Chapter Text
Damianos roves his eyes over Laurent’s body once more, the corner of his lip quirking upwards. His bastard brother is standing stoic at his side, glaring at Auguste, and Damianos’ newest appointed kyros is whispering fervently in his ear. Kastor had done so earlier, and Laurent had heard something of a man named Adrastus.
Laurent doesn’t shift, for the shackles chaining his wrists together would make a sound, and that would draw more unwanted attention to his person. Instead, he glares at Damianos’ wanting gaze, and waits for Theomedes to arrive to discuss the exchange of Laurent’s release.
At thirty-two, Auguste looks the part of a regal king; not a hair out of place. But Laurent watches his fingers twitch where they rest over the pommel of his sheathed sword, and he knows that Auguste is anxious to have Laurent returned to his side. Wounded in his battle with Damianos, throwing himself between the blade of the Akielon and his brother, Laurent now stands as the Akielons' prisoner.
And their bargaining chip.
Laurent knows losing Delfeur would wound them economically, as well as hurt the morale of their people as a whole, but he also knows, were he in Auguste’s place, he would give up his entire kingdom to have his brother hale and hearty at his side.
The pain in his shoulder is throbbing, and with the adrenaline gone, he can feel it acutely. Damianos’ sword had gone straight through, meant for Auguste’s chest, Auguste’s heart. Laurent had collapsed, and in Auguste’s shock, Damianos had placed the sword to Laurent’s throat and demanded Auguste’s surrender.
And here they are, Laurent a prize between two kingdoms, being leered at by one man, glared at by two, and the other unconcerned with his being either way. It is Auguste’s gaze he focuses on, unwavering and assuring. He will bring Laurent home if he must slaughter the whole land around them.
Damianos comes to stand by his side, five years older than Laurent with a reputation well-known through the kingdoms, and doesn’t smile now that he is to begin negotiations.
Interestingly, Theomedes does not come forward, nor does Kastor.
“Delpha, for your prince.”
Auguste nods, lips set in a thin line. “Agreed.”
Damianos does not look at his father, but Laurent can see that he wants to. He looks down at Laurent though, and Laurent watches those dark eyes gazing at him again, lust more than apparent. Without looking away, he addresses Auguste once more, “If you are so quick to agree, I wonder what else you would be willing to give up for your dear, sweet brother.”
Laurent keeps his expression gentle, leaning closer to keep the words between them. “If you find me sweet now, then you are truly in for a treat.” He leans ever closer, never taking his eyes away from Damianos’, who looks enamored already. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors; that I’ve never taken a lover before. I’ll warn you, should you think of taking me to your bed—” he rips Damianos’ sword from its sheath, heavy and foreign in his linked hands, and presses the blade to his throat. A flurry of motion bursts around them, and Laurent whispers lowly, sneering, “I’ll kill you.”
If anything, Damianos’ eyes seem to sparkle at the promise.