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In hindsight, Laurent should have known that his uncle’s invitation to go hunting with Torveld near Chastillon was nothing but a trap.

Then again, how could he possibly have known that it would end with himself and Damianos trapped in an ancient Artesian crypt? That was certainly not what his uncle had in mind – when the Regent had sent them off to the ruins under the guise of seeing a boar there, he’d likely intended them to meet the same fate as the two guards riding with them. As soon as they’d dismounted their horses to explore the ruins, the ground had caved in under their feet, sending all four of them tumbling into darkness. It was sheer luck that they had managed to avoid getting impaled on the primitive stakes at the bottom – the guards were not so lucky.

Instead, Laurent landed hard on top of Damen, all the air knocked out of him. The Akielon let out a pained grunt that was probably less from Laurent and more from the impact of the earth against his healing back.

Laurent scrambled off of him, brushing his clothes off hastily and glancing around, trying to avoid looking at the impaled corpses several feet away. The hole they’d fallen through was at least ten feet up – there was no way to climb out in sight. Wonderful, just wonderful.

Damen got up more slowly, wincing as he stood. He saw the guards and drew in a sharp breath. “What…where are we?”

Laurent frowned. Ahead of them was a tunnel, the ceiling so low that Damen would have to bend over to get through it. The floor was packed earth, but the walls were actual stone, carved with symbols or glyphs of some kind. Laurent went to the nearest one, tracing it with his finger. “These are part of the ruins,” he replied, peering into the dark tunnel. “Hm. I wonder if my uncle knew there was more than a pit of death down here.”

Damen blinked. “Your uncle?” Laurent rolled his eyes and continued down the tunnel, Damen following cautiously. “You think he purposefully led us into this trap? But how could he possibly know –”

Laurent sneered. “My dear barbarian, of course he knew. There was never any boar here – if there had been, he would have sent the whole party.” Laurent shook his head, silently cursing himself for not realizing sooner. “But he did not. And now we are stuck in what appears to be an ancient crypt, which would be preferable to death by impalement if I were not stuck here with you.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Damen retorted, now walking alongside him. Sure enough, the mountain of a man had to hunch his shoulders, and even then his head brushed the ceiling. It was ridiculous, honestly, how large he was, and Laurent would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little anxious alone in such close quarters with him. The Akielon had every reason to hate him, and perhaps his uncle was counting on him to finish the job.

Laurent swallowed hard. They were both unarmed. Damen had managed to bring down Govart in the ring drugged and unarmed…Laurent didn’t stand a chance. He exhaled unsteadily and let Damen lead the way, not wanting to turn his back on him. It was…not an ideal situation.

Damen was as oblivious to Laurent’s unease as he was oblivious to most everything, exclaiming at the strange statues and carvings they passed. “These must be thousands of years old,” he said, half to himself. “I never knew there were Artesian ruins so far north.”

Laurent didn’t like this place. It felt…off. “Akielos is not unique in that respect,” he muttered. “The Artesian Empire spanned both countries. The ruins here are just less well-preserved because of the snow and rain.”

Damen shrugged. “This place seems well-preserved to me. A crypt, you said?” He shook his head. “I don’t see any tombs.”

“Keep going,” Laurent replied curtly. “With any luck we will find the exit first and bypass the tombs altogether.”

Damen glanced back at him, brow raised. “Afraid of the dead?”

Laurent suppressed a shiver. “Afraid of what other traps might be in these tunnels,” he snapped. “The sooner we leave here, the better.”

Damen did look troubled by that thought, and stepped more carefully as they continued, which was difficult for someone with such lumbering feet. For a few minutes they walked in silence, and slowly the tunnel widened, until they were standing on the threshold of a large, roughly circular space. The ceiling was higher, and there were more glyphs on the walls – strange and swirling, carved deeply into the gray stone. Laurent could have sworn some of them were almost…glowing. Damen made as if to move forward but Laurent stopped him.

“Wait. Listen.” Laurent narrowed his eyes into the gloom. There was a sound; a faint sort of whirring that made his neck prickle. He couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.

Damen heard it too, and hesitated. “Maybe we should turn ba –”

Click.

The whirring was replaced by the unmistakable sound of an arrow whistling through the air. Laurent only had time to stare at the impending bolt helplessly before he was being slammed down to the ground, Damianos’s arm heavy across his chest. The arrow thudded into the earthen wall where his head had just been.

Laurent stared at Damen, whose face was inches from his own, expression equally shocked. “You just saved –” His heart thudded frantically, so loud he was certain Damen could hear it. Laurent shoved at his shoulder. “Get off of me.”

But Damen wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes were fixed on a point somewhere behind Laurent. “Oh,” he said, “that can’t be good.”

“What –”

And then a green mist was rolling over both of them, filling their noses and mouths and lungs with cloying sweetness. Damen tried to stand and fell to his knees, choking on the gas seeping into the chamber and clawing at his throat uselessly. Laurent crawled across the ground, trying to get to the tunnel they’d come from, but there was another sharp click followed by a thud as a heavy stone gate dropped down to block the entrance. He swore, his voice coming out as a croak and his vision spotting.

“Laurent,” Damen called, searching for him blindly, a mere smudge of silhouette in the thick green cloud. “Laurent!”

Laurent fought to stay conscious, lifting his head from the cool earth and looking blearily into the mist. Damen was coming closer, looming over him, and Laurent could do nothing but lie there on his stomach and struggle to breathe. The gas was like chalis but ten times stronger, painful in its intensity, and he could hardly think by the time Damen reached him, hand falling hard on Laurent’s shoulder.

“No,” Laurent gasped out, eyelids heavy. “I can’t –”

Damen groaned and collapsed next to him, eyes fluttering shut.

Laurent followed him into oblivion seconds later.

*

When he awoke, everything hurt, but his head hurt most of all.

Beside him, Damen stirred. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he moaned, sounding about as miserable as Laurent felt.

With great effort, Laurent turned his head enough to look around. “That mist is gone…it didn’t kill us, apparently.”

“It did something,” Damen replied despondently, sitting up and rubbing his temple. “And now we’re stuck in here.”

Laurent managed to crawl away from Damen, leaning heavily against the wall. The pain increased sharply, an agonizing throb through his head and chest. Laurent imagined it was not a dissimilar feeling to being impaled on a stake. He felt as if he was being torn in two, and could not stop the ragged sound of pain that slipped past his lips.

Damen, still crumpled in the middle of the room, shuddered. “It must have been…poison…”

Laurent put his head in his hands, as if that would someone help, would somehow block out the roiling waves of pain and nausea wracking his body. He felt – he felt like something had been ripped from him, like he’d felt after Auguste died but worse, which he hadn’t thought possible. Against his own volition, tears formed in Laurent’s eyes, threatening to spill.

Then Damen gasped, “Auguste,” eyes wide and horrified. “Auguste, please, no –”

Laurent glared at him furiously. “What are you playing at –”

And then suddenly his head was filled with the image of the bloodstained field at Marlas, and Damianos was there in full Akielon armor, crown and sword flashing in the sunlight, striking down with the last of his strength – and Auguste was there, his brother was there, and he tried to dodge the blow and stumbled and then Damianos’s blade was parting his chest cleanly, his blue eyes wide as he fell, golden crown lost in the mud as he crumpled to the ground, dead.

There was a cry and Laurent did not register it was his own until the memory faded, the memory that was not his, for as Auguste had fallen Laurent had seen it through the eyes of his brother’s killer.

Damianos was curled on the ground, gaze glassy. His chest was heaving. Laurent lunged for him, unthinking.

“Uncle,” Damen choked out, and Laurent froze, going cold all over. “Uncle, stay with me –”

“No,” Laurent said, horrified, “no, stop!” With little thought, he grabbed Damen’s face, cupping it in his palms. At his touch Damen’s eyes cleared, startled and bright with pain. Laurent was vaguely aware that they were both shaking.

Damen stared at him, lips parted. “Laurent.”

His voice came out strange. Laurent shook his head. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say it.”

Damen blinked, confused and dazed. “There was a man,” he said. “He hurt you.”

Laurent nearly collapsed in relief. Oh, Damen. Blind, guileless Damen, whose naivety did not allow him to see the truth even when it was right in front of him. “A man,” Laurent said, latching onto the vague truth. “Yes.”

Damen looked at him. His eyes were…soft. Warmer than they’d ever been before – when fixed on Laurent, anyway. “It hurts less,” he whispered, “when we are touching.”

Laurent, who had not realized they were still, in fact, touching, recoiled, and at once the pain increased.

And another memory flashed through his head – a large bedroom, a bed with white sheets, a beautiful woman with golden hair and a slave collar…and then there was blood, blood everywhere, the woman dead on the ground, and there were hands forcing him down, forcing him into submission, chaining his wrists and ankles, knocking him to his knees, hands, hands, so many hands –

Damen grabbed his arm and tugged him close again. Laurent’s eyes snapped open. His face was shoved up against Damen’s neck and he wanted to pull away at once and never touch him again, he really did, but he was dizzy and Damen was unfortunately right – the pain was worse when they were apart. And the memories…Laurent couldn’t risk Damen seeing anything else.

“Fuck,” Laurent said, with great feeling. “Fuck.”

“I know,” Damen mumbled into his hair. If Laurent wasn’t mistaken, Damen was…petting it. The brute was petting his hair.

“Stop that,” Laurent muttered. “I am not a cat.”

“Sorry,” Damen mumbled. “Sorry, it’s just – I need to distract myself.”

Laurent scowled. He had no idea how someone could smell so good after riding a horse and traipsing through a moldering tunnel, but Damen did. It was infuriating. “From what,” Laurent gritted out.

“It’s – I saw Auguste,” Damen said.

Laurent dug his nails hard into Damen’s arm. They might draw blood. He hoped they did.

“I saw the two of you…in Arles, I think, riding horses – you were on a pony. He let you win.”

Laurent’s low sob caught in his throat. “Stop,” he pleaded.

Damen’s grip on him tightened. “I keep seeing – your memories. Bits and pieces. Do you see –”

“Yes,” Laurent groaned, squeezing his eyes shut; marble palaces and blonde women and swordfights flashing behind his lids. Damen tensed against him, and Laurent almost laughed – of course; he thought Laurent still didn’t know who he was. Laurent kept his face tucked against Damen’s throat to hide his expression, the gold of Damen’s collar cold against his cheek. “But just – fragments.”

The fragmented memories came so fast they were little more than a sickening blur, and then one of them snagged in his mind and he was bound to the cross and he could see himself across the room with an expression of cold satisfaction and he knew what was going to happen before it did but that still didn’t prepare him for the agony of the whip striking him, a red-hot brand across his back, Damianos’s back, their back, everything was so tangled –

“So tangled,” Damen repeated, touching Laurent’s cheek. Laurent was trembling, his shoulders burning with the echo of the whip, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to unlace his jacket and see raw, bloodied welts on his own skin. Damen tipped his head up and Laurent’s body tipped drunkenly to the side, his head a mess of emotion and pain that was not his own. “Laurent, look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” Laurent was gasping without meaning to. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry –”

“Hush,” Damen murmured. “I know it hurts. It hurt. But it’s over now. It’s done.”

Laurent did not feel like himself. He was wrung out and wobbly and frayed at the edges, as if he’d been taken apart and put back together wrong. His head, which had once been his own citadel, a stronghold of his own making, was crumbling, forced apart by Damianos, twisting up in his brain and nerves and heart. If the way Damen clung to him was any indication, he felt the same thing, but with Laurent. That was…somewhat comforting. They were suffering together.

“I do not wish to die like this,” Laurent told him, trying and failing to find his usual composure.

“In a stuffy gas chamber with a sweating Akielon smothering you?” Damen shot back. “Who wouldn’t want to die like that?”

Laurent snorted, some of the tension inexplicably leaving him when Damen started tentatively stroking his hair again. “I suppose there are worse ways to go,” he mumbled into Damen’s neck. His skin was more delicate there; around the warm gold collar there were soft spots. Laurent focused on the spot where Damen’s pulse thudded, more relaxed than before, a flicker of movement in his throat. He had a strange urge to press his thumb to it, to feel the evidence of Damen’s life for himself. He resisted. This was unbearably intimate enough already.

“The memories have stopped,” Damen said after several minutes, or perhaps several hours; Laurent had no idea. “Maybe the pain has too –”

He pulled away and both of them sucked in sharp, agonized breaths, chuckling bitterly as they folded together once more. “You are far too optimistic,” Laurent said.

“Here’s some real optimism – what if this never wears off?” Damen asked.

Laurent lifted his head to glower at him. “That is not even remotely funny,” he warned.

“Noted,” Damen sighed. “Hm. In the meantime, we might as well make the most of it.”

Laurent drew back abruptly, mostly ignoring the excruciating burst of pain that followed and glaring daggers at Damen. “I thought,” he snarled, “that we already went over this, brute.”

An image of the baths and the cross flashed through Laurent’s head and he knew it was Damen remembering. His eyes widened. “No – that’s not what I meant –”

“Isn’t it, though?” Laurent hissed. “Clearly, you have a penchant for blondes.” All the women in Damen’s memories had been blonde, anyway.

Damen folded his arms defensively. His voice was rough with exasperation and pain. “If I wanted to do that, don’t you think I would have already? I didn’t mean we should pass the time with…that.”

“No?” Laurent scoffed. He stepped away until his back hit the smooth stone. “I don’t know, it might help, don’t you think? Like all those tales where a spell is cast and the only way to break it is true love’s kiss. Why not true love’s fuck? Or any fuck, really, that might just do the trick.”

Damen threw up his hands. “I meant escaping! I meant we should pass the time working together to try to get out of here!” He glared at Laurent. “Or are you incapable of setting aside your hatred of me for that long?”

Laurent opened his mouth, then closed it. He eyed Damen warily. “I am capable,” he said. “But unless there is a hidden door only visible to clingy Akielons, there is no way out.”

Damen rolled his eyes and stood up, holding out his hands in placating surrender as he approached Laurent. “No, but look at the runes. Behind you.”

Laurent moved away from the wall, keeping distance between them although he could see and feel the strain separation was having on them both. Damen’s pain was reflected back onto him, a continuous loop of echoing discomfort. Laurent pushed it aside with gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes at the three symbols carved into the wall. One vaguely resembled a trident; the other two were unidentifiable squiggles that hurt his eyes.

“What about them?” Laurent retorted.

Damen came closer, patience clearly wearing thin. “Please just let me touch you so I can think.”

Laurent frowned. “You? Thinking? Don’t be ridiculous.” But he held out his arm.

Damen took his bare wrist gratefully, and Laurent barely managed to hide the way his knees nearly gave out in sheer relief. There was nothing special about the brute’s large, calloused hands, but right then they felt like the best palliative in the world.

Damen made no attempt to hide his relieved sigh. He shuffled up to the wall, peering at the symbols. “It’s a riddle,” he said.

Laurent wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “You can…read that?”

Damen glanced at him. “Yes,” he said, sounding a bit offended. “It’s very similar to ancient Akielon writing, which I’ve studied. I don’t know what this says,” he tapped the trident, “but these other two…they’re the hieroglyphs for ‘open’ and ‘blood.’”

“Hieroglyphs?” Laurent repeated, the unfamiliar word strange on his tongue.

“Akielon for ‘sacred writing,’” Damen explained. “This place – I don’t think it was a crypt. More like…” He grimaced. “Some kind of sacrificial maze.”

“Sacrifices? For whom?”

“Artesian gods, perhaps,” Damen mused, dragging Laurent along with him as he scrutinized the other runes. “Aha, here – this means ‘holy’ or ‘righteous,’ something like that. Righteous…man? No…righteous soul.”

Laurent glowered at Damen’s fingers on his wrist. “Open, blood, righteous soul. Well, that clears it right up.”

Damen ignored him. “And this bit is about a key…no, a keyhole.” He paused, and then nodded. “To open, we need the blood of a righteous soul. And the keyhole is here.” He tapped the rune which looked like a distorted E.

“Be my guest. I’m not smearing my blood on a ritual chamber’s walls,” Laurent muttered.

Damen snorted. “Good. Doubt it’s righteous enough anyway.” He walked over to where the arrow stuck out from the wall, and tugged it free with some effort before handing it to Laurent. “Cut my palm,” he said.

Laurent held the arrow gingerly. The arrowhead was long; thin and shiny and very sharp. Damianos had literally just handed him a weapon, and asked Laurent to use it on him. It was a wonder he had survived this long, truly.

“It could be poisoned,” Laurent told him.

“Yes, and I’m sure you’d be delighted if it was,” Damen retorted, shoving his free palm in front of the arrow. “Just cut it.”

Laurent did so, keeping his eyes on Damen’s as the small blade sliced through. They winced in unison – Laurent felt the sting of the cut as he had felt the agony of the whip, and shuddered to think of what it would feel like had he given in to the urge to drive the arrow deep into Damianos’s chest. As if hearing this thought (and perhaps he did), Damen looked at him sharply and dragged him back to the keyhole rune, pressing his bleeding palm to it firmly.

Laurent wasn’t expecting anything to happen. So he jumped when, a few seconds later, the chamber was filled with the sound of stone grinding against stone as the walls opposite them began to slide apart to form a new tunnel. Damen grinned, even though he was still bleeding everywhere. “Told you,” he said, and started towards it.

Laurent yanked him back. Damen blinked down at him. Wordlessly, Laurent grabbed the hem of his shirt, which was the first proper shirt he’d had in a while, but still far gauzier than Laurent’s.

“Uh –”

Laurent stepped close to him and ripped a strip of fabric from it, exposing a bronze slice of Damen’s muscled stomach and a dark shadow of hipbone. He seized Damen’s wrist and wrapped the cut with deft fingers, knotting the fabric across his knuckles. He could feel Damen’s eyes on him. He stepped back, hyperaware of Damen’s grip on his wrist, of the way his fingers curled slightly against the delicate bones there.

“Been taking lessons from Paschal?” Damen asked lightly, but there was real curiosity in his tone.

Laurent half-shrugged. “You can read ancient runes; I can be an impromptu physician. We all have our hidden talents. Let’s go.”

They walked together through the tunnel, both hoping there was no more mist waiting for them. Laurent looked at the walls – the runes were more frequent and closer together here. “Can you read these?” he asked Damen.

“A little.” Damen’s grip on him tightened minutely. “They’re not exactly encouraging.”

“Tell me.”

Damen furrowed his brow. “Seems this place was meant for sacrifices to one god in particular. The god of love.”

“You must be joking.”

Damen sighed. “No. It says this was an altar to Eros, and that lovers volunteered to come here to…prove their love, or something like that.” He hesitated. “Do you think your uncle knew –”

Laurent cut him off right there. “I think my uncle fully expected you to take advantage of the situation. I’m sure he’s already interrogated you about whether or not we’ve fucked. What did you tell him, I wonder?”

“The truth,” Damen retorted. “I don’t want those rumors to exist any more than you do.”

Laurent sniffed. “Oh, I don’t know. Veretian prince fucks Akielon bed slave into submission does have a nice ring to it.”

Damen, irritatingly, was not as upset as Laurent had expected him to be. He just shot him a look and said, “We both know you’d much rather kill me.”

Laurent shrugged noncommittally. They walked in silence, Damen’s expression as they passed more runes growing increasingly uncomfortable.

Finally Laurent snapped, “Oh, what is it?”

Damen cleared his throat. “It…sounds as if we will be expected to go through more…trials. Trials of lovers.”

Laurent exhaled. “Please elaborate.”

He shook his head. “I’d rather not.”

Laurent stopped walking. “What. Trials.”

“I don’t know, alright?” Damen exclaimed. “It’s written in the most confusing way possible; very Veretian, actually. All I can tell you is that there are two more trials and the price of failure is death. And completing those trials is the only way to escape.” At Laurent’s expectant silence he sighed and added, “And the trials may involve us making some rumors come true.”

Laurent’s skin prickled. “The only way? And you’re sure about this.”

Damen grimaced. “Absolutely.”

“If you’re wrong, I will do far worse than flay your back,” Laurent warned.

“I’m as unhappy about it as you are,” Damen said.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Laurent shot back, shaking his head. “Fine. We’ll continue with these trials, for now. Tell me more about this Eros, this god. Was he a cruel god?”

Damen looked a bit abashed. “I…may have skipped some mythology lessons,” he admitted. Laurent imagined a younger Damianos, hiding from his tutors, sneaking away to swordfight or go on some adventure with his friends. It was the kind of thing Auguste would have done. Laurent shook himself.

“Do you know anything about him?”

Damen thought for a few moments. “I did read a few myths about him. He was always a trickster in them…not cruel, exactly, but not above hurting others for a bit of fun either.”

“Sounds cruel to me,” Laurent muttered.

“Look at the pot calling the kettle black,” Damen said. Laurent jabbed him with an elbow. “Anyway, he was also fond of grand gestures.”

“Grand romantic gestures, I’m guessing,” Laurent grumbled. “Perfect.”

“Hey,” Damen said mildly, “you could be stuck here with worse people.”

“Name one.”

“The Regent,” Damen said, and Laurent stumbled slightly. Damen glanced at him, worry creasing his brow. Laurent mentally counted to ten. Damen was just teasing – he didn’t know. He didn’t know.

“A fair point,” Laurent replied. “But it’s very difficult to be worse than my uncle.”

Damen smirked. “So you actually hate someone more than me! I’m so touched, Your Highness.”

Laurent did not justify that with a response. They turned the corner and stood in another circular space, though this one was thankfully devoid of arrows or mist. It was full of runes, though, and a strange bluish moss that clung to the stones, interspersed with mushrooms that glowed with a sickly pink light. There was a square stone on the opposite wall with a keyhole in it.

They both lingered on the threshold cautiously. “Can you read the runes from here?” Laurent asked.

Damen craned his neck, squinting at the intricate carvings. He blinked. “Yes…it says that in order to find the key, we have to eat the mushrooms.”

“After you.” Laurent was no fungi expert, but those mushrooms did not look edible.

“We both have to eat them,” Damen countered, leading him into the chamber.

Laurent scowled. “Fine. At the same time, then.” They both plucked a mushroom cap from its stalk. It was sticky, and there was pink goo on Laurent’s fingers. He prayed he wasn’t going to seriously regret this. “One, two, three –”

The second he swallowed it, he knew something was wrong. Laurent’s head spun sickeningly, and his vision blurred, colors too bright for the dim caves flashing before his eyes. Damen was still clutching his wrist, and his hand felt too hot, almost burning – Laurent thought he might pass out again.

But instead, the nausea eased, and when he came back to his senses he was standing with Damen on the field at Marlas. His gut twisted. “What is this,” he whispered.

Damen was looking around with wide eyes. “It looks so different,” he murmured, gaze sweeping over the tall, gently waving grass spotted with wildflowers, not a corpse in sight. But they had covered this field, once, bodies strewn across the ground, mutilated and glassy-eyed. And all for what, exactly? The death of a king, an heir, and a prince’s innocence? Damen let go of his wrist, and no pain followed the lack of contact. Laurent followed him through the grass, on edge.

“The mushrooms must have been hallucinogenic,” Laurent told Damen, hurrying to catch up. “This isn’t real, just…an illusion.” I hope.

“A strangely personalized illusion,” Damen said, brushing his fingertips along the grass where it was turning to seed, tufts flying free and carried off by the warm breeze. “And so detailed…”

Laurent glanced around nervously. “Are we just meant to wander around looking for the key?”

Damen shook his head. “No…I think we should go to the fort.” He pointed to Marlas itself, dark and towering on the horizon, just over a nearby hill. Laurent’s entire being recoiled at the suggestion. He had been in that fort during the battle, watching the massacre play out, screaming from the ramparts as Auguste rode out to face Prince Damianos, crying into his horse’s mane as Vere was forced to retreat two dead royals later. It wasn’t a place he remembered fondly.

But Damen was already making his way towards it, and Laurent was even more perturbed by the thought of being left alone there. He had no choice but to follow.

As they neared the fort, Laurent’s trepidation only grew – it appeared abandoned, and was in fact crumbling, one of its great walls entirely destroyed. Damen stopped at the top of the hill, staring at the fort’s gate, which was wide open, the doors having rotted away.

“How welcoming,” Laurent said dryly, and walked to the dark archway. Damen continued after a moment’s hesitation. Laurent wondered if he was remembering his own experience at Marlas. His memory of it was likely far more positive than Laurent’s – a moment of great victory for Akielos, he thought bitterly. But it was still war, and Damen must have fought hundreds of men before Auguste. And Auguste had wounded him. You have a scar.

Damen seemed as ill at ease with the collapsed fort as Laurent was, avoiding the piles of rubble and looking up at the twisting towers as they crossed the outer courtyard. His throat bobbed with a nervous gulp. “I don’t think we’re alone,” he whispered.

Laurent frowned, and blinked into the dark shadows as they neared the fort proper. It was quiet…but not silent. There was a sound that could have been the wind if not for its steady rhythm. “Something’s…breathing.”

Damen nodded tightly, the two of them staying close and moving slowly. The breathing was getting louder, and when they passed through the fort’s entry and foyer, its source was revealed. Laurent clamped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from gasping.

Coiled in the main hall was a huge dragon, its golden scales glinting in the half-light, massive body rising and falling with each thunderous snore. Its wings, green and leathery, were folded neatly against the sharp spines running along its back. It easily filled the entire space, and its forked tail flicked lazily a few meters from where they stood.

Damen nudged him and pointed. Laurent followed his finger – the dragon’s forepaws were crossed over what appeared to be a nest, filled with three huge golden eggs…and one small silver key.

Laurent swore under his breath. Damen nudged him again. Laurent was ready to pin him with a death glare, but when he turned to look, Damen was holding two swords, and handing one to Laurent. Laurent blinked at it. How…? he mouthed. Damen shrugged, and jerked his head towards the dragon, hefting the sword eagerly.

Laurent caught his wrist and shook his head. “You can’t,” he hissed. “We need to sneak past it, not fight it.”

Damen scowled. “But I’ve always wanted to fight a dragon,” he muttered, pouting a little.

Laurent’s chest twinged. He ignored it. “Get over yourself,” he snapped. “I’m not dying because you wanted to play hero.”

“Would we actually die if it killed us here?” Damen mused, looking at the sword less eagerly.

“I’d rather not find out,” Laurent told him, before carefully setting down the sword and tiptoeing towards the dragon. A few moments later Damen followed, though he kept his sword. Laurent didn’t know if they’d actually die, but the dragon looked awfully real and awfully dangerous. He concentrated on not panicking and stepped over the creature’s tail delicately, giving the wickedly barbed tip a wide berth.

As he got closer, the snores were almost deafening, and it was unbelievable how large the dragon was – its head alone was twice as long as Laurent and as wide as Damen was tall. He didn’t want to know how big its teeth were, but if they were anywhere close to the size of its curved claws…Laurent shivered. Up close, he could see that its scales were actually gold tipped with a greenish tint, and the white horns curling from its mighty head were ridged like a ram’s. It was actually a rather beautiful creature, serene in its slumber, with heat emanating from it as Laurent made his way along its side to the nest.

Damen was unavoidably louder than Laurent, but was still at least making an effort to sneak, which was…more than Laurent had expected, honestly. He glanced back, and saw Damen was equally entranced with the dragon, jaw agape and eyes bright in an expression which should have been stupid but was mostly just endearing.

Laurent mentally slapped himself and crept carefully around the dragon’s closest forepaw, moving very slowly and freezing whenever its hot, sulfurous breath puffed against him. If it opened its eyes now, Laurent would be the first thing it saw. He swallowed and edged up to the nest, reaching for the key carefully. Damen was close behind him, waiting, the light glinting off of his sword reflected onto the gold scales.

Laurent’s fingers closed around the key.

The dragon woke up.

Laurent scrambled backwards, tripping on its paw and tumbling into Damen, who half-caught him with a shout as the dragon reared up, snarling and opening its jaws, flame glowing in its throat.

Its teeth were very big.

“Run!” Laurent cried, holding tight to the key and sprinting out of range just as the dragon roared, creating a veritable inferno where Laurent had just been standing. Damen, who was farther behind, was thrown forwards by the small explosion, and Laurent saw the dragon strike downwards towards him like a snake, intent on killing or eating him.

Damen, foolish and brave as he was, didn’t try to roll away. Instead, he jabbed the sword up and into the roof of its mouth as it struck.

Blood sprayed from the wound as the dragon recoiled, roaring furiously, and thankfully Damen did start running then, sword still stuck in the creature’s mouth. Laurent met him in the doorway and grabbed his hand, all but dragging him out of the fort while the dragon howled behind them. Laurent felt strangely bad for it, and reminded himself that this was all an illusion. But then he felt something wet on his hand, and when he looked down he saw Damen’s arm was bleeding from where one of the dragon’s teeth had sliced through skin.

“Where are we supposed to go?” Laurent panted, the key cold and digging an imprint into his palm. “That dragon isn’t staying in there forever!”

Marlas was rumbling behind them, and with a deafening crash the dragon broke through what remained of the ceiling, wings spread and eyes fixed on the two men fleeing across the field. It sent a spurt of angry fire into the air, and then it dove, claws out and teeth bared. Laurent urged himself to run faster, but knew neither of them could outrun an angry dragon.

“Wait,” Damen said, breath warm on Laurent’s cheek, “maybe we’re not supposed to go anywhere.”

“What –”

“Grand romantic gestures,” Damen said. “Like dying in each other’s arms.” He stopped running.

Laurent tugged at his hand. “What’re you – let go!”

Damen didn’t. “Embrace me,” he said.

Laurent’s jaw worked. “You are making this up,” he muttered, but stepped into the circle of Damen’s arms, and stiffly wrapped an arm around him. “The dragon is going to burn us alive.”

Damen patted his shoulder. “Yes, but at least I’ll be with you, sweetheart.”

Laurent pinched his still-healing back. Damen crushed him closer to his chest. The dragon dove down, jaws opening, fire glowing, so hot Laurent felt it singe his hair and he pressed his face into Damen’s shirt, bracing himself for the searing pain –

And then they were back in the cool, dark cave and Damen was chuckling, lightly pushing him away. “Huh. You really thought we were going to die?”

Laurent flushed and glanced pointedly at Damen’s bleeding arm. “It was a very convincing illusion,” he gritted out, turning quickly to the door and fitting the key into the lock. It clicked and opened – if it hadn’t, Laurent would have given up right then and there. The room beyond was a long rectangle, and the walls were higher here – the ceiling was at least four meters up. Damen went over to the right side of the room, which had a strange pedestal in it, upon which jumbles of runes were inscribed. Laurent went to look at it – it looked like actual words written out, but he still couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“Well?” Laurent looked to Damen expectantly.

Damen frowned. “I…can’t quite…it doesn’t make any sense. Something about a correct order of…pictures? Tiles? I don’t know.”

“Tiles? Like those?” Laurent went to the other side of the room – about seven feet up, there were rows of tiles that looked as if they could be moved or pushed around, but neither of them could reach that high up. Laurent hated to suggest it, but said, “Maybe if I get on your shoulders –”

Then, without warning, another wall slammed down between them, cutting Laurent off from both Damen and the tunnel they’d come from. His heart leapt into his throat.

“Laurent?!” Damen pounded a fist against his side of the wall. “Laurent, what happened?”

“I’m – I’m just stuck here, I don’t know how to – oh. Oh, dear.”

“What?”

The rock wall had shifted to reveal a series of what looked like pipes. And each one was flowing with water which was rapidly filling Laurent’s side of the room. The ground began to turn to mud and Laurent began to panic.

“Is that…water?” Damen called, confused. “Laurent, I can hear water –”

“Yes,” Laurent whispered. “Yes, I believe the design is to fill my side of the room with water.” It was up to his ankles, and as it disturbed the ground, bleached white objects became unearthed, floating up with the rising water. Laurent’s voice pitched. “Damen. There are bones. There are – this entire room is filled with skeletons.”

There was some very fervent Akielon cursing. Then Damen said, voice strained, “There has to be something to stop the water. This is just another riddle, right? So…so look for a mechanism or…or runes, are there runes?”

Laurent scanned the walls. They were bare, except for the tiles. “No,” he said. “No, there’s nothing in here except water and everybody else who got trapped and drowned.”

“You’re not going to drown,” Damen retorted, but it didn't sound very convincing.

“It’s up to my knees,” Laurent informed him. He looked at the tiles again. “Wait – the runes on your side, they said something about the tiles. Maybe…maybe you’re supposed to tell me how to get out.”

Silence. More cursing. “Laurent. Laurent, you’re right, but…I can’t read all of this!”

“What do you mean?” Laurent snapped. “You read everything else just fine!”

“Yes, but – I can only pick out bits and pieces, not enough to solve the entire thing – I can try, but I –”

“You better try!” Laurent said, splashing the water emphatically. “Less excuses, more trying!”

“I am trying!”

Laurent leaned his head back against the wall. “It’s very convenient that when it’s just my life on the line, you suddenly lose your skills, brute.”

There was a pause. “No, that’s not…I wouldn’t let you die. Not like this. I…Laurent, I really don’t know,” Damen said miserably.

Laurent exhaled, struggling to control his breathing. The water was at his hips, and three skulls were floating within arm’s reach, staring at him with their empty, gaping eye sockets. “Please try,” he said. If it sounded like he was begging, he was.

There was a silence, during which the water level increased at least half a foot. It was freezing, and Laurent was shivering with a mixture of cold and adrenaline. He closed his eyes. Had Damen left him? He’d said he wouldn’t let Laurent die, but Laurent hardly believed that. He’d always known Damianos was a murderer, after all. But while Auguste had died valiantly in battle, Laurent would die in a trap of his uncle’s design, alone, in a forgotten grave with so many others. He barked out a bitter laugh.

“Laurent.”

His eyes blinked open, startled. “Yes?”

“It’s slow progress, but I think I’ve figured out the riddle. It’s written in a kind of cipher, that’s why it’s difficult, but basically once the water rises enough you need to start pushing the tiles in the right order, and that should stop the water, remove the wall, and open the next door. I have the first few tiles and I’m trying to decipher the others.”

Damen had stayed. Damen was actually trying to save him. Either that, or this was some trick and Damen just wanted him to think he was helping…but no. Damen wasn’t capable of such deception, Laurent realized. And even if he was…Laurent had no way of knowing. His only choices were to trust Damen or die.

And Damen had already saved his life once here – twice if he counted the dragon.

“Laurent, are you still –”

“Yes,” Laurent said hurriedly, “yes, tell me the order.” The water was halfway up his chest.

“It’s orchid, daffodil, lily.”

Laurent blinked. “They’re…flowers?”

“God of love; what’d you expect? Orchid, daffodil, lily. Got it?”

“Yes, but what if the others are more complex? I’m not exactly well-versed in flora,” Laurent retorted.

Damen made a distinctly exasperated sound. “You think I am? Let’s just hope that none of these flowers are too unfamiliar, alright? Now give me a second to translate the others.”

A minute passed. The water was at Laurent’s shoulder. “Your second is up,” he called.

“Alright, alright! The next three are iris, rose, daisy. Simple enough for you?”

“Hurry. It is up to my chin,” Laurent replied primly. And the tiles were still too far out of reach, he didn’t say.

“Uh…the next three are…confusing.”

“How so,” Laurent gritted out.

“I don’t know this word,” Damen replied, “it’s…it’s more Veretian than Akielon, I think you say it mugot, or maybe muget…”

“Mugeut,” Laurent said. “Lily of the valley.”

A pause. “I thought you weren’t well-versed.”

“Next one.”

“I think…it must be a forget-me-not. And the last one is narcissus.”

“Nar…cissus?”

“It’s an Akielon flower…” Damen trailed off. “It’s, uh, white?”

“Helpful.”

“Like a white daffodil,” Damen added. “Is there one that looks like that?”

Laurent was treading water by then, and the tiles were almost within reach. There was, in fact, one that looked like a white daffodil. “Yes.” He reached up, and as the water slowly carried him up, he swam to the first three. “Orchid…daffodil…lily.” The tiled pushed in with a low click.

“Is it working?” Damen called. “I thought I heard something.”

“Yes!” Laurent replied, voice light with relief. “Then iris, rose, daisy…” Those three required more swimming back and forth, and water was more than halfway to the ceiling, but there were only three left. Laurent pushed the remaining tiles with little difficulty, and waited.

The water kept coming.

“Well?” Damen shouted over the rushing water.

“It’s not – it’s not working,” Laurent told him. “There has to be another set!”

Some shuffling. “There isn’t!”

“Keep looking!”

Damen made a pained noise. “Where? There’s nothing else on the pedestal –”

“Keep. Looking!”

Laurent’s heart was pounding. The tiles were submerged, and the ceiling was coming closer and closer. Laurent couldn’t hold his breath for that long; he’d never been much of a swimmer – even now his legs ached from the constant struggle to keep his head above water.

There was a crash from Damen’s side. “I found something!”

“What is it?!”

“Another set, it was under the pedestal itself, hold on –”

Laurent waited in the agonizing silence that followed, staring helplessly at the tiles that were now a meter below him. When they were almost two meters, Damen exclaimed, “I got it! There are six more!”

“Tell me!”

“Poppy, violet, peony –”

“Three at a time; I have to dive to get them,” Laurent interrupted.

“Dive?!” Damen said. “How far is the –”

Laurent dove. The water was full of silt and skeletons, but he managed to find the right tiles, lungs burning as he swam back and forth to press them. When he surfaced, there was maybe a meter between him and the ceiling. “Next three!”

“Lotus, lykoktonon, asphodel.”

Laurent’s vision blacked out for a moment in a wave of complete, crippling panic. “I – I don’t know what any of those are.” His breath came out in a rush, heart pounding frantically against his ribs. “I don’t know – !”

“Laurent? Laurent, stay calm. Okay? Just listen, listen to my voice, they’re Akielon flowers.”

“You know them?” Laurent gasped.

“Yes. Lotus flowers are big, pink, like lilies with lots of petals. Good?”

“The others, tell me the others,” Laurent pleaded. The ceiling was within reach. “Damen, quickly –”

“Lykoktonon is…” Damen swore. “It’s blue…purple? I can’t remember what it…the name translates to wolf’s bane –”

“I know it,” Laurent said, “I know wolf’s bane, tell me the last one!”

“Asphodel is like a white lily with –”

The water closed over Laurent’s head. He thrashed, surging back up, seeking the last inch of air, gulping in a breath before there was none left at all. Lotus. Wolf’s bane. Asphodel…

He found the lotus easily, between the rose and the peony, and searched nearby for wolf’s bane. But he found it on the last wall he searched, so by the time he reached asphodel he was running out of air. A white lily. A white lily with…what?

There were no white lilies. No. No, no, no, he was so close…

Then he saw it. A single tile, all the way at the bottom of the room, on the stone closest to the floor. His head spun at the thought, already deprived of air. But he had to. Kicking out, Laurent dove down to it, though his strength was sapping in the water and his head hurt from the building pressure. A skull brushed his leg and he flinched, a small bubble of air escaping his mouth in his surprise. He clamped his mouth shut but the damage had been done – he’d inhaled some of the water and his air was now running out twice as fast.

Just one more meter, and he’d reach it. He stretched out his fingertips, desperate, determined, and touched the asphodel. It was a white lily with stripes.

There was a loud sound all around him, and Laurent saw the water above him was receding, but not fast enough. His vision flickered and his chest ached and all he saw was the wave rushing down upon him before everything went black.

*

Laurent awoke to a heavy hand on his chest and a sharp pain in his ribs, and rolled onto his side, coughing up an alarming amount of water and gasping for air which was, thankfully, in good supply. Then he noticed that he was lying across Damen’s thighs and Damen was leaning over him, eyes wide and hand still on Laurent’s chest, which was bare. His drenched jacket and undershirt were discarded beside him.

Laurent spluttered and scrambled away from him. “Did you undress me?”

Damen blinked. “Your ridiculous laces were suffocating you,” he replied, “and you were cold as ice, so yes, I did. You’re welcome.”

Laurent tried to hold his gaze but had to choke up some more water, which really didn’t help his wounded dignity. He snatched up his clothes, tugging on the shirt and eying the jacket. “…What do you mean, suffocating me?”

Damen sighed. “Well, the wall came down, and there was water everywhere, and you were just lying there, and when I picked you up –”

“You what?”

“When I picked you up, you weren’t breathing. Once I unlaced it, I tried to find a heartbeat but couldn’t, and –”

“You couldn’t find my pulse?” Laurent interrupted in a very small voice. “I…then how…”

“It just stopped for a bit,” Damen said casually. “In Akielos, soldiers close to the sea are trained to revive nearly-drowned people – that’s why your ribs might hurt. It just takes a few pushes to get it going again. Nothing to it.”

“You restarted my heart?” Laurent managed.

Damen smiled slowly. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Laurent huffed and started to get up, but swayed, his knees still wobbly from exertion.

“Whoa,” Damen cautioned, standing with him and catching his waist. “Take it slow. You know…I thought you were gone for a moment, there.”

Laurent sniffed. “You certainly wouldn’t have mourned me, be honest.”

Damen paused and looked down at him, some unreadable emotion in his eyes. “I would have,” he said. “It would have been my fault if you died, after all.”

Why not just kill both brothers? Laurent thought to himself. Might as well finish the job. But he hadn’t. “Instead it’s your fault I’m alive,” Laurent replied lightly. “Lucky for you. My uncle would have blamed my death on you regardless, I hope you know.”

“I know,” Damen said. “But that’s not why I helped you.”

“Ah, of course. You helped me because we are so utterly devoted to each other.” Laurent rolled his eyes and shrugged Damen’s arm off of him, going to the door which had opened as a result of his near-death experience. “You said this was there were only two more trials after the mist, correct? Then I believe we are done here…” He frowned at the new circular room without a door. “Or not.”

Damen wearily went to investigate the runes on the wall. There was nothing else in the room. After a few minutes he muttered, “Well, good news is that this is the last trial. Bad news…it doesn’t make much sense. And you’re not going to like it.” Laurent gestured impatiently for him to continue, still waiting in the doorway. Damen sighed reluctantly. “It’s a poem, I think. Sleep that pierces to the core/Saved by a kiss or nevermore.”

“Sleep?” Laurent eyed the walls suspiciously. “But neither of us are –”

Click!

“Oh,” Damen said, swaying and staring at his shoulder. There was a small dart embedded in it, and he yanked it out easily, but the swaying worsened nonetheless. “I think –”

Laurent saw him lose his balance and dashed to Damen’s side, not exactly catching him but at least cushioning his fall. By the time he hit the ground, he was completely unconscious. Laurent smacked his face lightly. There was no response. He waited a minute – still, nothing. Damen’s head lolled to the side when Laurent shoved him again, and when he picked up his hand to check for a pulse it was completely limp.

But he did have a pulse – a frighteningly faint one. Laurent glanced at the runes and with dismay, he understood. Saved by a kiss.

Laurent looked up at the ceiling and narrowed his eyes. “I fucking hate you, Eros,” he declared.

If Damen was awake, he would have laughed. But as it was he just lay there, stuck in some eternal sleep from which only a kiss could wake him. And unfortunately Laurent was the only one available to do so.

He halfheartedly pushed at Damen’s shoulder. “Come on,” Laurent muttered, “not you.” Not Damianos.

And yet, when Laurent looked down at him and thought about kissing him, he did not feel particularly repulsed, and he hated himself for it. He hated Damianos for it. He hated Damianos for not proving himself a monster and a murderer no matter how hard Laurent tried to make him one. He hated that Damianos was right – he could have been stuck here with far worse people. He hated that, here, now, Damianos had not been a bad person at all. Every time Laurent had needed him, he had been there, and it was because of him that they had survived; it was because of Damianos that Laurent would walk free of his uncle’s most determined attempt to kill him yet.

Laurent swallowed and brushed a curl of dark hair back from his face. And it didn’t help that Damianos was really, truly, too attractive for his own good.
Laurent hoped Auguste would understand.

He tucked a hand under Damen’s head, lifting it while tilting his own head awkwardly. Should he…close his eyes? Did it matter? The poem hadn’t said a good kiss, just a kiss, so. Probably not.

Laurent closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see his own failure and pressed his lips blindly to Damen’s.

It was…soft. Soft and warm and a little disappointing because the other person was unconscious, but Laurent parted his lips a little and then he felt a small movement under him, an exhale of breath and an instinctive brush of lips back against his own and then Laurent startled away as Damen stirred, eyes blinking open blearily.

Although Laurent covered his mouth as if to hide the evidence, Damen sat up and said, shocked, “You kissed me?”

Laurent got to his feet, starting off to the last tunnel, which had opened with Damen’s eyes. “We do not speak of this ever again,” he warned.

“I didn’t think you would –”

“Never,” Laurent repeated, half-turning and glaring at him.

Damen just blinked, and nodded. “Thank you,” he said.

Laurent paused halfway out of the tunnel, though he could see the trees and the grass and the sky and the sun; he’d missed the sun. “Don’t,” he said, bowing his head. “I should be thanking you.” He let out an aggravated sigh. “I couldn’t even read the runes.”

Damen started towards him, and then paused, hand falling back down to his side. There was a strange tension between them – there had always been, but this was…different.

“We should find the hunting party,” Damen said as if it physically pained him. “Your Highness.”

Laurent shivered. He had almost forgotten the gold collar on Damen’s neck, and its meaning. “Damen,” he started, uncertain.

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” Laurent whispered, and then he turned and walked up through the tunnel and didn’t look back. Damianos would follow him.