Chapter Text
It wasn’t the light that woke Laurent first - it was the heat. Heavy and oppressive, it was a steady weight that occupied space both in the room and in their bed. As he stirred slowly into consciousness, Laurent could feel the thin sheen of sweat that covered his whole body. The cotton of his shirt clung to his spine, his hair falling wet across his face and the back of his neck, his overheated skin.
Laurent groaned softly. He was confident he would never adapt to the ridiculous climate in Ios; his cheeks and skin were always so irritatingly pink here.
Eyes closed, his legs worked slowly to remove the sheet tangled from around his waist. As he shifted in place, he became aware of Damen’s hand on his body, a gentle, steadying weight at the curve of his hip. Not forcing him close, restraining him, but simply keeping him within reach. The thought of it only served to warm Laurent further.
Still not opening his eyes, he carefully moved out from under Damen’s hand, away from the heat of his body that had seeped deep into the bed. Intent on not disturbing his sleep, he let Damen’s hand slowly slide from his waist to the mattress.
He let out a sigh of relief. Freed from the sheet, Laurent spread out his limbs, allowing the tepid, trickle of a breeze from the windows to cool him as best it could. Even for an Akielon summer, Laurent thought, this heat seemed excessive. He had never woken up so uncomfortable before. Often, he could maintain his dignity until at least midday, when the sun rose highest and most inescapably in the sky. Not this early in the morning, when he awoke at first light, when the coolness of night still provided its temporary relief.
That's when Laurent finally opened his eyes.
He lifted his head from the pillow. Sunlight, hot and yellow, streamed in from the open windows and spread across their bed in wide, bright pools. It was as warm as the midday sun. With the light came further awareness. Laurent could hear daytime sounds filtering into the room, voices from the roads below, gulls calling, the bustle of daily life in Ios going on around them. Distant bells sung out from the lower reaches of the city, signalling the start of the afternoon meal.
It was no longer morning at all.
A cool finger of dread traced its way down Laurent’s spine. They had overslept. He recounted the day’s schedule in his head. The convening with the Barbin delegation had begun at -
A rush of panicked energy sent Laurent soaring out of the bed. The pattern of his morning tasks crashed and crowded into one - logic suddenly eluded him. Disordered, he scrambled about the room without cause, his mind attempting to sort through his responsibilities for the day and ready himself all at once. Nonsensically, he moved to pull on his boots and realized he wasn’t wearing pants.
He searched the surrounding furniture, the floor. Across the room he could see Damen’s discarded clothes from the previous day, but none of his own. Laurent swung back around to the bed. Damen was still asleep.
“Damen,” he hissed. He was supposed to have assembled the kyroi hours ago. Louder, “Damen!”
No response. Laurent rushed back to the bed, clambering across it on his hands and knees until Damen was within swinging distance. He punched him squarely in the arm. Not with bruising force, but certainly enough to startle him awake.
Damen made an irritated sound and stirred, rolling to blink at him blearily, “Wha -”
“Wake up! Get up, we -” Panicked.
Damen’s eyes widened. More awake, becoming more alarmed, “Laurent, what’s -”
“It’s midday, we were not roused on time. We’ve missed the entire -”
Laurent’s urgency finally seemed to register, and no more needed to be said as Damen too launched himself out from under the sheet and bolted from the bed. He proceeded to charge across the room, pick up the pitcher, rethink it, then double back to the bedside. He reached down and began tossing around whatever was in reach in his hurry to find clothes. “What happened?! We were supposed to -”
“I know.” Laurent retrieved the chiton from the dressing table and flung it across the bed in Damen’s direction. Damen caught it in an undignified flurry and dropped it hastily around half his body. He reached down and threw Laurent his pants at him in return, followed by his jacket.
A long, urgent silence followed as they dressed separately. Damen finished first and rounded the bed to assist Laurent with his laces. Laurent switched to the ties of his trousers as Damen took over at the front of his jacket. They worked efficiently, synchronously, until Laurent was presentably trussed into his clothes. There would not be time for full royal panoply today.
Forgoing any further ornamentation, they picked up their capes from where they hung and strode to the door, red and blue velvet whirling over each of their shoulders as they left their chambers. The guards posted outside the entrance called out to their Kings as they walked purposefully by.
“Exalted -”
“Your Majesty -”
The rest of the greetings, typically returned by the Kings themselves, were lost as Laurent and Damen turned into the adjoining hallway. Their guards would have to be questioned at a later time. If talks with the Barbin delegation fell through, the cost of each sanction would come down upon those who failed to wake their Kings at the proper time.
“Is this some kind of coup?” Laurent muttered to Damen as he adjusted the heavy gold clasp of his cape. Adorning the right brooch, he could feel each familiar point of the Veretian starburst; on the left, the head of a lion.
“Overthrowing the regime by forcing an overslept morning?” Damen glanced at Laurent. “Seems ineffective.”
Laurent quirked a smile.
Their quick steps echoed through the passages as they descended closer to the Great Hall. Grim determination set Laurent’s mind to the task at hand - it twisted and surged, planning how best to excuse himself and Damen from this gross breach of etiquette; how he would now bend their audience to his will, regardless of any new hostilities. It was a skill of Laurent’s he thought would never diminish, no matter how peaceful the times.
Their entrance into the main foyer had them speeding up further, until Laurent and Damen were all but dashing across the length of their own palace. Stately, dignified dashing, Laurent insisted to himself. No servants or staff seemed to be present to witness it, at the very least. Rounding the final corner, Laurent’s boots skidded him across the polished floor until he and Damen finally came to a halt before the towering entrance of the Great Hall, the guards awaiting nearby.
Side by side, facing the doors, they paused. They were both slightly out of breath.
Next to him, Damen began to laugh. They looked at one another.
“How bad can it be, really?” Damen said with a chuckle. Together, they’d faced much worse as both princes and kings.
Laurent felt himself smile again. Stepping to the side, he came to stand before Damen. He reached forward to adjust the clasp, identical to his own, across Damen’s chest, bringing the cape to sit evenly on his shoulders. Reaching up further, he sorted his fingers through the mussed waves of Damen’s hair, rearranging what the pillow had left behind. Damen bowed his head to offer him better access.
Deeming him satisfactory, Laurent took a step back. Damen looked up with a pleased smile and assessed him in return, eyes roaming from the tip of his boots to the top of his head.
Then, reaching out to him, “Here, let me just -”
Before Laurent could object, Damen licked each of his palms and applied his hands to the wayward bedhairs undoubtedly haloing Laurent’s entire head.
“Stop. It.” Laurent laughed, swatting Damen’s hands away. Damen burst into laughter too. Laurent said, “I told you to stop doing that.”
“I just want you presentable, Your Majesty,” Damen said, lifting his hands in surrender.
“Enough,” said Laurent, a warning. The presence of the long-ago joke lingered between them. He’d heard these lines countless times before.
Damen continued. “You know, we’re already late, we could just as well -”
“Stop,” Laurent laughed.
“I’m certain -”
“All right,” Laurent said. He quickly stepped into Damen’s space and, taking his face in his hands, brought an end to the arguments before they really began with a swift kiss to his lips.
Satisfied, Laurent returned to his place beside Damen.
Beginning with a deep breath in through his nose, Laurent concentrated now on replacing the grin on his face with the familiar cool, reserved expression of the King of Vere. He allowed his shoulders to drop and straighten, setting his spine with the same resolve found within his mind. Next to him, he felt Damen affecting a similar posture.
Together, they strode forward as one. The double doors swung open in unison to present them to the Great Hall.
What Laurent had expected to find inside the Great Hall was a broiling, impatient crowd in need of mollifying, their demands having gone unmet. What he found, instead, was an empty, echoing chamber, occupied by only Nikandros and Jord, lounging on the steps at the foot of the dais, indulging in what appeared to be cards and an assortment of cheeses.
The surprise of the scene had Laurent slowing to a stop at the center of the hall, bringing Damen to a halt as well.
Their entrance, having gone unnoticed in favor of the card game, was announced by the sound of Damen’s voice. “Is that - is that salted pork?” he called out.
Both Jord and Nikandros startled out of their sprawl, dropping tidbits of food and nearly upending a wine cup in their haste. They fell forward into very precise bows.
“Your Majesty -”
“Exalted -”
Laurent’s eyes narrowed. Again, he had no time for paltry greetings. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Where is the Barbin delegation?”
“Your Majesty,” Jord began again. “The Barbin delegation has been accompanied to Isthima for a tour of the fisheries, they will reconvene following -”
“On whose order?”
Jord and Nikandros exchanged an apprehensive look. Neither answered.
“Well?” said Damen.
Steadily, Nikandros met Laurent’s gaze. “Yours, Your Majesty.”
Laurent scowled. “I certainly did not order the Barbin delegation to be taken to the fisheries.” The stink alone would knock them flat on their backs. Perhaps this was a coup.
Silently, Jord handed a leaflet of paper, scrolled and bound with cord, to Laurent. He unrolled it, scanning the missive it contained inside. Written in a suspiciously Akielon hand was a royal decree from the King of Vere, requesting the Barbin delegation to be taken to the fisheries of Isthima to promote cross-border commerce regarding fish oil and the potential expansion of sustainable pisciculture in deference to Barbin agronomic advances.
That did sound like something he would say. Privately, Laurent had begun evaluating how best to broaden the Isthima fish trade beyond local seaports. He had not yet brought that particular goal to council, however.
“This signature is not mine. Forged,” Laurent said, passing the missive back to Jord. His eyes returned to Nikandros. “Your work, I presume?”
Nikandros stared back. He had grown bolder over the years, which Laurent admired. He enjoyed a good verbal spar with Nikandros now and then, when the man wasn’t actively disturbing carefully coordinated political affairs.
“Yes,” Nikandros said. “You needed rest,” he explained. He looked to Damen. “You both did. It’s been weeks since you’ve had a reprieve. Not since the skirmish in Dice, which the Kings should not have involved themselves in to begin with -”
Damen moved to protest, but his efforts were wasted as Nikandros plowed on. “And from which you never took the time to recover properly. Don’t deny it, Damianos, you haven’t been to the practice arena in days. And we’ve all seen how you favor your left shoulder.”
Damen’s mouth snapped shut. Laurent felt his eyebrows raise.
Slightly less defiant, Jord stepped forward. “Nikandros and I brought our...proposal to the council first, Your Majesty. They agreed.” He said, “You can’t be expected to rule with no time for rest. We determined a solution for the Barbin delegation which would not need require your involvement, Exalted, Your Majesty.” Jord looked between Damen and Laurent before promptly lowering himself to one knee. Nikandros, somewhat begrudgingly, followed suit. “However,” Jord said, “Nikandros and I freely accept the consequences for any action you deem inadmissible to the crown.”
The Great Hall descended into silence. To his left, Laurent saw Damen glance in his direction, as if he half expected Laurent to launch into a verbal dressing down at any moment, as he had in days past, or as he perhaps would standing before their troops.
Instead, Laurent considered the present outcomes of their advisors’ scheming.
He felt more well-rested than he had in weeks. Damen as well seemed to have that familiar, refreshed glow about him. The sun was shining - hot, but perhaps pleasant by the sea. The Barbin delegation had likely been maneuvered into a better arrangement than Laurent and Damen could have accomplished through talks alone. The day was still young.
Over Nikandros and Jord’s bowed heads, Laurent’s eyes found the cards and cheeses left abandoned on the bottom-most step, the scatter of coins between each man’s place.
“Rise,” Laurent said. Jord and Nikandros stood before them. Laurent let the moment linger until it verged toward discomfort. For effect. “Who was winning that hand?” he asked finally, gesturing to the game behind them.
Jord and Nikandros shared another glance.
“Er, Nikandros, Your Majesty,” Jord said.
Laurent nodded. “I’ll place three gold sideris on Jord taking the pot.” Next to him, he could feel Damen trying and failing to hide his amusement, his face transforming into a grin. He always did enjoy taking part in Laurent’s games. Laurent turned to him, attempting to hold back his own smile. “Nikandros and Jord have gone through a great amount of effort and risk to impose a day of rest upon us, wouldn’t you say?” he asked.
Damen did his best to compose himself, straightening his brow in seriousness. He nodded sagely.
“We might as well indulge,” said Laurent. Punctuating this decision, Laurent gave a seemingly baffled Nikandros an affable clap on the shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” He looked to Jord. “Both of you.”
With that, Laurent made his exit, Damen beside him, still beaming. They made it out of the Great Hall, past the foyer, and into a more private corridor before they both burst into laughter, stumbling to a halt next to the nearest statue.
When Damen’s hands found his hips, Laurent allowed himself to be gently backed up against the cool marble wall. They stood close, gladly taking up each other’s space, their faces nearly touching. “You should be nicer to them,” Damen said, still laughing. He bumped his nose against Laurent’s, tracing a line affectionately alongside it.
Laurent lifted his chin, defiant. Their faces suddenly much closer, only breath separated their lips. “What? I was just having a little fun. They wanted us to relax. I found it very relaxing.”
“Still,” Damen said. His eyes had lowered now, focused on Laurent’s mouth.
Laurent smiled wider. He tilted his face even closer, making his intent clear as he sought Damen’s kiss. It was happily given, their lips sliding sweetly together, Damen’s thumb tender on his cheek, fingertips stroking at the fine hairs behind his ear. Laurent twined his hands at the back of Damen’s neck. He could nearly taste the excitement on their lips, the unexpected freedom opening up before them for the day, the smile on Damen’s face nearly preventing the kiss altogether.
They did not step apart when their lips finally separated. Eyes closed, Laurent could feel every place they still touched; Damen’s hands on his body, the heat of Damen’s skin beneath his palms; softness when their lips brushed again as Damen said, “What would you like to do today?”
Laurent opened his eyes, met Damen’s warm gaze. “I have some ideas.”