Archive of Our Own

It was just his uncle and himself in the carriage, Laurent wearing chains and his uncle wearing a crown. It felt like all the energy in his body was getting drained out into the metal around his wrists.

He wasn’t afraid of dying, but it did occupy the entirety of his thoughts. He wanted to see Auguste again, see his mother again, see Nicaise again, even though probably they were all mad at him for sleeping with Damen. He wondered if it would hurt, whatever the method of execution would be. Typically a traitor’s death was not a pretty one, but rules were always shifted for royals. And anyway, it would end sooner or—

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way, my sweetling. I wish you hadn’t forced my hand.”

The sudden sound of his uncle’s voice shocked Laurent almost to the point of flinching. It took him a moment to process what had been said. He had been watching the Kingsmeet get smaller through the window, and he slowly turned his head to look at his uncle.

“I’ve not.” Was all he said. The words felt flat and dull. He couldn’t muster the energy for conviction— and anyway, an argument did not feel worthwhile. Not when he would be dead soon, so none of this mattered.

“You were never this difficult as a child.” The Regent sighed as if this was cause for lament.

Laurent looked back to the window. He imagined Damen appearing on the horizon, racing after them on horseback like a white knight from one of the stories Auguste used to read to him. It was a pretty fantasy, but a fantasy nonetheless.

“You were such a little angel.” The Regent reached across the gap between them to pat Laurent’s leg, too high on the thigh to be well-intentioned.

A part of Laurent’s brain told him to shove his uncle off, but Laurent’s limbs were heavy with the events of the past hour. Damen knew. Which meant whatever had been simmering between them was finished for certain. It shouldn’t matter, since Laurent would be dead soon, but it made his shoulders sag and mind fill with self-deprecation.

The Regent continued, “You were so sweet and gentle. So desperate to make me happy, even when it brought you to tears. I still think about it sometimes.”

“Why?” Laurent did not look away from the window. “Only way you can get hard?”

The Regent cuffed him on the back of the head. “Do not be crude.”

“Crude.” Laurent looked at him now. “You raped me.”

The Regent drew his hand back. “That is vile, disgusting language.”

“You know it to be true,” Laurent said, temper too short, energy too low.

“This is a lie,” The Regent shook his head, “Who filled your pretty head with such ugly words?”

Laurent had only stared at him for a long moment. “It is only us. I’m to be executed. You do not have to twist your narrative any longer. You know what it was as well as I do.” Laurent studied his face, but he found only sincerity, “Can’t you even acknowledge it? What you did to Aimeric and Nicaise and me, it was horrific. It was cruel. Don’t you know that?”

This time when the Regent reached over, it was to slap him across the face.

“Enough of this.” The Regent huffed. “I’ll not converse with you while you are emotional like this. We shall talk about more dignified matters.”

Coldness crept along Laurent’s body, raising his hairs and pinching his flesh. “There is nothing inside you.”

“Laurent.” The Regent warned.

Laurent shook his head, settling back in his seat and staring at his uncle with new eyes, unfiltered by rose-tinted childhood memories and doubts. “You’re an empty shell of a person, you’re nothing, you have—”

“Laurent, enough.”

“—no empathy or realism or sense of self.” Laurent had to stop to catch his breath, which had become wild. “You’re delusional. You really think… or do you just not care?”

“Laurent.” The Regent snapped. “Control yourself.”

Laurent looked at him for a long moment, then turned away and looked back out the window.

“We ought to discuss what is going to happen.” The Regent said. “I could be convinced to appeal to the Council for a merciful execution, should you—”

“I hope Damianos cuts your cock off and chokes you to death on it.” But the words were delivered with unemotional flatness, not conviction or heat of anger.

The Regent was silent for a moment, then chuckled. “Ah, so you are still my sweet boy, after all, just with a nasty vocabulary. You think he’s going to avenge you. That’s so cute.”

Laurent drew his knees to his chest. Maybe he ought to start praying, to make the shift to the afterlife more smooth. The last thing he needed was to be stuck in the In Between.

“He knows what you are now,” The Regent pressed. “Akielons enjoy whores just as much as any man, I should think. But they don’t love them.”

He hoped Nicaise had made it to the Beyond alright. Laurent had given him proper burial rights, but he was not sure how well they worked when the body was not intact or even in the same city. He’d said two additional prayers, one to Auguste’s spirit and one to his mother’s, to ask them to guide Nicaise to their protection. Hopefully they had heard it. Laurent would find out soon enough.

“Perhaps one day, you’ll realize that I was the only person who ever loved you properly. And this is how you repaid me.” The Regent sighed heavily.

Laurent picked at his nail beds.

“Alas, perhaps you have not enough days left for so dramatic a realization.” The Regent sighed.

Laurent tried to start a prayer, but the Regent’s voice grated at his ears.

“Alright. Because you are still my little one, I’ll grant you this: a clean death.” The Regent proclaimed. “The law dictates that traitors be hanged, drawn, and quartered, but these practices are so brutal, aren’t they? Beheading is the most humane, or so the physicians claim. I’ll have it done swiftly, with a swordsman rather than an ax. A final gift to you.”

Laurent was quiet still. The words registered, but he was having a hard time mustering a reaction.

“Laurent,” The Regent took Laurent’s chin in one hand and forced him to turn to face him. “What do you say?”

Another beat of silence, then Laurent said, “Thank you.”

“There you go.” The Regent leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “You’re welcome.”

Laurent didn’t speak again.

+

Laurent might have enjoyed watching Ios come into view, but his thoughts were so preoccupied, he hardly realized they had arrived in the city at all. If the Regent tried striking up conversation at all that day, Laurent hadn’t heard it. The more they traveled— the closer they got to the site of his execution, the less Laurent could do anything but think.

In the final days of travel, he had barely slept, barely eaten, and barely spoken. It did not feel worthwhile to do anything, given he would be dead soon.

When the carriage finally stopped and a guard dragged him out, the only thing he could think about was how hot it was. The sun was directly in his eyes, which had become accustomed to the darkness of the curtained carriage.

The Regent left him with the guard who had pulled him from the carriage. An Akielon who kept one hand locked firmly around Laurent’s arm, but nothing more.

It was some time later— and Laurent could not really say how that time was spent or how much of it there was— before his uncle came back for him. The sun was dipping low by that point.

“Kastor has requested your presence tonight,” The Regent smiled to him. “I do hope there is anything left of you in the morning, else the trial will be very uneventful.”

Then the same guard took him by the arm and brought him down a long hallway. Dread pooled in Laurent’s stomach with every step.

The palace was pretty. Laurent recognized this only as an objective fact; he didn’t pause to admire it or recognize it as art. The columns holding up the ceiling had intricate carvings along the top, and between each set, there were podiums displaying different statues and painted vases. Perhaps another time, he would have looked at each one individually, but for now, he barely looked at them.

Kastor had taken the king’s chambers. The guard knocked on the heavy wooden doors, and a moment later, they opened.

Laurent had only a vague imagination of Kastor in his head, yet he would have recognized the man immediately, even if he did not have context before seeing him.

“Lord Kastor.” Laurent said, deadpan and lifeless. His throat hurt a bit from lack of using his voice.

The first thing Laurent thought was that Kastor looked a great deal like Damen, or rather they both took after their shared father, but Laurent had no way of confirming that as he had never seen the man. Kastor’s dark hair fell in big curls, and his eyes were the same warm brown Laurent had stared into some days ago. His body was large, tall and firmly muscled, and boasted silver scars from battles won.

“So formal, Prince Laurent. There is no need for that,” Kastor smiled at him, but there was no warmth in it. His Veretian was flawless and unaccented. “I’m pleased to have you join me tonight.”

“Well, the invitation did not come with an option to decline.” Laurent replied evenly. He hated that this was how he was going to spend the last night of his life, but it didn’t entirely surprise him. He’d known something like this would happen since he decided to give himself over to his uncle, but he thought of it being Kastor had never crossed his mind.

Kastor did not become annoyed or angry like Laurent thought he might at the first sign of an attitude. Instead, he looked to Laurent’s wrists and asked, “Tell me, are the chains necessary?”

It took Laurent a beat to understand what he was asking, then another to decide his answer. “No.”

Kastor grinned at that and said with false sweetness,“Good boy.”

Laurent narrowed his eyes, but the guard immediately got to work removing the shackles, so he did not complain. His wrists were bruised and raw from the metal, and the slight breeze on his bare skin was such a relief, he could have cried. Kastor stepped to the side to allow Laurent through the doorway.

“Come along.”

Laurent took only a few steps into the room, then stopped as Kastor closed the door behind them. His heart was beating too fast— fast enough that he thought he might be getting lightheaded, or maybe that was because he was locking his knees— and he had to think consciously about breathing normally, which of course made his breathing wild and erratic. He only hoped this would be over fast.

The room was large and wide, and the walls and floors were all made of the same clean, beautiful marble. An ornate tapestry covered a great amount of the wall overhanging the large bed— Laurent did not look at the bed— and depicted a scene that must have been from a story, but Laurent had not heard it. The woven warrior in traditional garb was holding a spear and bleeding from his heel. If things were different, Laurent would have liked to ask Damen to tell him the story.

The far wall was majority window, all open-shuttered, and the third wall was open to a large balcony. Thin, white linen curtains blew in the ocean breeze. Pillars held a stone roof over the balcony, the underside of which was decorated with a mosaic of tiles Laurent couldn’t quite make into pictures from this angle. The last wall, the wall most close to him, was unadorned.

“Rude to linger in doorways,” Kastor said, brushing past him, “Come with me.”

Laurent followed from a distance, clasping his hands together to hide that they were shaking. Kastor was Damen’s brother. Maybe he would be gentle. But Laurent did not have high hopes.

There was a small, circular table at the threshold of the balcony, not quite on it, not quite in the room, either. The table was bare save for a bottle of wine and two glasses. That was clearly their destination, which annoyed Laurent greatly. It seemed Kastor wanted to get him drunk first, or poison him.

“Sit,” Kastor gestured to one of the chairs as he pulled the cork from the wine and began filling the glasses.

Laurent stood.

“You’re nervous.” Kastor said, not looking at him as he filled the second glass. “It’s alright. I suppose anyone would be, given your situation. We are strangers. But not for much longer, I should hope. For now, all this must be very unnerving to you. You don’t know what I will do, and you hate it.” He set the bottle back on the table. “You like to be in control. That’s alright, too. So do I.”

Laurent still stood, several feet away from the table, several feet between himself and Kastor.

“You should know, your uncle talked about this incessantly. How he was so confident he could lure you out, get you in his custody. He talked about what he would do to you once he had you, or what he would have others do to you. Things I’ll not dignify by repeating.” Kastor watched him with a sort of interest.

“This was his idea, then.” Laurent glanced about the room again. There was no chance he could beat Kastor in a hand-to-hand encounter, especially not in the state he was in, and he was not going to lie to himself about that. If he wanted to do any damage, he would have to find a weapon.

“No.” Kastor told him very seriously. He seemed offended by this notion. “Rest assured, child, it was mine.”

“Yes, that does ease my mind.” Laurent tried to meet his eyes again, but Kastor was busy adjusting the arrangement of silverware on the table.

It bothered Laurent that Kastor spoke so well and that his Veretian was so good. Better than Damen’s, probably, which Laurent begrudgingly thought made sense because of their difference in age. Still, it made it difficult to continue imagining Kastor as a savage warlord.

“When he arrived back, your uncle told me he meant to leave you to the mercy of half a hundred men until your trial,” Kastor looked up through his lashes to study Laurent’s face, which he carefully ensured gave no reaction. “Now you need only endure the mercy of one.”

“How lucky I must be.”

“You can stop glaring at me like that, flattering as I find it.” Kastor took up one of the wineglasses and drank deeply from it. “I have no intention of misusing you. You’re too young for my tastes, as it were.”

This did make some ghost of an emotion dart across Laurent’s face— relief that he was not brought here to be abused, surprise and confusion about the age part—, and Kastor quirked a brow.

Laurent had imagined Kastor as wild and cruel and violent, but maybe that had been a lapse in judgment egged on by personal grudge. Kastor had been clever enough to usurp, after all, and that was no small feat, even if he did have help from the Regent a thousand miles away. It almost sounded like Kastor brought him here to protect him from his uncle, though Laurent was still certain there was some hidden objective behind this.

“First time you’ve heard that?”

Laurent regained the inch of composure he had lost, “I only figured you had some sort of fetish for your brother’s seconds.”

There was a flash of anger across Kastor’s features, and Laurent thought for certain that Kastor was going to hit him, but after a long pause, Kastor only smiled, all teeth.

“There you are. I’ve heard more about your tongue than any other part of you,” Kastor told him, something dark in his voice that made Laurent’s stomach feel heavy, “I’m glad to know the rumors are true. I’d have been sorely disappointed otherwise.”

“Eager to please you, Lord Kastor.” Laurent said dryly, sarcastic, and Kastor chuckled they were sharing some kind of a fun joke together. He took a few steps closer, until he was close enough that Laurent had to tip his chin up to look at him, then just when Laurent was debating taking a step back, he circled around behind Laurent and put his hands firmly on Laurent’s shoulders.

“You can start by sitting down, then.” He put enough pressure on Laurent’s shoulders that he was forced into the chair, then he took his own chair across the table.

Laurent watched him as he sat lazily and swirled the wine around his glass. “You asked me here for something.”

“Yes.” Was all Kastor said.

“Perhaps you could narrow it down for me.”

“We’ll get there, little dove, don’t worry.”

“Dove.” Laurent scoffed, not even deigning to touch the ‘little’ part.

“Fitting for you, I should think.” Kastor drank again. “White, pale creatures. Creatures that bring peace.”

Laurent looked to the open balcony. “My execution is to bring peace, you mean.”

“I mean what I say.”

Laurent glanced at him for only a second before looking back at the sky, “There is something you do not say. You mean that as well.”

“Ah, so impatient. If I tell you everything now, there will be nothing to discuss over dessert.”

“Afraid I don’t have the stomach for dessert.” Laurent told him, and that much was true. He had been perpetually nauseous ever since the Kingsmeet, and he was certain any large amount of sugar would send him into a horrible sickness. Kastor was playing some sort of game with him, and while he might have played along another time— might have even enjoyed it, reveled in it— his mind was elsewhere at the moment.

“My chef will be beside himself to hear that,” Kastor chuckled. “Drink. It will lighten your spirits.” He himself drank another deep sip.

“I have no taste for it.”

“No dessert, no wine, how dreary. A shame. The local wine is a triumph.”

Laurent thought about slamming his head into the wall, or maybe the table. Apparently some quiet and solitude to prepare oneself for the journey to the afterlife was too much to ask. Instead of concussing himself, he said dryly, “I pray you forgive me for rejecting your hospitality.” which felt about the same.

“Pray,” Kastor shook his head, “I would rather you not do that here. I don’t need your foreign gods dirtying my keep.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for that as well.” Laurent looked to the balcony. He couldn’t see very well over the edge of it from this angle— the bannister was solid rock. He could hear the ocean below, though, the waves crashing against the rocky shores. Probably it was very pretty.

“Are you enjoying Ios?” Kastor asked, following Laurent’s gaze to the balcony and misreading it.

“There are worse places to die.” Laurent shrugged. “Will you bury me or burn me?”

“Akielon tradition is cremation,” Kastor told him, “but what happens to your remains is up to your uncle the King-Regent. Perhaps he will give you a Veretian burial. Perhaps he will give you to the pigs. Time will tell.”

“My uncle the King-Regent,” Laurent’s head snapped around to look at Kastor at this, “He calls himself the king now, you ought to know.” It was a hint of something— trouble below the surface. Laurent was not yet sure what to make of it.

“So you are listening.” Kastor chuckled. “I was worried. They told me you had not been speaking much. That you were near-catatonic. I need you awake and attentive.” He clapped his hands once, and the doors opened once again, allowing two men inside, pulling a cart between them. They unloaded the contents of the cart onto the table wordlessly. Dinner. A generous portion of grilled fish with fragrant herbs, fruit, potatoes, and other vegetables and seafood Laurent had never seen before.

As the two men left, wordless still, Kastor picked up his fork and knife. The knives were sharp, Laurent realized when he saw it in Kastor’s hand. He glanced at his own.

“They told me you were not eating, as well.” Kastor said, “So you must be hungry.” He ate a cut of potato first, and Laurent watched silently.

If he caught Kastor at the right moment, he might be able to lunge across the table and bury the knife in his throat. But it would be a matter of absolute perfect timing. And it occurred to him that he was not feeling quite himself— after eating so little for the past days, his strength had abandoned him, and his body was heavy with fatigue. He may do better to wait until after his stomach was full before trying to fight.

The smell of such fragrant, well-seasoned food reminded Laurent’s body of its needs. His stomach churned.

“Eat,” Kastor pointed at Laurent’s plate with his knife, “You think I would poison you hours before your head’s to be cut off? You’re irritating me.”

Unfortunately, Laurent really couldn’t ignore his hunger a moment longer. This— in some twisted irony— was the safest environment he’d been in since the Kingsmeet. No Regent, no leering guards. It was his best chance at a final meal. He picked up his fork and speared a potato. It was very good. He ate another.

They ate in silence for a few moments, so blissful Laurent nearly forgot where he was and what was happening. Then Kastor spoke again.

“Your uncle can only see benefit in your death,” Kastor said, “but I think there might be some sort of advantage to your life.”

“High praise.” Laurent tried the fish. It had a nice citrus glaze that complimented it very well, he thought.

“I have a question for you.” Kastor topped off his own wine glass, glancing at Laurent’s untouched one before putting the bottle back down. “But I do not think you will answer honestly.”

“ I think I am growing tired of this dance. I’d prefer you ask it plainly.” He’d actually prefer if Kastor stopped talking altogether, but it was at least better than talking to his uncle.

“Plainness is not a trait valued by Veretians.”

“Valued by dead men, though.”

“And yet, you live.”

Laurent looked back to the balcony. The pink sky was turning dark.  “What does your balcony overlook?”

“Thinking of jumping?”

“Only if the impact kills me.” Laurent stabbed a tomato with his fork a bit too forcefully. Red juice burst from it like blood. “I’d hate to drown slowly. Or be eaten by whatever lurks in your oceans.”

Kastor laughed at that. “At this height, even the water would kill you on impact.”

“An easy death.”

“They say beheading is easy as well.”

“Hmm.” It was true, Laurent just hated to think about what they would do with him afterwards, how they would put his head on a pike or string his body up on the palace wall. No final rights. “But you would not see me beheaded, you said.”

“Not quite what I said. But yes. There may be some benefit to a longer lifespan.” Kastor straightened, and Laurent knew he was getting ready to deliver the true meaning behind this meeting. “I was surprised when your uncle wrote to me some time ago, suggesting a partnership. I had been considering allies for a long while, but he never crossed my mind.”

“Turned out alright for you.”

“So it would seem. But he was not my first choice.” Kastor raised his wineglass. “You were.”

Laurent nearly laughed. “Me.” He felt a little bit like he was losing his mind. Maybe he had already gotten his head cut off, and this was some elaborate dying dream.

“You had more reason to want my brother destroyed than anyone else. Sole heir to Vere, blood-allied with Kempt through your mother, of the right age to enter a political marriage, young. People like a young king. It means a long rule. Your uncle is aged, childless, and without prospects for an heir. If he were a woman, they would call him a spinster and spread rumors he is a witch. Ah, but there are nasty rumors about him in the villages anyhow. Your villages as well as mine.” Kastor leaned closer, as if he was sharing a secret, despite their being alone, “Rumors of sexual perversions.”

Laurent ate a bite of a fruit he did not recognize. Orange and sticky-sweet. “I imagine those rumors exist for all Veretian monarchs.”

“Oh, yes. The usual sort of wild rumor— that Louis the Wise had four dozen of his bastards killed to conceal his sins, that Queen Amelie had teeth above and below, that Ernest the Kinslayer preferred the pigs to his wife. Inconceivable, ever-changing rumors that no man takes for genuine truth. But the same rumor for four decades? That is quite unusual.”

“If you want me to believe you dislike my uncle because of moral high ground, you’re going to be disappointed.”

Kastor smiled, dry, unbothered. “He did well enough in post-war economic recovery, but since then, there has been a stagnation. Stagnation means restlessness. And of course, executing little more than a child two months before their coronation… well, even a half-wit knows that’s suspicious. Suspicion doesn’t mix well with restlessness. The people will not receive news of your death kindly.”

Laurent looked at him. “You seem to know a bit about the Veretian people.”

“I make it my business to know the thoughts of the common people,” Kastor told him, “Your uncle forgets them. He forgets who populates his army, who staffs his castle, who makes his food, who tends to his wounds, who pays the taxes he sets, who farms the land, who upkeeps the roads. He only remains king so long as they do not rise up and kill him on the way home. You would do well to remember that.”

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “You mean to use me to oust my uncle.”

“Yes.” Kastor smiled.

“You really do like to usurp.”

Kastor looked annoyed once again, but he launched back into his pitch. “Even if all goes well— you are found guilty and executed, my brother meets his fate on a battlefield somewhere, the war ends with a crushing victory— he is a bitter old man who killed his pretty, little nephew rather than to give up power. A man who raises taxes, spends frivolously, and fucks little boys.”

“I—”

“I heard about the little one he killed. Your little friend. What was his name?”

Laurent’s throat went dry. “Don’t speak of him.”

“Started with an N, yes? Nico? No. Noelle?” Kastor tapped his knife against his plate with high-pitched metallic clangs. “Once word of that gets out to the public, your uncle is going to be swimming through angry mobs to get back to his throne.”

“Nicaise isn’t—”

“Nicaise,” Kastor nodded. “Yes, that’s it. Such a sweet name. Terrible what happened.”

“He’s not—” Laurent floundered for words for a moment. Not for you , he wanted to say, but it didn’t quite make sense the way he wanted it to. “Just leave him out of this.” He’d suffered enough without getting his name dragged through the streets of Vere and Akielos alike, and he didn’t like the idea of Kastor using Nicaise’s murder to his advantage.

“Your people are going to hate the King-Regent,” Kastor leaned forward, “And they’re going to want you .”

“No. He’s convinced them I’m a traitor. Tomorrow, he will have my life, and it will be done.”

“You might be done. The rest of us will continue.” Kastor drank. “Are your people stupid? Or is it possible they might know a lie when they see one? Your uncle’s stories of your treachery are convoluted and confusing, and they are not backed by verifiable actions you have taken against your people. Even allying with my brother can be explained as honoring the peace treaty from Marlas. A little shift in the narrative, that’s all it will take to convince them of your innocence. Tell them how your uncle spins lies in order to keep himself in power. That is much more believable than the stories he tells about you. And it has the benefit of being the truth.”

Laurent just shook his head. “No. This is the only way it can be. I want— this is how it has to be.” He didn’t deserve to be king any more than his uncle did— this had to be Damen’s victory, not his own.

But the answer only annoyed Kastor. “The rumors were never so cruel as to call you passive. If you let this happen, you doom your people. He has no heirs, no love of the people, no true allies. He will bring your kingdom to ruin.”

“Whatever you are proposing—”

“Ah, I see: I have not made myself clear enough. I am proposing an alliance.”

“I’m not trusted by the Council.”

“The Council can be swayed. Or replaced.”

“I am alone here. I have no armies.”

“You have mine, should you agree to my terms.”

“I fucked Damen.”

“A poor choice, to be sure.” Kastor tipped his head from side to side, “but easily rectified. Say this is a lie constructed by the enemy. Or say you only did it to guarantee his loyalty. Or— well, let’s be frank. He’s much larger than you, much stronger, and a seasoned warrior. It won’t be a stretch to get them to believe that he—”

“I won’t do any of that.” A defensiveness twisted in Laurent’s stomach. “You said terms.”

Kastor nodded, pleased by this. “Should you agree to the alliance, a few things will happen. I will motion that the trial happen under Akielon law before an Akielon tribunal, and you will claim your uncle and his sources to be committing perjury. The tribunal and I will be forced to investigate these claims first, and when we find your uncle guilty, the charges against you will be dropped. Your uncle will die in your place, and you and I will revise the peace treaty.”

“That’s a plan of action, not terms.” Laurent tapped his fingers against the table. “You would still want something from me.”

“A few things, yes. Lighter restriction on trade between our kingdoms, exchanged aid in the rebuilding effort, some marriages between our minor lords and ladies. All things typical of peace treaties. And of course, your army’s aid in putting down my brother’s rebellion.”

“Right. Just that small detail.” Laurent said wryly. He picked at his vegetables. Did Kastor really not know Laurent would never agree to this? This was a desperate attempt, Laurent realized. Kastor knew something Laurent did not, and he was afraid of it. “My army is not going to turn against Damen.”

“They will if you order it of them.”

“Yes. But perhaps not if I order it under coercion.”

“Am I coercing you?” Kastor’s lips twitched into a smile at that, “By urging you to take action? How cruel of me, to save your life.”

Laurent ate some more fish. It was very good. He was glad it would be the last thing he ate.

Kastor shrugged. “Anyhow, perhaps a fight will be unnecessary. Your armies will be free to join us in Ios unopposed, and your presence alone may be enough to stop my brother from attacking.”

Laurent raised a brow. Everything was starting to be very, very funny. His last night ever, and he was spending it like this, entertaining an alliance he wouldn’t agree to if Kastor put a knife to his throat. He held in a laugh as he said with a pout, “You would take me for a hostage? How mean. I thought we were allies.”

“No. Not a hostage. You misunderstand.” Kastor replied, unamused.

“Ah, alas.” Laurent mock-lamented, “I am only a fool. Please explain it to me in the most simple of terms, Lord Kastor.”

Kastor looked at him for a long moment, then finally said, “The best way to secure an alliance is with royal marriage.”

“Oh.” Laurent couldn’t say why this caught him off guard so entirely, but it felt like his entire body and mind paused for a full few seconds before processing what he had heard.

Kastor waited for a more articulate response.

“So you’re not proposing an alliance. You’re just proposing.” This play on words amused Laurent greatly— or maybe it was just the awareness of his impending death that was making him lose his grip on his emotions. Either way, it struck him suddenly how ridiculous this all was.

“Marriage is the strongest way to solidify the alliance.” Kastor replied, and Laurent covered his mouth with his hand in an effort to hide his laughter. It was not nearly enough, as his shoulders started shaking and his eyes started watering.

“That’s—” He actually had to stop for a moment to breathe, “—very true.”

“Are you alright?” Kastor’s brows drew together.

“Perfectly well.” Laurent put both hands over his face and laughed silently. His lungs were burning as his breathing became irregular.

“You—”

“I thought—” Laurent almost choked on a haphazard breath, which he also found funny, and sputtered for a few seconds before getting out the words, “—I was too young for you.”

“Political marriages aren’t about personal taste.” Kastor said, clearly off-put by what was happening.

Laurent propped his elbows on the table and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the tears that were building from spilling. Shoulders shaking violently now, it occurred to him that maybe Kastor thought he was sobbing, and that made him laugh harder.

He had been doing a pretty good job of concealing the sounds of his laughter until he snorted loudly, which set him off into a fit. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at Kastor now, face uncovered, and laughed openly, so hard he felt the muscles in his stomach contracting painfully enough that he put a hand to them.

“I am offering you your life. I am sorry you do not want it.” Kastor said.

Laurent’s laughter simmered down to small huffs. “And I’m sorry to be a disappointment.”

“You’re to die tomorrow if you don’t accept this offer.”

“News to me,” Laurent deadpanned, settling down just a little.

“You’re content to this? Leave Vere to your uncle, leave my brother to his battles? You’re really going to die for nothing?”

It took several more seconds for Laurent to come down from his laughter, but he wanted to compose himself for this next part. He took deep breaths and waited for his stomach to stop hurting.

“I’m going to die for Damen.”

Kastor shook his head in disbelief, then took a very long drink of wine. He was bothered, Laurent could tell, but he could not quite understand why. The thought occurred that maybe Kastor had thought Laurent would choose Kastor over Damen, as Jokaste had. Maybe this was exactly how it had been between them. Her watching him with her sharp eyes, him making promises of unity and peace if only she was smart enough to take it. All those plans falling apart before them.

“I met Jokaste.” He said suddenly, as these thoughts swirled in his head. “Did you know that already?”

Kastor narrowed his eyes a bit. “I knew it was possible. What does it have to do with this?”

“The child she’s carrying—” Laurent cocked his head, “—is it yours?”

Kastor studied him for a long moment. “I should think so. Yes.”

“If you see them again— Jokaste and the baby, I mean—” Laurent took a breath. “—do not let my uncle have the baby.”

There was a flicker of surprise on Kastor’s face, then he said, “I don’t see why you should care what happens to the child.”

“Hmm.” Laurent shrugged. “But then, maybe Damen will kill you both, and you will not have to worry about that. Damen will take care of the baby, I think, even if he learns it is not his. He’s good like that.”

Kastor looked at him, eyes scanning his face, brows pinched together.

“There is nothing I can say to sway you. Your desire is to die a traitor’s death tomorrow.”

Laurent nodded.

“And if it is not up to you?” 

Laurent ate another potato and asked, “How do you mean?”

“There is a hidden stairwell in these chambers, in case of invasion or siege or disaster.” Kastor arched a brow, “I could chain you back up, drag you out, and put you on a cart to somewhere only I know.”

“Hmm. So you would take me hostage, after all.” Laurent put his cheek in one hand.

“Only if you insist on being difficult.” Kastor replied, “Which I ought to have expected, based on the way your uncle spoke of you. Still. I thought you would have more reason.” 

“You can kidnap me if that is what you so desire. Not that it is exactly within my control to stop you, else it would not be a kidnapping,” Laurent thought he was being funny once again, but Kastor did not so much as crack a smile. “But that would be so tiresome. And tedious. And it would only delay the inevitable. And I would not make that easy for you.”

“Yes, I am beginning to understand that you make nothing easy.” Kastor replied. 

He really was upset that Laurent had rejected his offer, Laurent noted. No matter how last-minute or bizarre it had sounded, it had been genuine. That was odd. Yes, something was certainly going on to make Kastor nervous. The thought made Laurent smile a bit. 

“I’d fight you.” He held up the knife he had thought about killing Kastor with. “And I’d scream.” 

To which Kastor actually rolled his eyes. “I would beat you, and I would gag you. When I suggested taking you hostage, it was not contingent on your cooperation, strange as that might sound to you.”

And that almost sounded like a joke, so Laurent smiled a bit wider.

“You’re desperate,” Laurent arched his brows. “Would you like to tell me why?”

“Desperate.” Kastor chuckled.

“Hmm.” Laurent nodded. “I’m the biggest threat to my uncle’s rule, and I’m to die tomorrow. Supposedly, all is going very well for you. In a few years, once everything is settled, you could even overthrow my uncle, too. You said yourself he is old and childless. You ought to be excited, but instead you are begging for me to ally myself with you. Something is not going your way.” This amused him, too.

“You can wipe that smirk off your face.”

Laurent leaned forward, propping himself up onto his elbows, which he knew was bad manners. “You think you’re going to lose.”

“I think your uncle may have been right about you,” Kastor drank from his wine again, draining it. “You’re childish and horrible.” 

“Huh. I thought you said he liked children.” 

“And crass, too.” Kastor twisted his mouth in disgust. “You ought to be ashamed to joke about such things.” 

“You ought to be ashamed you ever allied yourself with him, honestly,” Laurent said, and for a moment, there was no humor in the world. “He’s disgusting and vile, and you were well aware of that when you let your greed for power drive you to kill your father.” 

Kastor’s face had become stony. He now looked more like how Laurent had imagined him. Angry, cold. An inch away from violence. “You should watch your mouth.”

“You—” Laurent pushed his plate away. He was full. “—are spineless and honorless, and you are a glutton for power despite not knowing what to do with it. It’s pathetic, and I pray to all my foreign gods that Damen kills you for it.” 

Kastor set his jaw. 

“I won’t watch your trial. A waste of time, given that the verdict is already written. But I’ll watch them take your head.”

“Hmm.” Laurent sat back again. “I am at peace with my death. Are you?”

“Alright,” Kastor sighed, “I’ve about had enough of you.”

“I hope my death brings you great entertainment.”

“It will.” Kastor told him, then almost as an afterthought: “My brother must be beside himself to know he slept with the Regent’s whore.” 

Now Laurent’s grip did tighten on the knife, which Kastor did not miss. He was a trained warrior.

“Fuck you.” Was all Laurent could say. It was a lackluster, pathetic insult, but there was heat packed into it. Kastor noticed this, too.

“All you can say? I must have struck a nerve.”

There was a knock on the heavy doors, and Kastor glanced over to it, then rose to answer. Laurent took the opportunity.

He darted to his feet and leveled the knife at Kastor’s ribs. It was clumsy— he was much better with a sword. If he had his sword, there would have been a proper fight. 

Kastor’s fist knocked Laurent to the floor before he even saw it coming. The knife was gone from his hand, and a moment later, he realized Kastor had twisted his wrist to force his grip to release. His face stung, and his mind was rattled with disorientation. As he heard the door open, he touched his fingertips to the curve of his cheekbone, where the throbbing was strongest. 

He wondered if he would be dead before it would bruise, or if his head would go on the pike with the mark.

He let himself imagine for just a second that it was Damen at the door, sword drawn and wearing battle armor. In Laurent’s imagination, Damen cut Kastor’s throat in a single strike, no words exchanged, then rushed to Laurent’s side.

“The battle’s won,” Damen would say, then he would pull Laurent into his arms and kiss him.

But in reality, Kastor was talking to a guard. Their voices cut through Laurent’s fantasy.

“The King would like to know if you are finished with the boy.” The guard said.

Laurent sobered entirely now. Almost certainly Kastor was finished with this. There was still plenty of time to send him back to his uncle’s men— a few hours, at least, for them to do as they wished.

“No.” Kastor snapped, “But bring me his shackles back.”

The guard bowed, then disappeared into the hall.

A tense silence sat between them as they waited for the guard to return, which he did in only a few short moments. Kastor took the shackles and closed the door without another word to the guard.

Kastor walked back to Laurent and clamped the first cuff around his unadorned wrist, then dragged him by the chain until he could clamp the remaining cuff to the bed frame, forcing Laurent awkwardly to sit on the edge of the mattress. Laurent could feel his heart beating against his ribs.

“We value honor in Akielos, not that you or your uncle would even be able to define the word.” Kastor said when he looked to see Laurent’s face, “You may stay here until morning.”

Then he backed away, and Laurent stared at him.

“If your uncle ever asks, I’ll tell him I did vile and horrific things to you. If Damen ever gets the chance to ask, I’ll tell him the same.” Kastor said over his shoulder.

Laurent drew himself up a little further onto the bed. It was very soft. He watched Kastor make himself comfortable on the chaise, which was large enough to be a bed in its own right. It was several long minutes before Laurent finally let himself lay back, and even then, he was tense. 

It wasn’t just the lack of food that had made him weak. It was lack of sleep, too. Sleep had evaded him when he was forced to share a tent with his uncle, the guards standing just outside. He was tired, though. Physically exhausted. So tired, he probably wouldn’t have been able to beat Kastor even if he did have a sword, in all honesty. Another time, maybe, on a full stomach and a full night of sleep.

He did not think he would be able to sleep the night before his execution. But he did.

+

Laurent’s hands were covered in Kastor’s blood.

They had taken Damen to the king’s chambers to recover. They had put him on the bed Laurent had been chained to the previous night— hours ago, really— and had set up a medical station on the table he and Kastor had eaten over.

A kitchen girl helped Laurent wash the blood off over a washbasin. Well really, she was doing all the work. Laurent was in shock, or what he thought shock must be. The water was pink.

Damen didn’t wake up for three days. When he did, Laurent was on the bed with him, a bit of space between them. 

At the feeling of someone touching him, Laurent jolted awake.

“Easy,” Damen murmured, eyes half-closed.

“Shit,” Laurent started to get up, “I’ll get Pascal—”

Damen caught him by the wrist, then he frowned, “Laurent, you look so skinny.”

“Idiot,” Laurent half-choked, “is that all you have to say to me?” 

Damen’s hand moved from Laurent’s wrist to cup his face, brows knit with concern. His fingertips brushed over the bruise Kastor had left, and Laurent flinched. 

“I’m fine,” He said, answering the unspoken question. “Promise.”

When Damen arrived in Ios, the mark was pink and red, not extremely noticeable, but now, it was a bright collection of blues and purples.

“You saved me,” Laurent said, feeling a little stupid for it. “You came for me.” 

Damen nodded, eyelids drooping again. “Always.” And then he was back asleep.

Laurent knew he ought to get the physician immediately, but he allowed himself just enough time of pause to press a kiss to Damen’s forehead.