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A warm breeze lifted the fine curtains that lay over the balcony arch and swathed a familiar, blue dusk.
There was a deep pain in Damen's abdomen that became wrenching when he tried to sit up. He panted through it. He had known worse, but memories were returning in the dim haze, of who had done it and all that preceeded, all that followed.
There was someone laid out over the covers beside him, in an exhaused sleep. His breathing was light, and precious. He was alive, and safe, and resting. The world had some mercy.
Damen braced against the pain and turned onto his side. Looking was a gentle balm, at the spread of his pale limbs, the fall of his hair and faint shadows over his face. He was still wearing the chiton, the one he had worn as they travelled and spoke of a future he never thought would come. At the Kingsmeet, he had knelt in it, offered his life for Damen's. He had worn it at the trial, where he had endured the weight of chains, his uncle's calm violation of everything he was, with death and desecration waiting at the end. He had worn it in the baths, where he had locked Damen to the floor and done what Damen had to and could never do.
“Get a pallet to carry him and a physician. Now,” Laurent had ordered Nikandros, who stood motionless over the scene.
"I'm not leaving you alone with him."
"Then he will bleed to death."
That was the last thing Damen remembered.
He didn’t go back to sleep. He would remember this for the rest of his life, lying beside Laurent in the fair moonlight, looking at him as he thought he never would again.
Damen resisted the urge to reach out for him, his delicate hand that rested close, his face, beautiful in repose. He wouldn’t wake him.
He had done nothing to cause it when Laurent shifted against the bed, and his eyes came open.
They held the same well of relief that Damen knew, once he had noticed, “You’re awake”
“I am.” said Damen. He tucked Laurent’s hair back, and stroked a thumb over his cheekbone. “How long has it been?” he asked, then voiced his concern. “You are still wearing this.”
“Two days. I think. There is a lot to be done.”
That meant he had not slept in three days, at least. It was far too long. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help you.”
“It is not quite your fault.” Laurent's smile was faint, and fading. “It is going to be difficult. Moreso than we could have anticipated.”
“I know.” Damen understood Laurent's concern, but he did not share it. “It will be easier, soon. And I’ll be with you.”
“Paschal says two weeks.”
Two weeks- Damen swore. He made to move onto his back, but he was stopped by a vicious stab of pain.
Laurent shifted closer, and ran a soothing touch up his arm. “Trust me; I am not glad about it either, but we can’t risk an infection.”
He was right. “I suppose it would complicate things if I died.”
“Don’t speak of it.” It was unlike Laurent, or at least new for him to flinch from conversations, to admit that he had been afraid. Of course he had been afraid. When the soldiers had pushed Laurent towards the block, Damen had been so afraid that he thought that fear would never leave him. It still hadn't.
"I love you" said Damen. It was as true now as it had been in the clamour of the hall, as it had been for longer than he had been able to admit.
Laurent's voice was quiet. “I thought I would have to watch you die for that.”
“I couldn't leave you.” That panic, sharpened by guilt, had pressed into him. “It was my fault, what happened at the Kingsmeet. I failed you.”
“My uncle played it admirably.” Laurent was not quite looking at him. “I don’t think he planned it that way, though. I think he trusted that our-” the words got heavier, “-alliance would be broken, by your disgust.”
“No." That was what Laurent had expected, too. He believed Damen capable of that, or perhaps himself as deserving it. “My disgust is for him, and him alone. I could never love you less for what he did.”
“He didn’t suck his own cock.”
The Regent was dead, and there was no use for Damen's anger. “You were too young. You didn’t understand.”
Laurent was silent. After a moment, Damen slid a hand into his hair, like silk, and tried to release him from his thoughts. They didn’t have to do this now.
“We are going to have to get you some more clothes." he said, into the stillness. "This is not fit for a king.”
He had meant the state of it, but Laurent never missed an opportunity. “I’m glad you have finally admitted it,” he murmured.
“We are trying to improve relations, lover. It is important to lead by example.”
“You will be responsible, then, when half of Vere gets the flu.”
Damen’s chest was full. “We are going to be kings.” he said. It was their right, and yet, when they had dared hope for it, it had been like the hopes shared by soldiers, so often disappearing like sparks above a fire. They had fought hard.
“I thought it would be lonely,” said Laurent.
Damen pushed down his emotion. “It will be the honour of my life to rule by your side.”
There was an honesty to Laurent’s reactions that was undefended, now. He brushed against Damen’s cheek.
“I love you,” he said.
It was- It wasn’t as if Damen didn’t already believe that, but the words were still unexpected, and they found their need in him.
He nudged a little closer to Laurent, who did the same, and their lips met. It was like an exhale. It was easy to forget the pull of pain, accept it with the tenderness of Laurent’s kisses, the curl of his fingers at Damen’s nape. All the terrifying vulnerability of the last few days transformed into something new and personal between them.
Damen’s hand was at the back of his knee, bringing him closer, and Laurent’s breath against his lips betrayed him.
“We can't” he said, even as Damen knew it. Damen turned onto his back with a groan of pain and frustration as one.
“If you tear a stitch it is another two weeks of this, and I will never forgive you.”
“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Damen decided. In the faint grey light, Laurent’s laugh was like the sun rising.