Kings Rising (15 page)

The spill of heat that came from that was too much, the reality of who they both were stark between them. This was the man who had had him whipped, the Prince of Vere, his nation’s enemy.

Damen could see Laurent’s shallow breath. He could see his dark-eyed intention. Laurent was undressing for him, one lace after another, the jacket’s fabric opening, revealing the fine white shirt beneath.

Heat flared over Damen’s skin. Laurent’s jacket came first, dropping from him like armour. He looked younger in only a shirt. Damen saw the hint of the scar at Laurent’s shoulder, the knife wound, newly healed. Laurent’s chest was rising and falling. A pulse was hammering in his throat. Laurent reached behind himself and drew the shirt off.

The sight of Laurent’s skin sent its shock down into him. He wanted to touch it, to slide his hands over it, but he felt pinned, controlled by the intensity of what was happening. Laurent’s body was held in obvious tension, from his hard pinked nipples to the taut muscles of his stomach, and for a moment they just looked, caught in each other’s eyes. More than skin was exposed.

Laurent said, ‘I know who you are. I know who you are. Damianos.’

‘Laurent,’ said Damen, and sat up then, he couldn’t help it, his hands riding up the fabric over Laurent’s thighs to clasp his unclothed waist. Skin touched skin. His whole body felt like it was shaking.

Laurent slid a little, straddling Damen’s lap, his thighs opening. He put his hand on the plane of Damen’s chest, on the mark where Auguste had run him through, and the touch made Damen ache. In the dim light, Auguste was between them, sharp as a knife. The scar on his shoulder was the last thing Auguste had done before Damen had killed him.

The kiss was like a wound, as if to do it Laurent was impaling himself on that knife. There was an edge of desperation to it, Laurent kissing like he needed it, his fingers clutching, his body unsteady.

Damen groaned, wanting it selfishly, his thumbs pressing hard into Laurent’s flesh. He kissed back knowing it hurt him, hurt them both. There was a desperation in both of them, an aching need that could not be filled, and he could feel it in Laurent, the same unconscious striving.

He had envisaged slow lovemaking, but it was as if, having reached the edge, they could only hurtle. The slight shudders of Laurent’s breath, the urgent kisses that strove for closeness, Laurent’s boots pulled off, the thin silk of his courtier’s clothes peeled down.

‘Do it.’ Laurent was turning in his arms, presenting himself as he had on their first night together, offering his body from the curve in his back to the dip of his lowered head. ‘Do it. I want it. I want—’

Damen was unable to stop himself pressing his own weight forward, running his hand up Laurent’s back,
and slowly rubbing himself, close to his object, in sweet, simulated fuck. Laurent arched his back, and Damen’s body ran out of breath.

‘We can’t, we don’t have—’

‘I don’t care,’ Laurent said.

Laurent shuddered, and his body gave a jerk that was an unmistakable fuck backwards. For a moment both their bodies were operating somewhat on instinct, pushing together.

It wasn’t going to work. Physicality was an obstacle to desire, and he groaned into Laurent’s neck, slid his hands down over Laurent’s body. In a burst of explicit fantasy, he wished Laurent were a pet, or a slave, wished him a body that was not going to require extensive, coaxing preparation before it could be penetrated. He felt like he was right on the edge of control, felt like he had been that way for days, months.

He wanted to be inside. He wanted to feel Laurent’s surrender shudder and give way, become total. He wanted no denying that Laurent had let him in, who he had let in.
It’s me.
His body primed, as though only in one act could this be driven home.

He slid his hands up Laurent’s thighs, pushing them apart a little. The view was pinked, small, and tight, the curl of a calyx, impenetrable.

‘Do it, I told you, I don’t care—’

A smash, the unlit oil burner hitting the marble and shattering in the dim room, his fingers clumsy. He pressed with his oiled fingers first. It was inelegant, braced over Laurent’s
back, guiding himself in with one hand. It wouldn’t, quite.

‘Let me in,’ he said, and Laurent made a new sound, his head dropped between his shoulder blades, his breath ribboning out of him. ‘Let me inside you.’

There was some give, and he pushed, slowly. He felt every inch, as the room faded into sensation. There was only the feel of it, the slide of his chest against Laurent’s back, the dip of Laurent’s head, and the sweat-damp hair at the nape of Laurent’s neck.

Damen was panting. He was aware of his own insistent weight, and Laurent beneath him, pushed forward onto his elbows. Damen dropped his forehead to Laurent’s neck and just felt it.

He was inside Laurent. It felt raw and unprotected. He had never felt more like himself: Laurent had let him inside, knowing who he was. His body was already moving. Laurent made a helpless sound into the bedding that was the Veretian word, ‘Yes.’

Damen’s grip tightened in helpless reflex, his forehead bent to Laurent’s neck as the heat of that admission pulsed through him. He wanted Laurent fully against him. He wanted to feel every cooperative muscle, every encouraging movement, so that every time he looked at Laurent he would remember that he had been like this.

His arm slid around Laurent’s chest, thigh fit against thigh. Damen’s grip, still oiled, was wrapped around the hottest, most honest part of Laurent. Laurent’s body
responded, moving, finding its own pleasure. They were moving together.

It was good. It was so good, and he wanted more of it, wanted to drive it towards its conclusion, wanted it never to end. He was only half aware that he was speaking words unchecked and in his own language.

‘I want you,’ said Damen, ‘I’ve wanted you for so long, I’ve never felt like this with anyone—’

‘Damen,’ said Laurent, helplessly, ‘Damen.’

His body pulsed, almost climaxing. He barely knew the moment when he pressed Laurent onto his back, the brief sundering, the need to be back inside him, Laurent’s mouth opening under his, the tug on his neck as Laurent took hold of it and pulled him in. His weight bore down on Laurent, shuddering heat as he entered him again with a strong, slow push.

And Laurent opened for it, a single, perfect slide. Damen took up the rhythm that he needed, their bodies tangled and a harder, continuous fucking. They were caught in each other, and when their eyes met Laurent said,
‘
Damen,’
again, like it meant everything, and as if Damen’s identity was enough, he was shuddering, pulsing against the air.

Strident as proof, Laurent came with Damen inside him, Damen’s name on his lips, and Damen was lost to it, his whole body given over, the first deep pulse of his own climax just one part of a choking pleasure that took him, overwhelming and bright, into oblivion.

D
AMEN WOKE TO
the impression of Laurent beside him, a warm, wonderful presence in his bed.

Gladness welled, and he let himself look, a sleepy indulgence. Laurent lay with the sheet tangled around his waist, the morning sun dusting him with gold. Damen had half thought to find him gone, as he had once before, vanished like the tendrils of a dream. The intimacy of last night might have been too much for either or both of them.

He lifted his hand to brush Laurent’s cheek, smiling. He was opening his eyes.

‘Damen,’ said Laurent.

Damen’s heart moved in his chest, because the way Laurent said his name was quiet, happy, a little shy. Laurent had only ever said it once before, last night.

‘Laurent,’ said Damen.

They were gazing at each other. To Damen’s delight, Laurent reached out to trace a touch down over his body. Laurent was looking at him as if he couldn’t quite believe the fact of him, as if even touch could not quite confirm it.

‘What?’ Damen was smiling.

‘You’re very,’ said Laurent, and then, flushing, ‘attractive.’

‘Really,’ said Damen, in a rich, warm voice.

‘Yes,’ said Laurent.

Damen’s smile widened, and he lay back in the sheets and just luxuriated in the idea, feeling ridiculously pleased.

‘Well,’ Damen owned, turning his head back to Laurent eventually, ‘You are too.’

Laurent dropped his head slightly, on the edge of laughter. He said, with absurd fondness, ‘Most people tell me that right away.’

Was it the first time that he had said it? Damen looked at Laurent, who was now lying half on his side, his blond hair a little mussed, eyes full of teasing light. Sweet and simple in the morning, Laurent’s beauty was heart-stopping.

‘I would have,’ said Damen, ‘if I’d had the chance to court you properly. If I’d come in state to your father. If there had been a chance for our countries to be—’ Friends. He felt the mood shift, thinking of the past. Laurent didn’t seem to notice it.

‘Thank you, I know exactly how it would have been. You and Auguste would have been slapping each other on
the back and watching tournaments, and I would have been trailing around tugging on your sleeve, trying to get a look in edgewise.’

Damen held himself very still. This easy way of speaking of Auguste was new, and he didn’t want to disturb it.

After a moment, Laurent said, ‘He would have liked you.’

‘Even after I started courting his little brother?’ said Damen carefully.

He watched Laurent stop, the way that he did when he was taken by surprise, and then lift his eyes to meet Damen’s.

‘Yes,’ said Laurent softly, his cheeks reddened slightly.

The kiss happened because they couldn’t help it, and it was so sweet and so right that Damen felt a kind of ache. He pulled back. The realities of the outside world seemed to press at him. ‘I—’ He couldn’t say it.

‘No. Listen to me.’ He felt Laurent’s hand firm on the back of his neck. ‘I’m not going to let my uncle hurt you.’ Laurent’s blue gaze was calm and steady, as if he had made a decision and wanted Damen to know it. ‘It’s what I came here last night to say. I’m going to take care of it.’

‘Promise me,’ Damen heard himself say. ‘Promise me we won’t let him—’

‘I promise.’

Laurent said it seriously, his voice honest; no game playing, just the truth. Damen nodded, his grip on Laurent tightening. The kissing this time had an echo of last night’s desperation, a need to block out the outside world and
stay for a moment longer in this cocoon, Laurent’s arms winding around his neck. Damen rolled over him, body fitting against body. The sheet slipped away from them. Slow rocking began to turn kissing into something else.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ said Laurent, turning his head towards the sound.

Damen said,
‘Laurent
,
’
shocked and on full display as the door swung open. Pallas entered. Laurent greeted him with no self-consciousness at all.

‘Yes?’ Laurent’s voice was matter-of-fact.

Pallas’s mouth opened. Damen saw what Pallas saw: Laurent like some dream of a newly fucked virgin, himself unmistakably above him, fully roused. He flushed all over. In Ios, he might have dallied with a lover while a household slave attended to some task in the room, but only because a slave was so far beneath him in status as not to signify. The idea of a soldier watching him make love to Laurent was breaking open his mind. Laurent had never even taken an acknowledged lover before, let alone—

Pallas forced his eyes to the floor.

‘My apologies, Exalted. I came to seek your orders for the morning.’

‘We’re busy currently. Have a servant prepare the baths and bring us food at mid-morning.’ Laurent spoke like an administrator glancing up from his desk.

‘Yes, Exalted.’

Pallas turned blindly, and made for the door.

‘What is it?’ Laurent looked at Damen, who had detached himself and was sitting with the sheet pulled up to where he had clutched it to cover himself. And then, with the burgeoning delight of discovery, ‘Are you
shy
?’

‘In Akielos we don’t,’ said Damen, ‘in front of other people.’

‘Not even the King?’

‘Especially not the King,’ said Damen, for whom
the King
still partly meant his father.

‘But how does the court know if the royal marriage has been consummated?’

‘The King knows whether or not it has been consummated!’ Horrified.

Laurent stared at him. Damen was surprised when Laurent dropped his head, and even more surprised when Laurent’s shoulders started shaking. Around the laughter emerged,
‘You wrestled him without any clothes on.’

‘That is
sports
,’ said Damen. He folded his arms, thinking that Veretians lacked any sense of dignity, even as Laurent sitting up and pressing a delighted kiss to his lips had him slightly mollified.

Later, ‘The King of Vere really consummates his marriage in front of the court?’

‘Not in front of the court,’ said Laurent, as if this were unspeakably foolish, ‘in front of the Council.’

‘Guion is on the Council!’ said Damen.

Later, they lay alongside one another, and Damen found himself tracing the scar on Laurent’s shoulder, the only place his skin was marred, as Damen now knew intimately. ‘I’m sorry Govart is dead. I know you were trying to keep him alive.’

‘I thought he knew something that I could use against my uncle. It doesn’t matter. We’ll stop him another way.’

‘You never told me what happened.’

‘It was nothing. There was a knife fight. I got free, and Guion and I came to an arrangement.’

Damen gazed at him.

‘What?’

‘Nikandros is never going to believe it,’ said Damen.

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘You were taken prisoner, you single-handedly escaped from the cells at Fortaine, and somehow managed to get Guion to switch sides on the way out?’

‘Well,’ said Laurent, ‘not everyone is as bad at escaping as you are.’

Damen let out a breath, and found himself laughing, as he might never have thought possible, considering what awaited him outside. He remembered Laurent in the mountains fighting alongside him, shoring up his injured side.

‘When you lost your brother, was there someone to comfort you?’

‘Yes,’ said Laurent. ‘In a way.’

‘Then I’m glad,’ said Damen. ‘I’m glad you weren’t alone.’

Laurent pushed himself away, up into a sitting position, and for a moment he sat, without speaking. He pushed his palms into his eye sockets.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s nothing,’ said Laurent.

Damen, sitting up alongside him, felt the outside world intrude its presence again. ‘We should—’

‘And we will.’ Laurent turned to him, sliding fingers into his hair. ‘But first, we have the morning.’

*   *   *

After, they talked.

Servants brought a breakfast of fruits, soft cheese, honey and breads on round platters, and they sat at the table in one of the rooms that opened onto the bedchamber. Damen took the seat closest to the wall, affixing the gold pin he had recovered to the cotton at his shoulder. Laurent sat in a relaxed pose, in only pants and a loose shirt, its collar and sleeves still open. Laurent was talking.

Quietly, seriously, Laurent outlined the state of play as he saw it, describing his plans and his contingencies. Damen realised that Laurent was letting him in to a part of himself he had never shared before, and he found himself drawn in to the political complexities, even as the experience felt new, and a little revelatory. Laurent never opened his thoughts like this, but always kept his planning intensely private, making his decisions alone.

When servants entered to clear the plates from the table, Laurent watched them come and go and then looked at Damen. There was an unspoken question in his words.

‘You are not keeping slaves in your household.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ said Damen.

‘If you’ve forgotten what to do with a slave, I can tell you,’ said Laurent.

‘You hate the idea of slavery. It turns your stomach.’ Damen said it, a flat statement of truth. ‘If I’d been anyone else, you would have freed me on the first night.’ He searched Laurent’s face. ‘When I argued the case for slavery in Arles you didn’t try to change my mind.’

‘It is not a subject for an
exchange of ideas
. There is nothing to say.’

‘There will be slaves in Akielos. We are a slave culture.’

‘I know that.’

Damen said, ‘Are pets and their contracts so different? Did Nicaise have a choice?’

‘He had the choice of the poor with no other way to survive, the choice of a child powerless to his elders, the choice of a man when his King gives him an order, which is no choice at all, and yet still more than is afforded to a slave.’

Damen felt again the shock of hearing Laurent voice his private beliefs. He thought of him, helping Erasmus. He thought of him visiting the girl from the village, teaching her a sleight-of-hand trick. For the first time, he caught a glimmer of what Laurent would be like as a king. He saw
him, not as the Regent’s unready nephew, not as Auguste’s younger brother, but as himself, a young man with a collection of talents thrown into leadership too early, and taking it on, because he was given no other choice.
I would serve him
, he thought, and that itself was like a little revelation.

‘I know what you think of my uncle, but he is not—’ Laurent spoke after a pause.

‘Not?’

‘He won’t hurt the child,’ said Laurent. ‘Whether it is your son or Kastor’s, it is leverage. It is leverage against you, against your armies, and against your men.’

‘You mean that it hurts me more that my son is alive and whole than it would if he were maimed or dead.’

‘Yes,’ said Laurent.

He said it seriously, looking into Damen’s eyes. Damen felt every muscle in his body ache with the effort of not thinking of it. Of not thinking the other, darker thought, the one that at all costs must be avoided. He tried to think instead of a way forward, though it was impossible.

He had an entire army gathered, Veretians and Akielons alike, ready to march south. He had spent months with Laurent assembling their forces, establishing a base of power, setting up supply lines, winning soldiers to their cause.

In one stroke, the Regent had rendered his army useless, unable to move, unable to fight, because if they did—

‘My uncle knows you won’t move against him while he holds the child,’ said Laurent. And then, calmly, steadily, ‘So we get him back.’

*   *   *

He looked for changes in her, but the cool, untouchable air was the same, as was the particular way that her eyes regarded him. She had the same colouring as Laurent. She had the same mathematical mind. They were like a matched pair, except that her presence was different. There was a part of Laurent that was always in tension, even when he affected calm. Jokaste’s unassailable composure seemed like serenity, until you knew she was dangerous. A similar core of steel, perhaps, existed in both.

She was waiting for him in her solar, where he’d allowed her to be reinstated, under heavy guard. She sat elegantly, with her ladies arranged around her, like flowers in a garden. She didn’t seem perturbed by her incarceration, or even really to notice it.

After his long, scrolling look around the room, he sat himself in the chair opposite her, and as if the soldiers who had entered behind him didn’t exist.

He said, ‘Is there a child?’

‘I have told you that there is,’ said Jokaste.

‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ said Damen.

The attending women seated around Jokaste were of varying ages, from the eldest of perhaps sixty to the youngest,
Jokaste’s age, around twenty-four. He guessed that all seven had been in her household a long time. The woman with the braided black hair was someone he vaguely recognised (Kyrina?). The two slaves were also faintly familiar. He didn’t recognise the older maidservant, or the remaining ladies of good birth. He let his eyes pass over them slowly. All were silent. He returned his gaze to Jokaste.

‘Let me tell you what is going to happen. You are going to be executed. You are going to be executed whatever you say or do. But I will spare your women, if they agree to answer my questions.’

Silence. Not one of the women spoke or came forward.

He said to the soldiers behind him, ‘Take them.’

Jokaste said, ‘This plan of action will mean the death of the child.’

He said, ‘We haven’t established that there is a child.’

She smiled, as if pleased to discover a pet capable of a trick. ‘You’ve never been very good at games. I don’t think you have what it takes to play against me.’

He said, ‘I’ve changed.’

The soldiers had halted, but there was a ripple among the ladies now at their presence, as Damen sat back in his chair.

She said, ‘Kastor will kill it. I will tell Kastor that the child is yours, and he’ll kill it. Sophisticated thoughts about using it as leverage won’t enter his mind.’

He said, ‘I believe Kastor will kill any child he believes is mine. But you have no means of getting a message to Kastor.’