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Damen was thrilled to be sitting at his own wedding feast. Wine and food were overflowing, slaves playing kithara and singing Damen’s favorites, athletes performing feats of strength, women dancing. Beside him sat Laurent, the second son of the late Aleron and Hennike of Vere, Prince of Vere and Acquitart, and Damen’s new bride. Damen glanced over at the young man, both of them wearing golden laurels in the Akielon style. The headdress was nearly lost in Laurent’s pale yellow hair, but Damen liked to see it on him nonetheless. Damen wore his usual fashion, a chiton fastened on one shoulder, revealing his musculature, with the addition of his red cloak and lion pin in respect of the ceremony of the day.
Laurent’s clothing had been a matter of some debate: would he wear the style of Akielos, his new homeland when he married Damianos, or would he wear the fashion of his home for perhaps the last time? In the end, they had settled on a sort of mix — to match their union. He wore a chiton that had a bit more coverage than average: fastened at both shoulders, with sleeves to the elbows, and the skirt falling to his knees. The style made him look more feminine than perhaps Laurent would have liked, had he realized, but he was more comfortable with less skin showing, so Damen didn’t comment on it.
The whole day had been splendid, from his waking at sunrise, the traditional pre-wedding fast, the sacrifice to the gods, and finally, the blended ceremony. Both of their families were present, the ceremony taking place at Marlas, equidistant between the two capitals. It was also a place of contention where, four years ago, Damen had bested Auguste in single combat, won Delpha, and secured a peace between their countries.
Auguste had begrudgingly yielded just before Damen made the killing blow, and only for one exceptional reason: Laurent. The boy, not yet fourteen, had come running onto the field, tears streaming down his face and a scream tearing from his throat. Damen could still hear him, a terrified little boy who had nearly lost everything. After all, Aleron had died by a stray arrow earlier in the day, and Hennike had died years before. Auguste was all Laurent had left, besides a distant uncle, and the boy had pleaded for his brother’s life with more gravitas than Damen had ever seen.
“Please,” he had said, on his knees, gripping Damen’s leather skirt like a lifeline. “Please, spare him. Take me instead, but do not kill my brother.”
“Laurent!” Auguste had snarled, furious at his brother’s pleading or at the offer to exchange his own life, perhaps both.
Damen had looked at the boy, grass- and mud-stained after a day of squiring in hard battle, and felt his heart break. Looking over Laurent, Damen locked eyes with the older brother. “If you will yield and sign a peace treaty, I will spare your life.”
“He’ll do it,” Laurent had said.
“I would hear it from Auguste.”
The older brother had stood on shaky legs, tired from the day’s exertions, and frowned down at the boy. “For the sake of my brother, I yield. I will sign a peace treaty. Delfeur is yours.”
Now, years later, Laurent was a young man and had — largely on his own — brokered an arranged marriage between the Crown Prince Damianos and himself. It was to secure the alliance, or so Damen was told. On the few occasions when they had met since the battle, Damen had been smitten with the boy so, when Theomedes proposed the arrangement, he had agreed with only a token argument.
As the night wound down, they took to their marriage bed, where Laurent was stilted and shy. “Let me take care of you,” Damen said, opening his new husband up with oiled fingers.
“I don’t know how,” Laurent admitted, hiding his face in a pillow, until Damen touched on a crucial spot inside him and Laurent very nearly melted. After that, he was easy and sweet, luxuriating in Damen’s touch, demanding kisses and more kisses. It was everything Damen could have wished for.
~
The next days were full of feasting and revelry, but also packing and preparations for travel. Damen was with Auguste, hunting, when his friend asked a rather strange question.
“Has he gone off on you yet?”
Damen snorted a surprised laugh. “Gone off on me? Laurent? Of course not. He’s sweet as a peach.”
Auguste laughed, derisive. “Sure. Remind me to sell you some snake oil later.” With that, the King of Vere spurred his horse through the forest, leaving Damen to catch up after him.
Later that same day, Damen was conferring with the captain of the Prince’s Guard, Jord, about safety measures for the journey to Ios, when Jord asked the same thing.
“Has the Prince gone off on you yet, Exalted?”
“Excuse me?”
Jord shrugged, smiling. “Well, you know. He has a sharp tongue, that one. I just wondered if he’d flayed you with it.”
“He would never.”
And then, just as Auguste had done, Jord gave an unsympathetic laugh. “Of course, Exalted.”
“Wait, no. Tell me what you mean.”
“I would never speak ill of my Prince, but… well, all of us in his guard have been on the other end of his venom once or twice. As well as the King, and nearly everyone at court.”
“But… Laurent is so sweet. I cannot believe it of him.”
Jord smiled. “You will see soon enough. Do not worry, Exalted, it won’t make you love him any less. Somehow, it seems to have the opposite effect,” Jord added, looking wistfully off into the distance.
Damen felt more disturbed than ever.
~
Damen did, indeed, get to experience Laurent’s tongue for himself only a few weeks later, and not as he might have liked to. They were a few days out from Ios, where Laurent would officially take his place as Damen’s consort. One of their party, an hostler from Vere, had lost a piece of tack for Laurent’s horse. Laurent gave the man a verbal lashing like nothing Damen had ever seen, like nothing he could even imagine. The insults were creative and scathing, and for several minutes Damen could only stand and watch, shocked.
Eventually, he stepped in, laying a hand on Laurent’s shoulder. “Enough.”
And then, to his surprise, Laurent turned his venom on Damen. Damen stood there and let Laurent flay him with words, no longer shocked but merely letting his husband spew all the vitriol he felt he needed to get out.
At some point, Laurent paused for breath, and Damen interrupted. “Are you quite finished?”
“Not at all, there’s also—”
“You’re done. Come with me.”
Damen gripped Laurent’s arm and pulled him away, none too gently, until they were out of earshot from the rest of the party. “Would you like to explain yourself?” Damen said, when they were alone.
“The hostler lost my tack, a serious crime against the crown.”
“He made a mistake. It happens. We’ll get it replaced. You’re not angry about the tack. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Laurent scoffed and looked away. Damen stood in silence, letting the quiet work for him. Finally, Laurent sagged like a puppet with cut strings, and spoke. “I’m nervous. I’m leaving my home and going to some foreign place, where I will spend the rest of my life. What if your people don’t like me? I know the alliance is still doubted by some on both sides. What if they think me a spy? Or that I’m not good enough for their oh so beloved prince? What if—”
Damen stepped forward and cupped Laurent’s cheek in one big, warm hand. “My people will love you, as I do. Despite what I just witnessed, I know you are sweet, and you will be well loved. Our marriage will strengthen the alliance between our nations and bring our people closer together. They will see you as I do and they will see how much we love each other.”
Laurent sighed and stepped closer, burrowing into Damen’s broad chest. “I know. This marriage, and this alliance, is a good thing. I just… tend to lash out, sometimes.”
With a chuckle, Damen said, “I can see that.”
Laurent gave a chastising little slap to Damen’s arm. “Hush.” Then, stepping away, Laurent said, “Come. Take me home.”
Damen couldn’t have hidden his smile if he’d wanted to.