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‘Damen, do you know the story of the witchking?’ a voice asked from behind him.

Damen held back a sigh. He had been dealing with the younger Veretian prince constantly underfoot for near three weeks now, and though the boy was not unsweet, fourteen, and short for his age, and always carrying a book tucked into his elbow, Damen found he was reaching his limit. He was annoyed to be stuck in Arles, when he should be in Ios, and Prince Laurent was no salve.

‘I do,’ Damen said, still concentrating most of his attention on the swing of his blade against the dummy. Prince Auguste had beaten Damen in three of their four bouts, and Damen’s pride was wounded. He slashed at the dummy again.

‘You know how he was tricked into taking the body of a rabbit—’

‘I do,’ Damen said, before Laurent could launch into another detailed account of a Veretian children’s tale. Once, Damen had allowed Laurent to begin and the boy had talked for near to an hour of the horses that made the wind, only to fall silent when Damen had explained that in Akielon myths, horses had been born from the sea, and then corner him over supper after spending the afternoon researching Akielon stories in the library. ‘The foxgod tricked the witchking into taking the form of a rabbit and ate him.’

‘I always asked why the witchking didn’t change into something else,’ Laurent said. ‘Can witchkings still transform once they have been eaten? I would have turned into a horse and burst free from the foxgod.’

‘I never thought of that,’ Damen said, honestly. It did not surprise him that Laurent had managed to bring the topic back around to horses again, aside from books, horses seemed the only thing that interested the young prince. ‘I suppose the story wouldn’t make sense if the witchking won.’

‘No,’ Laurent said. ‘You should lift your arm higher, next time.’

‘What?’ Damen looked over his shoulder. The blonde prince was sitting on the outer wall, his legs swinging, as he watched Damen.

‘Auguste is able to overpower you because you keep your guard too low,’ Laurent said, seriously. ‘That’s why he’s beating you.’

‘Perhaps he is overpowering me because he is stronger than me,’ Damen said stubbornly. He had never once heard the boy willingly attend any sort of weapons training, and the thought that Laurent had seen something he had not rankled him.

Laurent laughed, and then turned pink. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Laurie? Laurie are you down here?’ Auguste appeared at the door. ‘You are supposed to be at a fitting for a new jacket.’

Laurent, scowling already at his brother’s use of his detested nickname, groaned. ‘But I don’t want to.’

‘If you don’t come along you shall have to wear your old one,’ Auguste held out a hand. ‘And that’s at least two inches short in the wrist, remember? You can only blame yourself for growing.’

‘Don’t let me keep you,’ Damen said.

‘What were the two of you doing?’ Auguste asked as he tried to tug Laurent down off his perch.

‘We were talking about the witchking and the foxgod,’ Laurent said, brightening. ‘I told Damen about my idea of turning into a horse. And I told him he needs to practise more to beat you.’

Auguste laughed, leant down and whispered something in Laurent’s ear that made the younger boy let out an enraged screech, his face turning bright red, as Auguste successfully wrangled him.

‘It is not common for men to remove so much clothing to train,’ Auguste called to Damen. ‘Or were you perhaps hoping for a different sort of audience.’

‘Auguste!’ Laurent’s voice was piping hot. ‘We need to go to my fitting. I can’t wear last year’s outfit to father’s nameday celebrations.’

Damen looked down at himself. He wore a set of loose-fitting Veretian-style trousers and nothing else. In all honesty, Damen thought that the trousers might constitute Veretian undergarments, but he could not bear to train in full garb, and Damen could not refuse Veretian clothing entirely for fear of offending his hosts and their effort and expense in having clothes tailored for him.

‘Yes, of course,’ Auguste said, smiling. He tweaked Laurent’s nose. ‘You do care so much about that.’

‘I do,’ Laurent glared up at his brother, and then glanced back at where Damen stood. He shuffled, and tucked one of the long strands of his pale hair behind his ears. ‘Remember what I said, Damianos.’

‘Have fun at your fitting,’ Damen said. He pushed his damp curls back from his forehead. ‘Laurie.’

*

Laurent was reading yet another tome while Damen and Auguste sparred. The young prince wore a bejewelled violet jacket and sensible navy trousers in that fanciful way that the boy seemed to dress – half for a ball, half to scrap around on Damen and his brother’s heels.

Damen cursed under his breath as Auguste closed in on him again, his right arm shaking under the weight of Auguste’s blows.

’You should lift your arm.’ Laurent’s voice sounded in Damen’s ear, and Damen surged, before he even realised he had shifted his stance. Auguste’s expression faltered from the usual impassivity and Damen forced his blade up and back, cutting in below his guard. Auguste jumped out of range and Damen felt a thrill tickle up his spine as he finally took the role of pursuer. He forced Auguste back, a grin between his teeth, pressing down on him until Auguste’s sword scattered the sawdust on the floor and he yielded.

‘That was different,’ Auguste laughed, retrieving his sword. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, ‘You spotted it, then?’

Damen glanced over at where Laurent was sitting in the stands, still locked to his book, though Damen could have sworn the boy had not turned a page that whole time. Laurent did not look back.

*

‘You beat him!’ Laurent cried out when he found Damen in the hottest part of the gardens. Damen lifted his head as the boy pranced over, beaming wide.

‘Yes,’ Damen said, belatedly. ‘Thank you for your advice.’

Laurent’s grin turned mischievous, ‘I always hear Giorgione telling him off about that. You’re welcome.’

‘Why tell me at all?’ Damen asked.

Laurent flopped down on the stone seat beside Damen, forcing Damen to move his leg. ‘You’re very good. Auguste is used to being the best. He’s always telling me I need to practise more, and now I can tell him he needs to instead.’

Damen tried to suppress a smile; it seemed even golden princes succumbed to petty sibling rivalries. He was sure Kastor would be glad to hear that younger siblings were the same across the continent. Still, Damen could not help but think that Auguste was right to be concerned with his precocious little brother refusing to learn how to handle a blade. ‘Perhaps you should listen to him, young one,’ Damen said.

‘Young one?’ Laurent wrinkled his nose. ‘You’re only four years older than me.’

When Damen had been fourteen he had been in the midst of an early growth spurt, growing tall and strong from wrestling and swimming and practise with sword and spear. He had lain with girls and a boy, and his father had started to keep him at his side through meetings with kyroi. Laurent seemed very small, and very slender, like he would shatter if he fell from a tree; he was so sheltered Damen found it rather amusing, always escorted from the halls long before any sort of the Veretian erotic dances could be performed, with little idea of how babes came to be; and he avoided every duty he had as a prince with careless dismissal. In his letters from Nikandros, the man seemed particularly unimpressed with the younger prince, though Damen found parts of his assessment unfounded, he could not deny that Laurent was indulged.

‘Your brother is concerned you are not taking your duties seriously,’ Damen said, without getting into all the reasons Laurent seemed so very young to him.

Laurent scowled, ‘I do so.’

‘Do you?’ Damen asked. ‘I seem to recall him having to fetch you for quite a few lessons and other duties.’

‘Well,’ Laurent shrugged, swinging his feet, ‘I prefer spending time reading or with you, because you’re so interesting. Or Phillipe. Or Auguste, when he isn’t being boring.’

‘So when I’m not here, you spend all your time at the stables and the library?’ Damen let his voice grow teasing, a small furl of affection unknotting as Laurent included him in his very short list of worthwhile activities. Perhaps the boy was not so very annoying, after all, he was clearly spoilt and undisciplined to an extreme, but he was headstrong and intelligent, and Damen could not help but feel flattered to rank so highly. ‘Do you smell more strongly of horse and old books than you do now?’

‘I don’t smell!’ Laurent exclaimed, cheeks glowing red. He gave Damen a kick that spoke of his time in the saddle. ‘I don’t! Damen!’

Damen only laughed.

*

‘Damen,’ Auguste cocked his head and Damen stood to follow him. They wandered through the corridors until they reached the royal family’s private rooms. Laurent had been escorted to bed after a day of uncharacteristic obedience, the King and Queen were still reclining far below along with their courtiers, enjoying the first mild heat of spring, so they were alone in the solar.

Damen eyed Auguste carefully. It had not escaped his notice that the older prince was tall and slender, with hair of a pale honey blonde, though Damen had not allowed his thoughts to stray much beyond an aesthetic appreciation. For the first time Damen let himself drift into a world where he might lean over and press their lips together. Nikandros would scold him, but Damen did not mind that.

‘Auguste,’ Damen said. His voice had dropped slightly, and when Auguste sat, and tilted his head, Damen felt his tongue go a little dry. He had not slept with someone older than him in some time, and he struggled to recall if he had ever slept with a man his senior. Probably not, that was not common for men of his—their—status.

‘I wished to speak to you,’ Auguste said, ‘of Laurent.’

‘Laurent?’ Damen frowned, and sat down across from Auguste, all his desires quashed. ‘Is he well?’

‘Well? I think so,’ Auguste smiled. ‘No, I mean I wish to speak to you of your relationship with Laurent.’

Damen’s mind flung back to Laurent’s advice, and he wondered how Auguste had learnt that it was his brother who had told Damen how to beat him.

‘I am sure you are aware that my brother has been very taken by you,’ Auguste said cautiously. ‘And I am grateful for your kindness and patience with him, I know he can be quite… intense.’

‘Laurent is,’ Damen paused. ‘I have not spent much time with children of his age. I hope I have not displeased him.’

‘No,’ Auguste pulled a face. ‘You have become somewhat a hero to my brother, I am afraid, since your introduction he has talked of very little but yourself with the family. We have all found it very odd, for he is not usually like this with guests or strangers. He worships your every thought and action, and hangs onto your every word, and unfortunately, I have come to understand that you have spoken in such a way to make my brother feel that he is failing in his duties as prince.’

Ah.

‘I am sorry,’ Damen said. ‘I only meant to echo your own reminders to him.’

Auguste nodded, ‘I had thought as much. I am sure I do not need to tell you that my brother is only fourteen, and not my father’s heir. He is a child, he is not responsible for any part of the kingdom, and our parents are capable of enforcing discipline where it is required. Laurent was rather distressed last night, though, so I knew I needed to speak to you.’

‘I shall fix it,’ Damen promised. ‘I did not mean to upset him.’

‘Do not tell him I told you,’ Auguste said, in earnest, ‘He is very proud, and would be hurt and insulted if he felt you were kowtowing because I had intervened.’

‘Or course,’ Damen wondered how he might go about that and despaired. He was not the best liar at the best of times, and he thought with slight consternation that Laurent would probably see straight through him if he tried to talk around it.

‘One must be careful with how they speak to children,’ Auguste said, carefully. ‘They have a knack for absorbing even the most offhanded comments and shaping themselves around them.’

‘I understand,’ Damen said. He saw it now, even as Auguste scolded him, how gently he placed his words so that no blow of accusation might hit Damen too hard. It was worlds away from how Kastor had corrected Damen’s errors, always laughing, poking fun, until Damen also had to laugh. ‘You know, you really are a wonderful older brother.’

Auguste smiled, fondly. ‘Thank you, Damen.’

*

‘Laurent!’ Damen waved and jogged over to the outdoor riding arena where the boy was jumping his grey horse.

Laurent startled in the saddle, and then relaxed, waved back, and trotted Phillipe over to where Damen was standing.

‘Hello,’ Laurent said, beaming, his face sweaty and red and glowing. ‘Are you going fetch Gloriana? We can take turns with the jumps.’

‘I was wondering,’ Damen said. ‘If you would like to go on a ride with me?’

Jord was to accompany them, and he rode in back while Laurent eagerly pointed out different plants and chattered away about his studies and asked Damen about the Akielon vocabulary, and what sort of lessons he had.

In all, Damen did not think he would have thought that anything was amiss had Auguste not made him aware. It unsettled him a little, to look at Laurent’s bright expression, knowing he had been so hurt and could hide it so well.

When they reached the lake, Damen let Laurent lead him down to where the bank turned to clear blue to see the small freshwater fish that darted amongst the rushes.

‘That one’s you,’ Laurent said, pointing at a round fish with a protruding jaw and bulging head. He giggled into his hand as Damen glared, and then shrieked as Damen splashed him, scaring the fish away altogether.

Later, Damen and Jord were ranking Laurent’s technique as he climbed a tree when the guard turned to him, ‘I was not sure of you, Prince Damianos.’

‘Is that so?’ Damen asked. He called out, ‘Stretch your left arm out.’

Laurent scrabbled up another branch.

‘Yes,’ Jord said, simply. He smiled, his dull olive skin wrinkling at the corners of his lips and the edge of his eyes. ‘You have surprised me.’

‘In being better at rating tree climbing than you?’

‘In your character,’ Jord said. He did not expand, for he was not a man who lived to speak his every thought, and because Laurent jumped down from the tree and started back towards the water, calling for Damen to swim with him.

Damen attempted to help Laurent from his jacket, but the boy batted his hands away and unlaced himself so quickly his hands seemed to blur. He then laughed at Damen’s attempt to untie his own laces, and took over, his slender fingers tugging them free faster than Damen thought he would ever be able to learn.

Damen tugged off his trousers, then, while Laurent kept his own fastened, and they both jumped into the water.

‘Join us, Jord!’ Damen called, laughing through the chill.

‘No thank you,’ the man said. ‘I should like to remain dry.’

Laurent and Damen exchanged a glance, and at once began to splash water towards the guard who merely stepped back a few paces.

‘You are only soaking your own jackets,’ Jord said, once they paused to draw breath.

‘Oh,’ Damen had not thought of that. ‘Well. They’ll dry out.’

He and Laurent both struck out in the water, and Damen noticed that Laurent seemed to only be able to paddle himself forward.

‘Spread your arms,’ he said, demonstrating. ‘Like a frog.’

Laurent tried, and immediately started sinking. Damen dropped to his feet and reached out, grabbing Laurent around the chest. Laurent sank further, choking as some of the water got in his mouth and spitting it back out.

‘Breathe,’ Damen said. He let one hand support Laurent’s chest, and the other his stomach, so Laurent was in no danger of sinking again. ‘Kick with your legs outwards and spread your arms in a half circle.’

Laurent followed his instructions, and quickly picked up on how to perform both movements simultaneously, though as Damen went to let go, he gave a little squark and grabbed his shoulders.

‘You can do it,’ Damen said. Laurent looked up at him with giant eyes. ‘I’m right here.’

Laurent let go with one hand, and then, slowly, with the other. Damen stepped back and watched with satisfaction as Laurent began to propel himself back towards land in clunky gestures, until he found a point at which he could stand.

‘I did it!’ he said.

‘Well done,’ Damen ruffled Laurent’s hair impulsively, which did not seem to please the boy. ‘You are a very fast learner.’

Laurent preened, and pulled himself up onto the bank, leaving his legs in the water. ‘I know.’

Damen took a breath and exhaled reluctantly. He needed to do it. ‘Have you ever heard the story of Bariolas?’

Laurent wrinkled his nose, ‘I don’t think so. Is it Akielon?’

‘It is,’ Damen said. ‘He was a hero who was born from the sea, and carved the coastline of Akielos from the ocean.’

‘Is that why Akielons are such good swimmers?’ Laurent asked seriously.

Damen laughed, ‘Not all of Akielos is beside the ocean, but perhaps – in Ios at least. But the hero Bariolas was an arrogant man, and always believed he knew best, better even than the King in the South.

‘One day, Bariolas went to the southern palace and came across the young Princess Ashanta training with a bow. The hero was at once struck by her beauty, and called out to her. To impress her, he began to explain how one should hold a bow, and the princess let him position her to aim at her target, let him take her hand and pull back her arrow.’

Laurent was leaning forward, his chin resting on one knee, his blue eyes staring up at Damen and his shoulders moving very slowly.

‘The princess missed the shot, and she laughed. She stepped free from Bariolas’ hands, drew a new arrow, notched it, and let it go – the arrow struck. She did so again, and then again, before turning back to Bariolas with a smile.

‘The hero saw his mistake and asked the princess for her forgiveness and her hand, which he promised he would not try to guide again, both of which she granted.’

‘Did they live happily?’ Laurent asked.

‘I would think so,’ Damen said, with a smile. ‘After all, Bariolas had been cured of his arrogance.’ He paused. ‘I tell you this, Laurent, because I feel that I misspoke a few days ago; that I too have become aware of my own arrogance.’

One of Laurent’s hands fluttered, ‘What do you mean?’

Damen looked the boy squarely, ‘I mean that I have seen you, your conduct and your character, and I am very sorry for saying that you were not fulfilling your duties to Vere, for I was entirely incorrect in that assessment. I hope that you can forgive me.’

Laurent flushed, tucking his damp hair back behind his ears, ‘Of course you are forgiven, Damianos.’

‘Oh, I am Damianos now?’ Damen pouted.

‘Damen,’ Laurent sucked on his lips.

‘I hope you will not dwell on words I spoke without knowing your person as I do now,’ Damen said.

‘No,’ Laurent said. Then, ‘Does that make me Princess Ashanta?’

Damen laughed, ‘There are worse things.’

‘Bariolas, for one,’ Laurent giggled, and this time he yelled when Damen splashed him before getting to his feet and racing back across the grass, Laurent shrieking behind him.

*

The preparations for King Aleron’s nameday celebrations had been ongoing throughout the months of Damen’s visit, but had ramped up somewhat in the last few days. The palace had been finely decorated in brilliant blues and silvers, filled with guests, and dancers and musicians, and every corner gleamed.

The afternoon celebrations saw Damen, finally wearing a chiton – as the royal representative of Akielos – spending time amongst the courtiers. Berenger had brought some rich wine, and Vannes brought her wicked tongue, Andrei brought skills of minute observation, and Ancel, Berenger’s pet, brought enough gossip to keep them all entertained throughout the formalities. Laurent and Auguste were sat on the dais, alongside their parents, observing the events and gifting.

Eventually, though, they all stepped into the dining hall for the evening meal. The room was ostentatious in its everyday appearance, and, Damen thought, it had never seemed more of an eyesore – every inch of it gleamed and glittered, as did the people inside it, draped in velvets and candelabras and lace, and every long table seemed encrusted with silver dishes that overflowed with pies in the shape of starbursts, of carved fruits, of towers of fruit and pastry that created the forms of birds or animals. Damen gave a particularly unlikely sculpted form of a dolphin mid-breach, that had been created from miniature round puffs of pastry, a long, distrustful look.

‘Did you see the horse?’ Laurent appeared at Damen’s waist. He wore his new clothing – a bright blue jacket and trouser with a frilled white neck piece. Every part of him gleamed, from the silver stitching that had been placed across his front and back and Damen held back an amused huff when he realised that the pattern was of a horse bursting from the wind, followed by a horse racing from a wave. He grabbed Damen’s arm and tugged him over to where indeed a golden-brown horse had been carved from some kind of sweetmeat. ‘Doesn’t it look like Phillipe?’

‘It’s brown,’ Damen said.

Laurent rolled his eyes, ‘Not the colour, the face!’

‘Oh, yes,’ Damen agreed, without really looking. He had learnt it was best to let Laurent boast about his pony unencumbered by reality.

Once the gasping and cries of admiration had passed to an acceptable degree, people took their seats and began to rip the gorgeously crafted feast into scraps. Damen stuck mostly to what seemed familiar – fish pies, cuts of venison, golden potatoes that were carved into the shape of crowns – punctuated by the occasional dish that Laurent or Auguste would insist on him trying – a tepid soup that tasted of mint, spinach parcels that contained fragrant meat, a hunk of some scorched looking food that turned out to be charred sweetcorn.

The musicians played, and throughout the meal dancers tossed their arms and kicked their legs in dramatic spins, their heavily made-up faces growing slick with sweat. Next came dancers crusted in jewels and gold bells, their bodies carefully joining the chorus of the harp and strings.

At this point, they were on the ninth course – dried and jellied fruits – when the fire dancers took their turn. Ancel stood in pride of place, his hair for once had been sensibly swept back in a braid, and he led the group in a feat that kept Damen’s stomach in his chest. The dessert course was brought out and Laurent gave a happy squeal – he had only picked at the last four courses – but now grabbed at everything within his reach and began eating with renewed vigour. Damen allowed for one of the sponges stuffed with strawberries and cream to be served to him, and then refused everything else, even as Laurent stared at his plate in horror.

As the final cheese course was served, the fire dancers retired, Ancel to Berenger’s side where he accepted the food his master placed between his teeth and a proprietary hand on his back. Here, the King and Queen rose and took to the cleared dance floor – they began with one hand on the other’s waist and one hand raised and stepped together in such a way that Damen could see they had done this many times before. They talked while they danced, and Damen watched Queen Hennike’s face crinkle with laughter as the music shifted and the next couples joined them on the floor. The King and Queen did not seem to notice the change, and Damen marvelled at that. What was it like, he wondered, to be so caught up in another that your surroundings truly faded away?

‘Stay with Damen,’ Auguste said, and Damen was suddenly back in the conversation. Auguste pressed Laurent down into his own seat.

‘Auguste!’ Laurent protested.

‘I shall make my excuses as soon as I can,’ the prince promised, and Laurent folded his arms with a raised eyebrow. Damen understood him, once the Crown Prince stepped onto the floor, he was unlikely to leave before the sunrise. Still, Auguste and Vannes moved to the new steps with ease.

‘Why are you not dancing?’ Laurent asked, picking at his clothing. The silver bracelets at his wrist clinked.

‘I do not know any dances in the Veretian style,’ Damen answered, truthfully.

‘Oh,’ Laurent said. His face turned red and he looked out at where two men were stumbling from the floor, their hands groping, towards the doors. ‘I do.’

Damen blinked. He ran a few things back through his head – Laurent’s nature to follow him about, Auguste’s assertion that this was unusual for Laurent, the crushing impact his words could have on the prince’s ego. Oh. Oh no.

‘Erm,’ Damen said.

‘Never mind,’ Laurent said, glum. ‘You would hate it. I’m sorry.’

‘No,’ Damen said hastily. He did not mean to upset him. ‘I would be honoured, Prince Laurent.’

Laurent lifted his head, and studied Damen’s expression. He smiled, ‘It is all mine, Damianos Exalted.’

And so, Damen allowed for Laurent to escort him to the floor like he was a maiden. Laurent, with an expression of serious concentration placed a hand on Damen’s elbow, where Damen put his own to Laurent’s shoulder, and their other hands clasped.

‘Just watch what I do and follow,’ Laurent whispered, and then Damen was being tugged forwards. ‘Have you heard this song before?’

‘No,’ Damen said, looking at their feet.

‘Usually it would be sung, too,’ Laurent said. ‘It’s the lament of the winterwitch of Kempt. She froze her own heart.’

‘What happened to her?’ Damen asked.

Laurent led them ambitiously between two spinning pairs, ‘She meets a woman from the south with flowers in her hair who melts it.’

‘What a stroke of luck,’ Damen said.

‘It’s very similar to an Akielon tale,’ Laurent said, then ducked his head. ‘At least, the translation I read.’

Damen wracked his brain, ‘Klytemnestra, the queen of frost and night?’

‘Exactly,’ Laurent nodded. ‘Except, her heart was melted by the first dance between the lovers, correct?’

‘The heat from her lover’s body against hers. How did the woman from the south melt a winterwitch’s heart without a dance?’ Damen asked.

‘With hot soup,’ Laurent said, earnestly. Damen laughed.

They made it through a dance, Damen’s natural agility saving them from stumbling into other guests several times.

They bowed to each other formally as the song ended, and then one started that Damen recognised, and he let a smile break across his face. ‘Would you?’

Laurent let Damen position him with a flat expression, and then Damen pulled them into a fast, spinning dance that made the boy cry out with delight, his feet quickly matching Damen’s and his smile blurring as they sped up, and up, and up. The music faded into a different piece, leaving them both breathless and laughing, a wide birth had been awarded to them, and they left the floor, dizzy.

It was not long before someone approached Damen for another Veretian dance, and Auguste claimed Laurent, this was another that Damen did not know, so he was forced to focus on the steps. He and Laurent did not dance again, but whenever he looked over, the boy was already staring back at him. The small amount of wine Laurent had been allowed had made his eyes shiny and his cheeks pinch red, and Damen realised he had been very lucky Laurent was not the sort of boy to attempt any sort of real advances – beyond at least, taking Damen to see his pony, mild advice, and chatting about the respective mythos of their countries.

Damen was very lucky, indeed, that he was leaving a few days from now, and that he would be very busy with his own servants and Auguste with prior plans. He needed to cauterise that wound – he knew Laurent would thank him one day.

Damen thought of the plans he had made for Laurent’s nameday. Surely, he could still send the boy a gift.

*

It was not until many years had passed that Damen laid eyes on Prince Laurent again, and of course, he began with a faux pas.

‘Prince Laurent,’ Damen spoke without thinking, addressing the younger prince before his elder sibling. ‘Prince Auguste.’ He bowed his head, kicking himself.

Laurent was watching him, even as Auguste pulled Damen from a clasp of the wrist into a hug. Damen glanced away, and then back, his face felt hot.

The boy he had left in Vere five years ago, was no more. Laurent had grown up to be as devastatingly lovely as his brother – more fine-featured, less weathered, his hair was paler and shorter, his eyes narrower, though he stood of an equal height with his sibling.

‘You seem most changed,’ Damen said, when Laurent stepped forward to greet him.

‘Prince Damianos,’ Laurent said, voice cool water over pebbles. ‘I’m sure I must seem that way, for you have not laid eyes on me in half a decade, but I doubt we have spent enough time together in all for you to claim I have changed all that much in essence.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Damen laughed and rubbed at his cheek. ‘I hope you have had a pleasant journey.’

‘It was adequate,’ Laurent said, and then left in a flurry of servants and guards with little more than a nod.

Auguste raised an eyebrow, ‘I told you he was upset at your excuses.’

Damen placed a hand over his chest. ‘Auguste, he is…’

‘Refrain,’ Auguste said. ‘I promise, I have heard it all and I should like to retain some respect for you.’

Marlas seemed much changed since the last time they had all been here, standing in the sun and devising the treaty that would decide the fate of these lands. Damen could recall the Veretian royal family dressed in mourning colours; Queen Hennike had recovered from her bought of illness, but almost as quickly as they could begin to celebrate, the King’s brother had died in his bed.

King Aleron had sent a missive as quickly as could be expected from a mourning man, his grief had left him looking hollow, as he promised to return Delpha to Akielos on the condition that no freed man, woman, or child would be enslaved within its lands. Theomedes had agreed, the promise of Kemptian support quickening the negotiations.

Damen found it all so strange to look back on now – to think only six years ago, he had been surrounded by slaves. That first year taking Delpha back into Akielos had changed so much – rebellions and mass migration north from escaped slaves; the way the lands had prospered with an expanding workforce, while others faltered. Nikandros’ father had been appointed Kyros, and he kept Nikandros so busy he barely had any time for correspondence, and Damen was not allowed to travel over land to visit him while circumstances remained so tumultuous. And then, a light in the darkness, when his father turned to him with heavy eyes, and promised Damen, his voice full of heartache, that he would not leave him a broken kingdom. He had freed all the slaves of Akielos the following month; Damen had been stuck in Arles, befriending the people who had once been his enemies, pretending that nothing was amiss.

Now the fields bloomed, the only red to be seen was that of the flowers, and Damen walked beside Auguste without animosity.

It was odd, then, when Damen heard the clash of swords early in the morning. He got up, allowed a yellow himation to be wrapped around him, and followed the sound, ready to deliver a sharp order. He almost swallowed his tongue, when instead of finding two guards or soldiers taking advantage of the early morning quiet to fight out their differences, he found the two Veretian princes and Jord. Laurent was between the two, moving between both swords with quick, surefooted movements, his blade dancing in silver arcs.

It seemed Laurent had indeed become more focused on his swordsmanship, for he was fluid as water and the weapon seemed an extension of his arm as he whipped it about with a considered austerity that was unlike most Veretian swordsmanship Damen had seen.

As Damen watched, Laurent disarmed Jord and then ducked beneath Auguste’s blade, forcing his brother’s sword arm up, in the same way that he had advised Damen to do all those years before. This time, though, Auguste twisted away, pushing Laurent’s sword out until Laurent’s hand had to release.

‘That was good,’ Auguste said, as Laurent picked up his weapon and sheathed it. ‘Thank you, Jord.’

Laurent looked up, and with a magnetic sort of knowledge, he caught Damen’s gaze. He looked surprised for a moment, and then his face flattened back into the stare of uninterest. He stormed off towards the tents, and Damen was left to watch after him, his head oddly empty of thoughts.

*

‘Laurent!’ Damen was forced to rush after the pale head of hair that was darting away.

Laurent slowed, but only just, ‘Damianos.’

Damen quickened his pace until he was walking shoulder-to-shoulder with the other man. ‘We have not had much of a chance to speak,’ Damen said.

‘Indeed,’ Laurent said. ‘Perhaps if I had believed you were at all inclined to speak with me, I would have made more time for it.’

‘Of course, I am so inclined,’ Damen said.

‘Forgive me,’ Laurent said, sharp. ‘I must have misremembered what a great effort you put into correspondence in the five years since you saw me last.’ Damen swallowed. ‘I am not so stupid to believe you care for my thoughts, Damianos, nor am I unaware of your propensity to tumble blondes.’

‘I do,’ Damen blanched. ‘Care for your thoughts, that is. Not that I—I do appreciate fair hair, but—’

‘Do not concern yourself, Damianos,’ Laurent said. He still did not grant Damen even a look. ‘I am not a naïve child anymore, you do not have to pretend you enjoyed my inane conversation.’

‘It was not inane,’ Damen said. ‘And I was not pretending! Laurent.’

He grasped Laurent by the elbow, and felt his entire body stiffen. ‘Let go.’

Damen did, and stopped in his tracks. ‘I am sorry.’

‘Me too,’ Laurent said.

*

It was a few more days before Damen and Laurent found themselves alone again. Damen had visited the lake after a bought of wrestling – Auguste had joined in, along with one of his men Lazar, who Damen had noticed staring at both Laurent and Damen’s own man Pallas, much to the joy of the Akielons, and Laurent had been nowhere to be found.

Once they had finished – Damen undefeated as ever – made his excuses, and headed towards the large expanse of water to the left of the fields to wash and swim. He missed the ocean.

Once he had stripped down and left his chiton hanging over the branch of a nearby tree, Damen strolled towards the water, until he saw an accusing blonde head bobbing near the middle of the lake. Damen looked down and there saw a pile of Veretian clothing in royal blue. On top of the clothing, though, Damen saw a delicate silver chain that held a filigree pendant. The charm, Damen knew, showed the sculpted image of a woman with a bow and a man kneeling before her. Damen had commissioned it specifically for Laurent’s fifteenth nameday, and he blinked down at it now.

I should not be seeing this, Damen thought, and he took a step backwards. There came a condemning crack, as his heel landed on a twig, and Damen saw Laurent’s head whip around.

‘Prince Laurent,’ Damen waved, ‘I was just leaving!’

Laurent swam with sure strokes over to the bank, ‘Prince Damianos. Don’t think of leaving on my account, I am perfectly capable of sharing the lake.’ He brought his hands up onto the grass and leant forward.

He was shirtless, Damen’s tongue felt dry. He watched rivulets of water run down the pale flesh, catching in the small swirls of hair around Laurent’s nipples. He wondered if Laurent still held on to the Veretian scruples about outdoor nudity, or if he had removed all his clothing.

‘You do not mind?’ Damen asked.

‘No,’ Laurent kicked backwards, propelling himself with his face leant back to the light. His hair was slicked back with water, and his pale cheeks and lashes caught the sun, making him look golden against the clear blue water.

Damen prepared to jump in. When he looked back down at the pile of clothes again, though, he saw that the necklace had vanished.

He blinked, looked out after Laurent, and felt a swell of something like hope in his chest.

He started slowly, swimming out into expanse of water. He let himself think it over. Laurent still wore his necklace. Laurent did not want him to see. Laurent still wore his necklace.

‘You are an impressive swimmer,’ Damen called out, when Laurent drifted closer. ‘For a Veretian.’

Laurent smirked, and then rolled his eyes, ‘My teacher was acceptable.’

‘Do you remember that day?’ Damen asked. ‘At the lake?’

‘I do,’ Laurent said. Damen swam closer. Laurent’s slim eyes narrowed.

‘I told you a story,’ Damen said. ‘Of the Akielon hero Bar—’

‘I told you,’ Laurent’s voice grew heated. ‘I do.’

‘And I apologised,’ Damen said. ‘For speaking out of turn with you. I hope you will allow me to apologise to you again, now.’

Laurent was quiet.

Damen swallowed, ‘I thought I had done you a favour in minimising our contact. You were only fourteen, I was five years your senior; I had a duty of care to you. I did not wish for you to be confused about my… my intentions.’

‘So instead of breaking it to me that you were not interested,’ Laurent’s ears had turned red. ‘You simply cut off all communication? Damianos, I was not under the impression, even then, that the Crown Prince of Akielos would have fallen in love with me, as I had with him, but I thought… I thought we were friends.’

‘We were,’ Damen said. Fallen in love? ‘I have thought of you often. I regret that I was not more honest with you, then, but I worried that I had misled you and that you might struggle to…’

‘Move on?’ Laurent suggested. ‘I would not have worried about that.’

‘Oh,’ Damen blinked. He felt a bite of jealousy towards all the unnamed people who might have spread Laurent out beneath them. ‘Are you—’

‘I am not courting anyone,’ Laurent snapped. ‘I thought you were meant to be apologising to me.’

‘I am,’ Damen said.

Laurent’s eyes flashed, ‘Well, get on with it then.’

‘I’m sorry I did not write more,’ Damen said, hastily. ‘I’m sorry I made excuses not to return to Vere and that I did not tell you why. It pleases me to hear that you have moved on for I wish you every happiness.’

Laurent sniffed. ‘I shall think on it.’

Damen thought that seemed as good as he was likely to get and made to leave Laurent alone again. A thought. He turned his head slightly as he got out. Laurent’s eyes followed him as he walked back towards his chiton, Damen thought Laurent had probably imagined him naked a fair few times in spite of himself and grinned. He turned around before heading back towards the campsite and watched Laurent sink below the surface of the water with a cheerful wave.

*

The next day, Damen approached Laurent with a sword drawn.

They sparred, Laurent’s agility made him a far from easy opponent, and he had an incredible knack for spotting what Damen was about to do and acting to prevent it. It the opposite of satisfying, for all of Damen’s movements to get cut off, and Damen felt that Laurent was probably enjoying that.

Eventually, though, Damen managed to get a full swing in, pushed Laurent back. He grinned as Laurent was forced into defending himself, and eventually, Laurent fell backwards, his sword flying, and Damen placed the point of his own blade on Laurent’s chest.

‘Do you yield?’ he asked.

Laurent stared up at him, his chest moved in uneven bursts, and his cheeks looked flushed even under the slight burn he had acquired from the sun. He seemed to be fighting some part of himself. ‘I yield,’ he said, eventually.

Damen leant forward, offering Laurent his hand. After a moment, Laurent raised his own hand and took it – allowing Damen to assist him to his feet. Once Laurent was back on his feet, he let their hands remain joined. They stood very close together. Damen could see where the skin over Laurent’s cheeks and nose was beginning to peel.

‘Your swordsmanship is excellent,’ Damen said lowly.

‘Thank you,’ Laurent said. He did not look Damen in the face. ‘I am glad to hear I have improved somewhat, since I refuse to practise.’

Damen laughed, ‘You cannot become that good without practise.’

‘Well,’ Laurent allowed a smile, ‘Perhaps I practised a little.’

Laurent’s eyes were very blue. He was not looking away now. Damen stared down into those eyes. He wondered if Laurent still wore Damen’s necklace, pressed close to his skin beneath even his undershirt.

‘I…’ Damen held his breath. ‘Laurent.’

‘Yes?’

‘Laurie?’ Auguste’s voice cut through the tension with an efficiency Damen assumed that the man practised.

Laurent let go of Damen’s hand and walked over to where his sword lay. ‘I have asked you to stop calling me that.’

Auguste appeared from between two tents, ‘And I have told you, no such luck.’

‘Laurie is similar to an Akielon name,’ Damen said, for lack of any other thoughts. ‘Lauras – or any name associated with the laurel – means victory.’

There was a pause.

‘Well, then,’ Laurent said with a pointed look at Auguste. ‘I suppose I shall have at least one victory.’

*

‘She is very beautiful,’ Damen said, when he found Laurent grooming his mare late in the afternoon. He was not lying. Laurent’s mare was a very pale grey, almost silver, with coal eyes and a sooty muzzle. She had dark stockings that gleamed and hooves that were well-oiled, and her mane and tail were impeccably kept. It seemed Laurent retained his childhood love of horses, and the sight of him now made Damen’s heart feel tight.

‘She is,’ Laurent said, stroking her nose fondly, before returning to brushing her down.

‘Is she another one of your brother’s?’ Damen asked.

Laurent grinned, ‘She is. He helped me break her once I outgrew Phillipe. I noticed you are no longer riding Gloriana?’

‘No,’ Damen said, ‘I am afraid she died a few years ago. I have my stallion, Archeron, with me now.’

Laurent looked rather upset, then, and placed a comforting hand on Damen’s arm, ‘She runs with the waves now.’

‘Or the winds,’ Damen agreed wryly. ‘What is your mare called?’

‘Do you want to ride with me?’ Laurent asked, instead of answering.

‘Yes,’ Damen said. ‘I should like that very much.’

‘Good,’ Laurent looked a little surprised, as though he thought Damen might have refused him his olive branch. ‘Have your men saddle your horse, then.’

They rode out through the field in the opposite direction to the lake, Damen letting Laurent take the lead. He had been the one chasing Laurent these past weeks, and the reversal was novel.

The fields were wide, with little in the way of outcrops or trees, and Laurent shot Damen a mischievous smile before saying, ‘Race you.’

Already his mare’s stride was lengthening beneath him, and he was ahead before Damen had the chance to register his words.

‘You cheat!’ he called out, and Laurent’s laughter was carried to him on the breeze.

They raced until the sun had dropped in the sky and the camp was far behind them.

‘I won,’ Laurent said, as he pulled up. He slapped his mare’s neck and she tossed her head.

‘It was not a real win,’ Damen said.

‘Don’t be a bad loser,’ Laurent said. ‘If it helps, no one has beaten me in a race with her yet. Not even Auguste. She truly can race the wind.’

‘I seem to recall—’ Damen started, and Laurent’s complexion reddened.

‘I just thought that Phillipe was very fast,’ Laurent said, sharply. He dismounted and unbridled his mare so she could graze. ‘Auguste races me properly, now. I am a man.’

‘You are,’ Damen said, following Laurent from the saddle. ‘Laurent, tell me now, before I make a fool of myself any further. Am I fatuous for thinking that you would have me?’

‘Yes,’ Laurent said, at once. ‘Why would I still harbour any feelings for you – a man who charmed me, who took me seriously, who listened to me and believed I could do and be more than a spoilt second son, and sent me gifts while ignoring my letters, all because he worried that I had any delusion that he would return my feelings? That would be ridiculous.’

‘You still wear my necklace,’ Damen said. He lifted a hand, traced the air in front of Laurent’s chest.

‘You saw that,’ Laurent said. It was not a question; it was an admission that felt like a sigh of relief like Laurent might have been afraid he had not noticed.

‘I am afraid it caused me to hope,’ Damen said. ‘That you had not given up.’

‘No,’ Laurent said, he looked up. ‘I suppose I haven’t.’

Damen did not recall closing the gap between them, but he supposed he must have done. Suddenly, his hands were gripping Laurent’s hair, and his lips were drinking down the gasp of air that had escaped Laurent’s lungs. Laurent was still as stone as Damen kissed him, until he wasn’t. Damen felt the other man burst into life against him. Laurent’s lips moved against his, his hands gripped Damen’s neck and jaw, his body swung into Damen’s and the touch made Damen tug on Laurent’s hair. Laurent made a sharp moan against Damen’s mouth. Is this how hearts get thawed?

‘Is that okay?’ Damen whispered. Laurent kissed him again. ‘Do you like that?’

Laurent only kissed him again. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, Damen, yes.’

Damen brought their mouths back together, he left one hand gripping Laurent’s soft hair, and the other thumbed at his jaw, stroked at the bare skin of his neck while he felt Laurent tremble.

‘Ah,’ Laurent made a small noise, ‘Ah! Damen.’

Damen encouraged Laurent’s lips apart, rocking his neck slightly, Laurent learnt the rhythm with ease and his hands slipped around to Damen’s front, where one began to tug impatiently at Damen’s pin. Damen felt his chiton loosen, then slip free, sliding down the length of his body and leaving him nude.

‘You have no idea,’ Laurent said. He was staring at Damen with eyes that were wide as saucers and touching him like he could not pull his hands away. ‘How you have tortured me all this time. Seeing you train shirtless. When you swam naked.’

‘Let me make amends,’ Damen said. He let his fingers drift down the seam where Laurent’s laces kept him wrapped in his clothing.

‘You had better,’ Laurent said. He looked at Damen’s cock, reached out with one hand and touched it with a whispering stroke.

Damen cried out, and Laurent’s hand jerked away. ‘That felt good,’ Damen said, voice hoarse. ‘You can touch me.’

Laurent took up one of Damen’s hand, and placed it over the clothed swell of his cock, ‘I want you to touch me.’

Damen did, Laurent’s head flopped back and he gave a loud whine. Now did not seem appropriate for Damen to make the immediate joke that sprang to mind – of men who lay on their backs and expected their every need be attended to, so he refrained with some difficulty.

Fumbling, Damen began to tug open Laurent’s laces that were holding up the front of his trousers, while Laurent pulled at the ones had held his jacket tight. The jacket came off, and then Damen began to pull down Laurent’s trousers. Damen knelt, pulling off each other Laurent’s boots, so he could bare Laurent’s legs entirely, and then looked up.

Laurent’s cock stood hard and proud, his mouth was red, and he looked down at Damen like he could not believe his eyes.

Damen opened his mouth, and took Laurent’s cock inside.

He heard Laurent moan, felt the other man jerk forwards and then the hot and bitter taste of come flooded his mouth. He choked in his surprise but managed to spit most of it out onto the grass, rubbing Laurent through his aftershocks with a hand and tugging him down onto the earth so he might slip off his undershirt and kiss him again.

‘Damen,’ Laurent’s eyes were shiny, like when he had drunk too much wine. He did not seem bothered tasting himself, though he did pull a face when they drew back. ‘Damen.’

Damen wondered if Laurent remembered any other words, and congratulated himself on how thoroughly he had taken the other man apart. The way Laurent said his name, over and over, like he could never say it enough, made Damen’s heart thrill, as did the press of metal at his chest where the charm still lay, close to both of their hearts.

‘Laurent,’ Damen said, voice croaky from the unexpected thrusts. He held himself up over Laurent’s limp body, and then began to grind himself down against Laurent’s thigh, leaving a wet trail over the skin.

‘No,’ Laurent said. Damen pulled back at once, and watched Laurent reach towards his clothing, nearly laughing when the man presented him a phial filled with oil.

‘You have that with you?’ Damen asked, incredulous. ‘In a field?’

‘I told you,’ Laurent said, breathlessly. He unstopped the phial, took Damen’s hand, and began to pour oil across Damen’s fingers. ‘I had not given up.’

‘I thought Veretians found the Akielon propensity for outdoor nudity barbaric?’ Damen teased. He ran a finger over Laurent’s balls, feeling where Laurent tensed with the urge to move into and away from the touch at once.

Laurent squeaked out a groan, and Damen laughed. ‘Oh, I should have guessed.’ He let his fingers drift down further. ‘You like that, don’t you?’

It seemed that Damen had finally found a way to shut Laurent’s mouth. He could feel Laurent trembling as he traced along his perineum, but no reply came. ‘You like watching me fight without a shirt, you like that I swim naked, you like that I think nothing of having you in the open. You’re utterly depraved.’

His fingertips found the opening of Laurent’s arsehole. Damen could picture it – pink and tight, how it would glisten when he slicked it open. He pressed two fingers to the furl, rubbing against the sensitive outer rim. Laurent’s legs spread wider as he keened, his nails digging into Damen’s skin.

Damen stroked back and forth until he felt Laurent rocking into him, and then began to press a finger inside.

‘Oh!’ Laurent said. His eyes had gone wide, and Damen felt as the easy entrance was halted by Laurent tensing. He looked shocked, like he had not quite expected what he had asked for – perhaps Damen moved faster than he was used to – and Damen leant up and kissed him, letting his finger remain ensconced, until Laurent had relaxed somewhat.

Damen pressed in so his knuckles were flush with the flesh of Laurent’s cheeks, and crooked his finger a few times. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, and Laurent arched off the ground with a loud moan.

‘I need—’ he said. He pawed at Damen and then keened again, his eyes squeezing shut as Damen pressed into it, beginning a pattern of sorts. Laurent’s cock had begun to thicken again – Damen missed being nineteen – and Damen thought Laurent was ready for a second finger.

This time, he slipped down to the first knuckle with ease, Laurent barely seemed to register the change until the two fingers were halfway inside him, and then he gasped wetly.

‘Oh,’ he said, nails making a home pressing into Damen’s shoulders. ‘Damen, it feels so— How is it—'

‘You feel so good,’ Damen said, kissing his gaping mouth. ‘Splitting open for me.’

He pressed in the rest of the way, twisting his fingers about so they stretched Laurent’s passage open, and teased against his prostate with fluttering strokes both, leaving him squirming and squealing on the ends of Damen’s fingers as a third was added. The sight and sounds made Damen’s head spin; how had he ended up here?

‘Are you going to come again?’ Damen asked. He traced over the swell of Laurent’s prostate, back and forth, his thumb stroking Laurent’s perineum. The man was wound up so entirely he quaked with pleasure, and his cock was leaking with abandon.

‘Inside me,’ Laurent mumbled, clenching down. His voice was thick with arousal. ‘Please. I’ve waited all this time.’

Damen could not refuse him that. He slicked himself with what remained of the oil, and began to fuck inside of Laurent for the first time, who took him with a strained grunt that turned into breathy moans, like Laurent could not quite fill his lungs. Laurent’s legs came up around him instinctively; Damen pushed his legs higher, resting them on his shoulders, and the angle made Laurent’s cries grow louder, until he was almost sobbing, though his cheeks were dry.

Damen moved slowly, some part of him unable to abandon himself to his own desires when Laurent’s every change was so entrancing. Damen watched each flicker of pleasure across Laurent’s features, felt every inch Laurent gave to him, painstakingly drew each sound from his lips with considered movements, until Laurent wrapped a hand around his own cock and brought himself to peak once more with a practised hand. Damen stopped moving then, kissing Laurent’s forehead.

‘Don’t stop,’ Laurent said, fiercely, around panting breaths. ‘I want to feel you.’

It did not take much longer for Damen to finish, emptying himself inside of Laurent, who sighed, and closed his eyes, and made no move to disentangle.

They lay like that, stuck together with sweat and expenditure and a mutual lack of desire to part.

‘You are very handsome,’ Damen said. He kissed the bridge of Laurent’s nose.

‘You are not the first to tell me that,’ Laurent said with an eyebrow raised. ‘The first in this position, I shall grant you.’

‘Is this not your preference?’ Damen asked. He wondered if Laurent preferred to be on top, or on his knees, or if he preferred the giving role. Laurent had not acted as though he wished to take Damen, though, and Damen was not sure he would like that much.

‘No,’ Laurent laughed. ‘I meant no one has ever told me while they were inside me before.’

Damen felt oddly offended on Laurent’s behalf, ‘Well that is their loss. You are an especially pleasing bedpartner. I could not imagine finding a greater beauty.’

‘Damen,’ Laurent’s eyes were serious. ‘There has been no one else.’

‘I feel that way too,’ Damen said.

‘No,’ Laurent said. His cheeks were flushed. ‘You do not understand me. No one has ever seen me like this before, I have never…’

‘This was your—’ Damen very nearly reeled back, only the newly acquired sympathy for Laurent’s arse kept him still. ‘But… we… field.’

‘There is more privacy out here than in those tents,’ Laurent said, running a soothing hand down Damen’s spine. His complexion recovered, and he bit his lip, ‘I would rather not have my brother and half our respective camps overhear us. This is my first time, after all.’

‘You were quite loud,’ Damen said, considering. Laurent pinched him. ‘I thought… you said you had moved on from me.’

Laurent peered at him under his pale lashes, shy, despite what they had shared, ‘I lied.’ He shrugged, ‘I always had faith it would be you. Besides, no one else seemed to measure up.’

Damen kissed him then, and Laurent kissed him back, and Damen could feel it – the way Laurent copied his movements, mirrored his own actions and tastes, betraying his lack of experience – Damen was reminded of the way they had danced each other’s dances so many years before. A first dance, he thought. A first kiss, a first time.

‘What now?’ Laurent asked, when they pulled away. He looked unexpectedly nervous, as though he imagined Damen might begin ranking his performance against a whole host of others.

‘Now?’ Damen thought carefully. ‘I suppose we shall see if Bariolas and Ashanta did indeed live happily.’

Laurent smiled. It had not changed in the last five years; it still made his face brighten and his eyes squint and Damen was still helpless but to smile back.

*

‘Well, well, well,’ Lazar had his hands on his hips, the picture of a worried mother but for his expression which was a smirk. ‘You two certainly look as though you went for a good ride. Tell me, Exalted, do years in the saddle make a difference?’

Damen scowled, and Laurent laughed. He leant into Damen’s side, looking what could generously be called a little windswept, ‘Where is my brother?’

Lazar jerked a thumb over his shoulder, and Laurent led Damen in that direction. ‘You see why I thought it best for us to disappear? I did not love the idea that men might satisfy themselves to our sounds.’

‘Perhaps I should have my tent moved,’ Damen said, hastily. He doubted that his own men were susceptible to such deviancy, and that his own sounds would be what captured so many imaginations. At once, he appreciated the wisdom in Laurent’s planning – Damen did not intend to share.

‘Laurie,’ Auguste grinned. His gaze caught on where Laurent’s hand clasped Damen’s, and one eyebrow shot up. ‘I suppose I can imagine what you two have been up to.’

‘I suppose you can,’ Laurent said, voice lilting. ‘Damen and I are courting.’

‘Are you now?’ Auguste looked to Damen.

‘Yes,’ Damen said. He grinned down at Laurent, and then looked back at Auguste. ‘We are.’

Auguste cocked his head and then reached out to ruffle Laurent’s hair, he had to raise his arm to do so, now. ‘I guess you were right. By the way, did you take Ashanta with you? One of the grooms mentioned her tack was missing.’

‘Ashanta…’ Damen said, slowly. A slow smile spread across his face, and he knew it must look rather gormless.

‘Auguste!’ Laurent shoved his brother, but the damage was done.

‘I’m sorry, are we all pretending you weren’t half in love with Damen from the moment you laid eyes on him?’ Auguste asked, mocking. ‘You followed him everywhere.’

‘This is humiliating,’ Laurent said.

‘It’s sweet,’ Auguste said. ‘You were very sweet. And so very obvious.’

‘Well,’ Laurent said, recovering. ‘I had to follow him around, or else between the two of you, I would have never got a look in edgewise.’

Damen and Auguste exchanged equally incredulous looks.

‘Edgewise?’ Damen repeated. He laughed, and then harder as Laurent frowned. ‘Laurent, you were the one who never stopped talking!’

‘I was not,’ Laurent said, hotly. ‘Auguste, tell him.’

Auguste pulled a face, patted Laurent on the shoulder.

‘I was not,’ Laurent repeated.

‘Damen, come see Phillipe, Damen, have you heard this story, Damen, do you study Veretian in Akielos?’ Auguste smirked. ‘Does that sound at all familiar, Damen? I promise, Laurent, we were all very surprised when you turned into a chatterbox.

Damen kissed Laurent’s cheek, where his mouth was agape. ‘I found it endearing. Eventually.’

Laurent grumbled without words, and then allowed himself to be hugged by both Auguste and Damen – the former lamenting that their father and mother were sure to start pressuring him to pick a bride once they learnt his younger brother had taken a suitor – before his expression of irritation faded back into one of satisfaction.

He let Damen sit beside him to eat, and took the jesting that resulted from their joined hands, and that night, he joined Damen in his tent once darkness had fallen.

‘Do you suppose we shall be happy?’ Laurent asked. His face was pressed into the curve of Damen’s throat. He had confided in Damen somewhat hesitantly that he was rather sore, which was patently unsurprising considering, and Damen had pressed a cooling salve into the tenderness of his hole and the pink splotches of skin that the sun had caught, both, while Laurent groaned at the sensation.

‘I do,’ Damen said. He could not explain the impulse, except that it felt true – like in a thousand lives he would have found himself here. Perhaps that was tiredness talking, though. Or perhaps that was what certainty felt like.

‘I do too,’ Laurent whispered. He sighed. ‘I think I am very glad to always be right.’ And then his eyes fell closed, and Damen was left to laugh gently and follow him down.