasn't his best and he wasn't sleeping well enough to work better.
This was Arles, a place in which he'd been alone for so long, and even though he knew it was the fate of kings to be surrounded by people and rule alone, he hadn't felt this isolated and helpless since he was a child.
When he raised his hands to look at them, they were still trembling, and he clenched them into fists to still them.
Damen stepped closer. "Let me attend on you." His larger hands cupped Laurent's fists, warmth in his touch.
His eyes were full of understanding, as though they could see straight into Laurent's turbulent heart. Anyone looking at Damen now could have seen the trust and affection that he wore so openly and fearlessly, and Laurent nodded, helpless to do anything else.
Damen's hands were just as gentle as they worked on his laces.
Everything was the same as the last time they had been here, the steam in the air and the scented soaps, but everything had changed in other ways. This was the place Laurent had used to manipulate Damen to try and break him, in the place he had tried so hard to hold himself together even as he lost his country.
Laurent stood stiff and still as Damen undressed him and washed him with all the care Laurent had come to know from him. Warm water and warm hands melted the tension out of his body until Laurent was himself again.
When Damen tried to wash himself, Laurent stopped him. "Let me."
There was healing in soaping up Damen's skin and in rinsing him clean. Laurent didn't linger on his scarred back and they didn't speak, but the silence was forgiving and their touches somehow more cleansing than the water.
So much had happened here between them, and the water washed them both clean.
By the time he finished, Damen has half roused but he didn't try to touch Laurent.
For the first time since returning to Arles, Laurent wanted someone. Damen was watching him with those same warm, dark eyes.
"Let me," Laurent said, and sank to his knees.
"Laurent..."
His knees ached on the tiles but it was good to remember he was doing this freely. Any other memories were washed away by the new ones he could make here.
Everything was Damen: the size of him and his warm skin, the soft touch of his hand on Laurent's face, and his voice making sounds of pleasure and saying his name like an offering. There was no space for anything else in Laurent's head. He swallowed Damen down letting it overrule every other memory. This was all that mattered now.
Damen groaned when he came, a wonderful sound that Laurent already loved as much as the rest of him.
He was almost ready to follow Damen right over the edge himself when Damen pulled him to his feet, and dropped to his knees, reversing their positions.
Damen kneeling for him like that would have had Laurent crowing only a few months ago. Instead, he caught his breath when Damen took him in his mouth, and didn't hold back when he came undone deep in his throat. For a moment, nothing else existed but this bliss and Damen's beloved face.
He held on to Damen's head, stroking his neck as the pleasure ebbed. The steam made everything hazy, but the feelings on Damen's face were clear. Laurent felt their echo in his own heart.
They didn't speak until they were both soaking in the water, side by side. Heavy contentment settled around Laurent's limbs almost warmer than the water, and he rested against Damen's shoulder in the deep bath.
"You don't believe it's him," Damen said, quiet and thoughtful. He didn't need to specify who they were talking about.
"It's impossible, but I don't want to talk about that now. Tell me about your nephew."
Damen was nothing but a proud uncle when it came to the little prince, and now was no different. "He smiles all the time now," Damen began. "He has a real gummy smile. He just seems happy all the time: happy to lie in a corner and watch the world, especially if he can see birds from the windows. His nursemaid tells me he is growing well. A large baby, she says."
"I'm not surprised." Laurent tapped Damen's broad chest making him laugh. "Has there been any sign of his mother?"
"No," Damen sobered. "She's still a wanted woman in Akielos. What kind of person leaves their child behind?"
"The kind of person who used that same child as a bargaining piece," Laurent said. "Maybe she loved him in her own way, but she still used him. I will never understand Guion either." He would never understand trading a child for a chance at power.
"Jokaste wasn't like Guion," Damen said quickly, and Laurent kissed him in apology at bringing her up. Damen sighed. "There is talk."
"Talk?"
Damen gave him a sideways look. "That Apollo is mine, instead of Kastor's son."
"Hm," Laurent trailed his fingers across Damen's chest, watching the contrast between their skin. "I'm not surprised. After all, how could Jokaste have known with certainty? She said he was born early and she was already pregnant soon after you were brought here. Time puts a question to her words."
Damen was watching him closely. "The rumours started when I was still confined to bed in Ios, when you where still holding my seat in Akielos..." He didn't need to finish the implication. Damen wasn't entirely unintelligent.
"I can't stop people from talking," Laurent told him.
"No, but you do like to start them talking."
"Only when it's to my benefit," Laurent said, honestly. "Have the Kyroi all accepted him as their Crown Prince?"
Damen relaxed again, stretching out his legs under water. "Yes. It's official. With a clear line of succession in my father's grandson, the throne is stable, especially if the Empress of Vask ever discovers any children of mine in her country."
"Then the rumours can only ever help him," Laurent said with satisfaction. "And I've been thinking, with this impostor turning up, and with how contentious my rule remains among my uncle's old allies, and given that I will certainly die without an heir... I have some second cousins, a little removed from the throne, but nobility nonetheless. Lady Bonlievre delivered a daughter not two weeks ago, and there are others. I would never push for an unwanted match, but perhaps one day you would like to introduce your nephew to some of my younger relatives. If he should find a friend or companion among them..."
"Ah," Damen murmured, "a future solidifying of our lines."
"The eternal work of kings." Veretians would never accept the bastard of a bastard ruling their country, but a foreign noble who might only be the bastard of the legitimate heir, if he married into the Veretian royal line, that may be a different matter. It was something to work towards, at least.
"I think it would be a good idea to introduce Apollo to his Veretian counterparts soon," Damen agreed. "Their friendship will be a valuable thing one day. Are you so concerned about Vere's nobles in the future?"
"It's Vere," Laurent said. Damen would know what that meant. If there wasn't a plot for Lady Bonlievre's future yet, there would be soon. At the moment, Laurent still represented the biggest target.
"Whatever you need to secure your country, I will give you."
"Our country," Laurent corrected, quietly.
"Our country," Damen agreed.
On to Part 5.
