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King Damianos relished the sight of Laurent sleeping soundly in their bed, bare of anything save for the sheet slipping low on his waist, as he dressed quietly and stepped into his sandals. After pinning his chiton in place, his hand dropped to stroke fingers across the curve of Laurent’s cheek, then drifted to brush hair from his eyes, stray strands of gold clinging to long flaxen lashes.
Laurent murmured something unintelligible, snuggling deeper into the fluff of pillows. It was rare for Damen to be up before him, but he’d been a bit lazy as of late–mostly lounging about in their bed, in fact. Laurent could be very convincing in the mornings–and wanted to visit the training grounds. Laurent would be miffed he’d been left out, but Damen didn’t have the heart to wake him–not when he looked this sweet.
Casting one last fond and mournful look back at his cozy lover, Damen strode from their chambers. Instead of stepping into the long, drafty stone hall with guards posted on either end, he’d somehow walked right into the palace gardens. Or strayed into them, rather. He couldn’t quite remember if he’d walked there or not. He was halfway down a marked path he knew well, one he and Laurent perused often, ignoring their many duties to linger together, talking and holding hands, stopping to kiss against a column here or there.
It was first light when he left their rooms, but now the sun was at its highest point in the sky. A warm spring breeze shifted through freshly bloomed flower bushes, bursting with pops of color as laughter and conversation drifted from over the hedges. The weather was off; Damen had been expecting an autumnal chill.
As Damen turned to continue down the path to find answers, he saw a quick flash of blond hair from the corner of his eye. A little boy peered at him from behind the jut of a stone wall, ducking just out of sight when he realized Damen he’d been caught spying on him. The corn silk of his hair and his mischievous grin were achingly familiar.
Damen rounded the corner and found Laurent–no more than six or seven years old–tucked into a small alcove carved into the stone wall, half-hidden behind an overhang of greenery, white flowers like a waterfall around him.
Laurent stifled a laugh with a small hand as Damen scratched his head in confusion before pretending to look over the wall, then beneath the hedge and between the bushes. Adorably, he was missing a tooth, and there was a faint sunburn across the apples of his cheeks. He’d always wondered what Laurent was like as a boy, if he was as clever, curious, and spoiled rotten as Damen hoped. Somewhat selfishly, he wanted to know what King Laurent was like before he’d met with violence and manipulation.
Damen knelt down, pushing the waterfall of flowers aside, revealing the giggling young prince. “Hello there,” he said, smiling down at him.
Laurent held a finger to his lips.
Distantly, Damen could hear a voice calling for Laurent from across the gardens. Boots tramped down the path toward them, and the voice called again. “Come out wherever you are, little brother! It’s time for your lessons!”
Laurent burst from his hiding spot with a shriek. “Hurry!” he cried with a laugh, scrambling to grab Damen’s hand, pulling him along behind him as he ran. “Before Auguste catches us!”
Together, they raced for the palace, the gardens–that lovely spring day between brothers–slipping away into the past. Damen kept turning his head to look back, but he never saw Auguste clearly. At least, not as Auguste should have been. The golden Crown Prince of Vere, carrying his little brother to his tutors on his shoulders. There was only the swoop of his sword and flashes of silver, steel sliced across the sky, everything cleaved apart in an instant.
Laurent’s hand was so small in his. Damen feared he would lose him as they ran faster and faster, the world turning on a wheel. Seasons changed unnaturally as the sun and moon hurtled across the sky towards each other, to eclipse and destroy, bringing the stars down with them.
Damen didn’t know if it was dread for what would come, or latent guilt for what had already been, but he pushed Laurent into the nearest room, slamming the door shut behind them. He grabbed the thick slab of wood from where it leaned against the wall and dropped it into place, barricading them inside just as something heavy beat itself against the door.
Damen backed up as the hinges rattled, debris flying as the door heaved and groaned but ultimately held. When he turned, he saw they were in a grand private chamber, but it seemed more like a tomb than a bedroom. There were dark curtains drawn over every window, the canopy shrouding the bed heavy with drapery and hanging with sheets of thick velvet, lace, and tulle, leaving nothing but a pit of darkness waiting like a portal to another realm, roiling with smoke and shadow.
Laurent sat before the roaring fire. He was so close to the flames the heat of them was pain, stinging his long lashes as tears fell from his glassy eyes. They dried in streaks down his splotchy face, and his nose was red. His chest heaved with racking sobs that rattled through him and clacked his teeth on their way out. Damen had never seen him so distressed.
“Why are you crying?” he despaired, dropping to his knees and taking Laurent’s small teary face between his hands. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Closer now, Damen saw that Laurent was still a boy, but perhaps twelve of thirteen. He seemed so fragile, sickly pale with dark hollows beneath his eyes. He’d taken a deep, shuddering breath when Damen touched him, as if he’d barely pulled him back from the brink of death.
“My brother died,” Laurent whispered as another tear fell, catching on Damen’s thumb as he stroked his cheek.
The boy’s voice cracked horribly on the cusp of another sob as Damen’s heart wrenched violently in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said, too nauseated to say or do anything else.
Laurent blinked long teary lashes at him in confusion. His hands came up to cover Damen’s “Why?” he asked. “It’s not your fault.”
Damen opened his mouth to confess that yes, it was, but the thing in the hall beat against the door again, splintering the wood. It was loud as a clap of thunder; Damen jumped, Laurent didn’t. The door bowed and cracked in the middle, and shadows began to spill in, slicking across the floor like an oil spill.
“It’s just Uncle. He’s been taking care of me,” Laurent said calmly, like he meant it to be a comfort to Damen. He patted his hands as he stood and started to the door–
Damen caught him by the wrist. “Don’t let him in,” he pleaded. “Don’t ever let him in.”
Laurent’s tears had dried. His eyes were horribly empty as he leaned in close to whisper, “I already did.”
Damen tried to get up, to sweep Laurent into his arms and hold him until the danger passed, but he was frozen where he knelt, held down by some greater force. Nothing here could be changed. He watched with a heavy heart as Laurent turned not for the door but the bed, walking toward the inky darkness.
It reached for him, curling an arm around his shoulders like an old friend or family member would. Laurent didn’t look back as it brought him into its mouth and swallowed him whole.
There was an awful moment of silence, then from the darkness came the lashing of a whip. It struck Damen across the face with a deafening crack.
With a gasp, he sat bolt right up. Covered in cold sweat, hands shaking, Damen kicked the covers off to swing his legs over the side of the bed. Sick to his stomach, head hung between his knees, he breathed through the worst of it as best he could.
Eventually, the dizzy spell and the static across his skin dissipated, guilt settling in its place. It was thick as bile on his tongue. Damen gingerly touched his face, worried he’d been flayed open again, but there was no mark. Everything was as it had been the night before when he’d gone to bed with Laurent snuggled in his arms. Everything was as it should be, but it felt wrong to think of it that way, not after what he’d dreamed. Not after that horrible nightmare.
Damen lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. Laurent was sleeping peacefully, hair like white gold in the moonlight. His face was soft, his lips parted. He twitched and let out a sleepy grumble when Damen touched his hip beneath the sheet.
Such a small, private thing, and Damen crumpled.
He climbed back onto the bed, wrapped arms around Laurent, and crushed him to his chest. The need to hold him, to feel the flesh and blood of him, ate away all reason.
Laurent stirred in the clutch of his arms, wiggling a bit to loosen them. “Damen?” he asked, then rolled over to face him when he didn’t answer. “Are you alright?” His brows pinched together as he squinted at him in the dark.
King Laurent was so beautiful, so resilient, and King Damianos was the envy of every man in all the kingdoms. Sometimes, it didn't feel like real life, like their life. Damen gently touched Laurent's face, remembering a little boy with sunburnt cheeks and a missing tooth, playing in the gardens. He could see traces of him now, in the curl of his lashes and the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
“I thought you said Akielons don’t catch colds.” Laurent’s smile was wry as he felt Damen’s forehead with the back of his hand. The smile dropped to a frown, and Laurent tried to sit up. “You’re burning up. Let me–”
Damen tightened his arms, caging him in. “Don’t go.”
“I’m just–”
“Please. Stay.”
Damen had inflicted so much pain onto him, killing his brother, inadvertently pushing him directly into his uncle’s warpath. He’d left him alone and unprotected. Lack of intention didn’t absolve him of the guilt, coming in unrelenting waves as Laurent willingly laid in his arms.
How could he even look at Damen, knowing what he’d done?
Yet, Laurent was tender with him, as if the crushing reality weighing on Damen was inconsequential to him in the moment. He cupped Damen’s face, kissed the corner of his mouth. “I won’t leave,” he said, “but can I at least bring you water?”
Slowly, wearily, Damen’s arms unfurled, and Laurent slipped free. He wasn’t gone long enough for Damen to mourn him, returning to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning over him. He pushed Damen’s hair back from his face and tipped a goblet to his mouth. He drank deeply, letting the water soothe his sore throat. As he settled back on the pillows, Laurent again pressed the back of a hand to Damen’s forehead.
“I dreamed you were hiding,” Damen said, his voice little more than a rasp.
Laurent’s lips twitched. “And where was I hiding?”
“In the dark. You were–” Damen’s brows furrowed. He couldn’t quite remember what had happened in the dream. It was so distant from them, from where they were now. His eyes drooped shut as Laurent’s cool fingers traced across his feverish skin. “I found you,” he said instead.