Chapter Text
It has been a taxing day for Damen. Literally.
He and Laurent have spent the majority of their morning and the better part of the afternoon seated at the head of the council table, trying to determine the minutiae of which taxes and levies should change in the resultant merging of their kingdoms. It has been excruciatingly boring. Laurent is currently running his fingers over the fine lettering of an old Veretian scroll, as if by touching it the words will absorb wholecloth into his brain.
“Linen and wool,” he says absently, “are under mutual jurisdiction.”
A susurration of vague approval echoes around the room. Mathe grumbles the single note of dissent, and Laurent looks up sharply.
“Does the councilman have an issue with this?”
His tone is as fine-edged as a blade. Mathe straightens his posture and ducks his head in subservience.
“No, my King.”
Laurent presses his lips together and jerks his chin in a nod. “Good. Then we shall move on.”
Damen holds back the long-suffering sigh snagged at the back of his throat. He needs to stand, to stretch, to breathe something other than stale air. But this is part of the cost of being King, part of ruling a kingdom together.
Together . Again, the word knocks him by surprise. He sneaks a glance at Laurent, haloed in sun and every inch the King he is meant to be. Entirely his.
For this, he would sit through a thousand taxing days.
Damen rolls his neck and shoulders and the sound of his tired bones popping echoes in the chamber. Wearied council eyes flick to him, and he murmurs an apology. Laurent’s face is near-buried in the scroll, but very quietly he reaches out and sets his hand just above Damen’s knee.
Damen looks down in mild but decidedly pleased shock. Laurent’s thumb absently strokes the strip of bare skin at his thigh; a gentle, comforting gesture. Neither seeking, nor wandering, just a small and steady reassurance of closeness. Laurent does not look up. Damen wonders if he is even aware he is doing it.
A rush of warmth fills his chest. He is so terribly in love.
He leans to read the scroll over Laurent’s shoulder, their elbows lightly touching. In the shift of movement, he carefully places his palm over Laurent’s hand.
Laurent is mid-sentence, and the smile that blooms on his safe is unexpected and entirely genuine. His eyes stay on the page, but he turns his hand under Damen’s, their fingers slotting neatly together.
“–and if that is agreed, we have only one item remaining on the agenda.”
There is a brief silence and Laurent finally looks up at him. His eyes are as warm as the sun-kissed sea. “Well?” he asks, barely hiding the playfulness in his voice, “does the King of Akielos agree?”
All eyes are on him, but Damen’s entire world has been shrunk down to the palm that fits so perfectly to his own. He glances at Laurent in mild panic.
Laurent, blessedly, takes pity on him. “Oil,” he says, “Taxation will rise in Akielos.”
Laurent maneuvers their joined hands over to his own thigh and Damen can feel the heat of him through the thin cloth.
“After all,” Laurent says, “Akielons find more use of it.”
Damen’s eyes narrow in merriment. “Veretians have found increasing use of it of late.” He can see the faint flush at the base of Laurent’s neck. “But the King of Akielos agrees.”
Laurent nods once. His fingers tighten. “Good,” Laurent says, “now onto wine.”