Chapter Text
The veretian protocol for receiving foreign dignitaries dictated a formal greeting on the grand staircase. There were certain rules regarding attire, the number of courtiers who must be present, how many alphas were permitted in the royal entourage, and the allegorical gifts that should be displayed to show Vere’s hospitality.
Auguste followed everything to the letter, albeit somewhat reluctantly, but he stood firm on exactly one exception to the ancient protocol.
«No weapons were to be visible when receiving the foreign visitor». The guards were to be strategically positioned so their defensive stances were not ostentatious, and the veretian king was to appear cordial and speak the language of peace to those who would enter his ancestral home.
Berenger nearly choked on air the moment he saw him, quietly asking if he truly believed this was a good idea. Vannes, on the other hand, smiled in amusement, hiding her face behind a fan of white feathers. Herodes, already much closer to his longed-for retirement, simply shook his head.
He hadn't chosen just any sword from his collection: not one of the ornate ones gifted to him over the years, nor the extravagant, gold-and-jewel-encrusted-thing with no edge beneath which he had been crowned.
The sword hanging at his waist was the very one he had fought with at Marlas. The same one with which he had beheaded his traitorous uncle.
The message was more than clear.
— Welcome to Arles, King Damianos of Akielos.
— I thank you for the reception despite the short notice with which my messenger was sent, our brother of Vere.
He tried not to clench his fists at the title. This… foreign alpha sleeps with his brother, gets him pregnant, and then calls him “brother of Vere” as if they were in-laws? The audacity! But Auguste was a veretian with a steely spine, so he only smiled with his teeth clenched tighter than usual and shook his hand with force.
They had faced each other once at Marlas, and their combat had only been interrupted by Aleron’s death.
They could continue with that pending matter if necessary.
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Laurent didn't allow himself to watch from the window as the royal retinue received Damianos. Paschal had left after another tedious morning-and-evening medical check, leaving small instructions about which tonics to continue taking to strengthen his blood. The physician predicted a difficult birth given the size of the child he carried, and Laurent could only glare at him in fury.
His swollen belly was heavy, so he remained reclined on his divan, re-reading the same page of his book over and over. The tray of lemon pastries sat untouched on his small tea table, though they were beginning to tempt him.
He only hoped Auguste would behave like a king rather than an older brother. He didn't want to get up from the divan to resolve international conflicts. Again.
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Meanwhile, Auguste carved into his slice of venison with barely concealed irritation.
It was painfully clear that Damianos wasn't here to apologize for dishonoring his brother, much less to discuss trade treaties or miraculously return Delfeur out of a sudden change of heart, as Auguste had fantasized months earlier when Laurent was still just his little bookworm who destroyed alphas with a handful of elegant words and a raised eyebrow.
He was a thief who had come to take Laurent away.
The conversation had started relatively well. The symbolic veretian hospitality gifts had been presented, the akielon entourage had been received with a somewhat late but generous luncheon, the bread had been broken in feigned fraternity, and the dialogue remained superficial.
— How was the sea voyage? It’s faster than going by land, but it has its discomforts.
— Rather turbulent, to be honest. The wind wasn't in our favor as we approached the Port of Marches.
One of the courtiers, whose name Auguste could not quite recall, opened his eyes with pleased malice.
— Perhaps it was a warning from your Lord of the Skies, no?
The table fell into sudden silence. Damianos’ face twisted with irritation.
— The Thunderer has always had… a turbulent temper, like the storms he enjoys summoning. We do not take the winds as reliable messengers.
Then he turned to speak to Auguste, his posture assuming a formal rigidity that made the hairs on the back of Auguste’s neck stand on end.
— Certain… strange rumors have reached Akielos, and I would like to clarify them promptly so that I may take… the necessary actions.
Don’t even think about it, barbarian.
The veretians began to whisper, clearly inventing even more stories to add to the already outlandish tale Laurent had spun to explain the small slip that grew more prominent every day beneath his shirts and laced jackets.
None of it would leave the dining hall… or so he hoped.
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Aimeric sent him a mocking letter asking whether, when he became pregnant by Jord, he should also invent an imaginary deity to justify the child. Laurent, being a good friend, had replied that, unfortunately, that baby would have Jord’s stupid face and there would be no deity to blame for that visage. With all due respect to Jord, a former member of the Prince’s Guard assigned to protect him. (Laurent may or may not still be resentful toward Jord for resigning his position just to run off to Fortaine to serve Aimeric. Of all the omegas in Vere, he had to fall for Guion’s brat… at least he still served as a spy and messenger between Laurent and Loyse).
He chewed gently on his third lemon pastry, regretting that he had run out of tea. Still no news about Auguste and Damianos. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? They should already be finishing the reception banquet. He supposed they would keep him waiting until nightfall.
His child kicked one of his ribs hard, and Laurent clenched his teeth. Paschal had told him it was a good sign because it meant the baby was already positioning head-down for the imminent birth in a few months.
— Your Highness…
— Yes, Orland?
— His Majesty King Auguste has summoned you to his private study.
How dramatic. Auggie always been this dramatic? When he was a kid, he saw his older brother as an invincible warrior, a king who didn't yet wear the crown but far surpassed Aleron. The disenchantment upon growing up (which wasn't really disillusionment so much as accepting that his older brother could be imperfect) had been revealing: Auguste was simply a good-natured sentimental who placed far too much trust in the people around him, didn’t know how to organize events that weren’t a hunt party, was rough with his hugs, and had a slight problem with beautiful women with large breasts. Not to mention marriage, whose very mention seemed to terrify him.
He was very lucky that Laurent was a devoted younger brother and not an ambitious rat, as their uncle had been. Stealing the crown from Auguste would be like stealing candy from a kid, and that was honestly quite sad.
It took him a few minutes to get up from the divan, and another to catch his breath. He didn’t bother lacing his jacket properly, knowing it wouldn’t fit anyway. He simply draped a blue capelet over his shirt and left the comfort of his room to head to the meeting with his brother, escorted by more guards than necessary. He hoped, perhaps in vain, that Auguste would have the decency to pour him a cup of tea before starting to complain about Damen.
Laurent was certainly nervous about Damen’s presence in Arles. Paschal had subtly accused him of not wanting to face him, but Laurent wasn't a coward. It was just that if Damen appeared before him, with those bare arms and spoke to him with the same softness with which he had pronounced his name before leaning down to kiss the back of his hand the day they met… Laurent could be a very weak man when faced with broad shoulders and dimpled smiles. That the pregnancy had altered his iron control over his body to add uncomfortable dreams at night and a certain anxiety to feel Damen’s hands on him again…
He shook his head, embarrassed, and entered without knocking the small salon where Auguste hid from his counselors.
— I would truly prefer you were carrying the child of a random god rather than the child of that… idiot.
— Didn’t his frankness win your heart? — he tried to hide his amused smile, but failed. Auguste glared at him while pouring him a cup of tea, just as Laurent had expected.
— Nor yours, if I remember your words correctly.
— I thought you had voluntarily forgotten that.
— I tried.
Laurent hated the furniture in the study. Auguste hadn't modernized it yet, and it looked exactly as his great-grandfather had found charming: uncomfortable armchairs with terrible fabric, rugs better suited for a bonfire than decoration, the ghastly family sword collection, a tapestry hanging on one wall with frankly fantastical drawings of mythical animals no one had ever seen. What would it take for him to burn the whole place down once and for all, and at least put in one comfortable chair?
Anyway, he sat across from his brother and drank his tea.
— So?
— He came here to court you and take you to Akielos. And to recognize the baby as his, too.
— Well, this is… inconvenient.
The people were delighted with his pregnancy, and though things had spiraled out of control, Laurent was selfish enough to take advantage of the collective protection that they fervor offered against the bloodsucking nobles with too much money in their pockets, who waited for him to bleed through the hallways and drag Auguste down with him in his fall.
He would have to speak with Damen at least to reach some kind of agreement.
— It’s not that I object, but we’ve established a reasonably convincing story. Changing it now would only bring torches and severed heads.
— Are you seriously considering him a worthy alpha for your attention? — his brother almost sounded offended. How direct had Damen’s words been to shock even Auguste?
— I could be descriptive about just how suitable he is, brother.
— I’d rather vomit.
Yes, the King of Vere was far too dramatic for his own good.
— I don’t know, I need to think. It wouldn’t be fair to keep the baby from Damen when it is his child. And if he’s willing to court me and take me as his mate, as long as he doesn’t also choose to maintain a harem of other omegas like his ancestors…
— You’ll say yes, then.
— I’ll say I’m willing under certain conditions.
He distracted himself for a few moments, watching the tea leaves settle at the bottom of the cup. One of Vannes’s pets claimed to read the future in those leaves, and for a moment, he wondered what they would say about his decisions, about what he hoped for the future. Would they agree? Was he chasing an impossible fantasy? Would everything go wrong and end with him hanging in a square?
When he looked up, he met Auguste’s eyes, and he knew there was more. Something that spelled trouble.
— I can understand Damianos wanting to claim the baby as his… but…
— What did you do?
Ah, that little flutter of lashes when he was caught guilty of making promises while drunk. Laurent knew it all too well.
— I told the council that your child would be my formal heir.
He stared at him, processing what his stupid older brother had just said.
— I beg your pardon?
— Look, you know I don’t want to marry. Life is good as it is. And the people love your child! They believe it’s a divine blessing! A son of mine wouldn't be so well received.
— How could you! The line of succession…!
— Come on, there are precedents. Great-great-grandfather Laurent IV disinherited his three sons for their numerous vices and left his nephew Henri II as successor. Not to mention the whole succession mess of the second dynasty. You know it better than I do: you always paid attention in those classes…
— Exactly why you cannot name my child your successor! The line must be simple. You are king; your son must be king.
— Unfortunately, your little story got out of hand, and now the entire people await the arrival of your divine baby. It’s turned against you, Laurie. You’ve made him the perfect successor.
— But he’s half-akielon. Damianos is right: he is entitled to rule Akielos by right and blood.
— And why not rule both Vere and Akielos?
A shiver ran down his spine.
— What madness did you just say?
Auguste, as if he hadn't just uttered the most outrageous and impossible idea of all, simply shrugged.
— Wasn’t that how great-great-great-grandfather Laurent III annexed Acquitart? He married Princess Adelaide of Acquitart, and their son was king of both Vere and Acquitart, passing the title to every veretian king thereafter. It seems all the Laurents in the family have been shrewd in that regard. Why couldn’t your son unify the kingdoms? War failed. Dialogue is a driver, but it would never subjugate everything under one king…
It was the most ridiculously optimistic speech he had ever heard.
— The annexation of Acquitart worked out because it was a small citadel compared to the territory Vere held back then. And look at it now! The fortress only stands thanks to the crown's gold, and the old citadel has been reduced to mere huts. Even the ancient artesian ruins hold more importance than...
— You know better than anyone how important Acquitart is. That's exactly why I gave it to you when you turned sixteen.
— Yes, but it doesn't contribute to the royal treasury. Quite the opposite… the accountants will tell you it's pure loss. Besides, we're getting off topic! Akielos isn't like Acquitart. They have as much territory as we do, trained warriors, solidly built fortresses. They have a culture that differs from ours, an enmity that dates back to the fall of the artesian empire... Don't you think what you're suggesting is completely impossible?
Auguste merely took a sip of wine. That was his only response to Laurent's logical and sensible analysis.
— Perhaps you could discuss it with your barbarian akielon. If his oiled pectorals don't distract you too much...
— I hope you fall off your horse, Auguste.
— Be careful with your wishes, or you might end up being king. And then the line of succession would be nice and simple, just like you want, right?
— I hate you.
— You love me!
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Laurent requested Damen's presence before nightfall. He had considered inviting him to his own chambers, but without a proper chaperone, it would be seen as unseemly by the court. So he chose his private gardens, where Queen Hennike's pergola stood. The rose bushes hadn't bloomed, but the change of season was already noticeable in the color of the trees and the birds building their nests far from the cats that prowled the castle, keeping the mouse population at low numbers.
He had wrapped himself in a long cloak, but even with careful clothing choices, his belly was unmistakable. Maintaining the mask of impassivity that so unnerved the court had become far more difficult, especially with the baby's kicks at the most inopportune moments. And now, with Damianos in Arles, he felt everything was about to crack.
His heart was a pathetic mess of unworthy feelings, and it was embarrassing how deeply affected he was by a man he had only known for a handful of days during a diplomatic trip. But Damianos had been... he stood out effortlessly above every alpha around him. He was a man born to be king, raised to be king, and who knew he was king. He could well have been the God of the Skies himself — his mere presence enough to overshadow everything around him, his voice commanding like thunder and moving his men as a single force. Laurent had found himself in the eye of the storm the very instant that man — who towered over him by more than a head — had leaned down to kiss his hand with a deference that sent shivers through his body like nothing else. Damianos had every tool to dominate Laurent: height and breadth, alpha status over his omega condition, a crown of laurels that placed him in a position of power above a mere veretian prince. And yet he had been attentive to every word, even the ones he disliked. He had listened to Laurent, enthusiastically joined his discussions, shown a heart willing to change one of Akielos's most deeply rooted traditions because he was a man who loved his people and had come to understand that slavery was a terrible thing to subject anyone to. Not once had he made Laurent feel small, the way other alphas tried — intentionally or accidentally — to do.
— Here are your pastries, Your Highness.
He thanked with a slight nod, restraining himself from stuffing his mouth with the citrus sweetness of his favorite lemon pastries. He was only anxious about the meeting with Damianos; he didn't need to devour the entire tray before even seeing him.
Orland cleared his throat. A warning. He hadn't needed it; he could already hear Damianos' footsteps on the marble path leading to the pergola.
There he was: Damen, standing exactly as Laurent remembered him. Every inch the man made to be at the top of everything, above everyone. There he stood, frozen, his eyes first lingering almost hypnotized on Laurent's face, then dropping to his belly. Laurent could have melted like sugar in fire under that soft gaze. The akielons didn't share the veretians' reservations about concealing their scent, so he felt the pheromones without effort. Any doubts he might have had about Damen's opinion of the pregnancy were smothered in that instant.
With a gentle gesture, he invited him closer, no longer hiding the smile that escaped now that he saw him again. His guard Captain and designated chaperone — because Laurent might be pregnant by a god but was still an unmarried omega — remained politely at a distance. If Auguste asked, Orland had orders to reply that he had been close enough to count the rosebuds. If the council asked, this meeting had been a mere coincidence, and Damianos hadn't stayed long. His raise was more than earned.
The akielon king approached with the shyness of a new lover, though his eyes looked determined and fixed on Laurent. He sat beside him on the bench and, with both hands, offered a small red linen handkerchief. A gift.
— For me?
— For no one else but you.
When he unfolded it, he found a jewel set in gold. A bracelet, almost a cuff. An uncultured veretian would have seen the gift and made a face: they would have called it second-rate jewelry, accustomed as they were to arlesian ostentation. But Laurent recognized the setting, the way the gold had been worked. The blue chalcedony was incredibly polished, and he could almost picture what Damen must have thought when he chose the stone. He had given him a family heirloom, undoubtedly centuries old, always preserved in the akielon royal family. The shape and casting technique were archaic; chalcedony was hardly used thanks to the arrival of newer, more valuable stones. Probably, it had been passed down through generations, likely among queens or royal consorts.
The intention was clear, and Laurent didn't have to think twice before extending his wrist and allowing Damen to place the bracelet on it with trembling fingers.
Damen's eyes drifted back to his belly.
— You may touch. Orland will pretend to be blind — another throat-clearing, though this one sounded more like stifled laughter. Damianos stayed still for a moment before gently placing his hand on the upper part of Laurent's belly. The situation was strange, but nothing felt wrong.
— This is my child.
The alpha's eyes showed no distrust or resentment. Only a marveling gleam barely concealed by budding determination. His hand felt warm against the fabric of Laurent's shirt. Damianos seemed on the verge of kneeling, as if he wanted to rest his head against the swell. A light breeze shook the upper vines of the pergola, and Damen pulled back just enough to adjust Laurent's cloak, wrapping him up again. Laurent couldn't help but laugh a little. Wasn't he being overly tender? This was a man who wielded a sword like a third arm. A man who had faced Auguste on the battlefield and survived. Now here he was, half-hunched as if to shield him from the smallest gust of wind, as if he wanted to hide him from prying eyes and keep him safe.
He never once questioned the paternity, which was rather presumptuous on his part. Laurent could have a couple of lovers hidden under the rug, after all.
The veretian prince considered joking about it, but he had already accepted the courtship by letting him place the bracelet on his wrist. It wouldn't be polite to mention lovers. And he had already confused people enough with the child's origin. What would Damen think about that?
— Yes, this is your child. Unless that goose that approached me while I was lunching with Makedon and his men to steal the bread from my hands...
— No. This is my child. This is my heir, and no immortal seated on his mountain can claim what is mine.
Now Damen's eyes met his fully. The lion brooch on his shoulder was slightly crooked, and a near-hysterical thought told Laurent to simply fix it — or better yet, unfasten it. His mind could be a filthy place sometimes, as Auguste liked to say.
— I know we barely know each other, that we only shared political conversations and one night. But I will remain in Arles to court you properly, to let you get to know me and allow me to know you in return, to ensure that both you and our child are safe.
An honorable alpha to the marrow. Laurent almost rolled his eyes.
— And if I'm unpleasant to you? If you find me boring and demanding? I have a well-documented reputation.
— I've heard about it, and I still find it charming.
— What if I ignore you to keep reading one of my favorite novels?
— I'll ask you to read it to me, so I can delight in your voice.
— What if I'm cold with my replies and cruel in my actions?
— You can be as cold as you like with me in court, but in our bedroom I'll make sure to melt you.
Gods, this man was ridiculous.
— And if in a few years you find that my appearance is no longer alluring?
— You could dye your hair and hide the color of your eyes, but you would still be an infinite labyrinth of mysteries. Your mind is a fascinating place, and our conversations have been refreshing. I could spend my life just listening to you and talking with you. That you're beautiful is merely an addition.
He twisted his lips, thinking of what other argument he could throw at him. This alpha was complicating things in an insurmountable way. Laurent had a plan, based on never seeing Damianos again except in formal meetings under crown orders. It had been easy at first to pretend it had only been a one-night stand and nothing more. A small indulgence after so many years of careful control and frugality.
When he and Damianos had found themselves alone that last night in Marlas, Laurent had sunk into the certainty that he would offer everything to that god-made-man, and that he would treasure the memory forever. Because he would never find another man like him, nor did he want to look for one.
Auguste would never fully understand. He had always been a beloved alpha, a favored son, a firstborn destined to rule. It was easier to tell him he had succumbed to a pair of impressive arms than to explain the feeling of having a man like Damianos on his knees, kissing his skin with a devotion no one had ever shown him. Of explaining how loved and desired he had felt by a man who already had everything at his feet but still treated Laurent as something unique.
He had thought it would be a wonderful memory to keep close to his heart, an exception to the rule.
The unexpected pregnancy had felt like a later gift. He could have the son he had always longed for without going through a stifling marriage to some pompous veretian noble or a traditionalist vaskian warrior. It had never occurred to him that Damianos would want to raise the kid with him.
He had already accepted the courtship. Damianos seemed more than determined to have them both in his life.
All that remained was to define how they would handle things publicly from there and what to do about their son's future.
Now, the idea of his son ruling both Akielos and Vere didn't sound so far-fetched. It would require a great deal of planning, careful guidance of the people toward final acceptance, and keeping the veretian nobles on a tight leash.
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One of the cupbearers told everything to his cousin, who worked in the royal laundry, who told the stable boys, who told some drunks in the most crowded tavern in Arles, the day after a horse race at the hippodrome. Within days, the news had spread throughout veretian territory thanks to the merchants who chose to use the topic as an introduction to their sales, to draw more customers to their carts.
“The King of Akielos was here to steal the divine baby of Prince Laurent under religious pretexts.” Apparently, King Damianos had told the magnanimous King Auguste that the child, being the son of an akielon deity, rightfully belonged as heir to the akielon crown. It seemed he intended to take Prince Laurent with him to Ios, considering that (having been chosen by a god to carry his divine child), he should give birth in the land of the Thunder God. He had even offered to marry the Prince of Vere, in a twisted act of safeguarding the omega's honor and the reputation of his lascivious god.
No honorable citizen of Vere liked hearing that.
The divine child was destined to rule Vere and bring prosperity! Who was this Damianos to try to steal the future blessing? If the God of the Skies had wanted his son to rule Akielos, he would have chosen a local omega. There were women and men of suitable appearance in those barbaric lands. There were even some with light eyes and blond hair (never quite as golden as that of the veretian royal family, of course) among the slaves who served the nobles of Ios. But he had chosen Prince Laurent for his great beauty and superior intellect. Therefore, the future baby belonged to Vere.
First, they stole Delfeur. Now, they wanted to steal Prince Laurent and his divine baby. What would they try to steal next?