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Bells rang in Auguste’s head the moment he was informed that Laurent and the Prince of Akielos were both nowhere to be found. It was a coincidence, really, that he noticed this. If Auguste didn’t happen to possess the same level of curiosity as his little brother, he’d never find out that Damianos wasn’t, as the said brother claimed, lying in bed, nursing his headache after drinking too much wine. That, and the goodness of his heart that made him want to visit this Damianos who was supposedly suffering from alcohol poisoning.
The servant told him that Laurent was last seen hopping through the courtyard with a wooden sword in his hand, all rosy cheeks and a sweet smile. Auguste thanked the serving boy and turned, feeling the beginning of a headache right over his left eye. He had noticed Laurent’s interest in Damianos as soon as the Prince of Akielos swung off his stallion and smiled brightly, his body the epitome of kinghood. Laurent was only thirteen, on the verge of entering adolescence, and only beginning to understand what infatuation was; his pale face was still a little plump and his voice wasn’t broken. He didn’t even start growing properly yet, and his head reached Auguste’s sternum, but it didn’t stop men from lusting over him. Especially one man, in particular, but that man, who used to be their uncle, was dead.
Auguste barely knew Damen; with the death of their parents and their uncle and his upcoming wedding to the Vaskian daughter of the Empire, it was difficult to form a true friendship, not a fragile, diplomatic relationship just to keep the threats of war at bay. Talking to Damen was like staring in the mirror and seeing the old self, the old bright arrogance and the belief that you’re invincible. Sparring or swordfighting with Damen was refreshing because it was challenging, contrary to Auguste’s encounters with his own Kingsguard. He liked him, but he didn’t like anyone alone with his brother, especially foreign men or men who happened to catch Laurent’s interest and have the reputation of a voracious lover.
So, instead of taking his sword and plowing his way to the Akielon lion, he took a deep breath and decided to be a diplomat. It would be a disaster if he killed Damen, especially after all the letters he had written to ensure that Vere and Akielos would become friends. Auguste frowned; his mother had been right, but it hurt to think about her.
The courtyard was empty but for one woman, his fiancée, the youngest daughter of the Vaskian Empress. Princess Eira was five years younger than Auguste, but she already possessed the kind of dignity and grace a queen could have. Her hair was blond, but not dark golden as his own – it reminded him of straw or grain. Her eyes were grey like the sky in winter, and she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but he didn’t love her. They barely knew each other as the Princess came to Arles only two weeks ago; it didn’t matter because of an oath he had sworn to his dying mother.
“Auguste, you must marry now. Offer an alliance to the Empress of Vask and marry her daughter. You must do this before I’m gone,” his mother said. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and so tired that it broke Auguste’s heart. “Kempt will break the alliance and our enemies will strike when they see we are weak. Do not trust your uncle and do not let him convince you to leave the capital. Make peace with Akielos before they ask for our land.”
“Yes, mother.” His knees hurt from kneeling beside his mother’s bed.
Queen Hennike took a wheezy breath. “I know you don’t know that Princess at all and I know you wanted to marry for love. I wanted the same for you, so your father and I indulged you despite your age, but this must end, Auguste. Love comes and goes, but the consequences of wars stay forever. Promise me you’ll do as I say.”
Auguste squeezed his mother’s frail hand. Her golden braid fell from her shoulder to rest on the pillow, damp from sweat. “I will. I swear it to you, my mother and the Queen of Vere.”
She smiled faintly, covering Auguste’s big hand with her own. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, exhausted even by breathing. Auguste felt his throat constrict, but he pushed those feelings down. He needed to be strong for both of them.
“I want you to be happy, my darling. I only wish that I could spend more time with you and see you become King, to hold my grandchildren, but–” she coughed and wiped her mouth with a white handkerchief. “Treat your future queen gently and she’ll return it a thousandfold, I’m sure of it. You may even fall in love.”
“I’ll protect my bride and my country. I will not fail you, mother. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“And Laurent,” she said as if she didn’t hear him.
“And Laurent, most of all.”
“He’s so little,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. Queen Hennike lifted her hand to caress Auguste’s cheek. “And you’re so good. I don’t know how I made you so good, so different from your father and uncle.”
Auguste loved his father, but this love was torn between the natural admiration the sons felt and the knowledge that King Aleron should be a better ruler, a gentler husband, a fairer father. And his uncle… No, Auguste couldn’t think about it now, about the rot only him and his mother seemed to see. Instead, he lifted his mother’s hand to his lips and kissed it.
The memory vanished as soon as his bride-to-be smiled at him. The wind played with the hem of her blue dress; her braided hair fell on one of her arms like a tangle of light gold.
“Princess,” Auguste said, bowing his head to kiss her hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here this early, Eira.”
She blushed almost unnoticeably. “My King.” He wondered if she missed the mountains and the leathers. When they talked, it was usually about their cultures and foolish things like food. Their conversations were painfully stiff, but it had to be done. Eira was willing, he asked her himself many times, and she promised to him that it was her choice to accept the proposal.
“I like the sun. It’s much warmer in spring here than in Vask.”
“I’m glad,” he replied, smiling. This time, it was completely genuine. “I was looking for Laurent.”
“Shall I come with you?”
“No, don’t trouble yourself. I think I will have to give him a talk,” he said, frowning. The pain over his eye got stronger. Eira blinked, her big eyes filled with equal levels of curiosity and worry, and that expression made something tender move in Auguste’s stomach, so he said, “He’s probably somewhere in the stable reading books to ponies.”
Eira laughed and caught his hand. Auguste gazed down at their linked palms; her skin was even paler than his, but her touch was sweet and so unexpected that Auguste felt his pulse spike. “Let’s go riding together later. After you discipline our little Prince.”
“Of course,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “But I won’t let you win just because you’re my betrothed.”
Eira scoffed. “You won’t win, Auguste. Have you forgotten I’m the daughter of the Empire? I was practically born in the saddle while you were being pampered on your pretty Veretian cushions.”
Auguste laughed. This is what he liked about her the most, her need to ride horses and dine, dance and paint, the way she was curious about everything and everyone. You may even fall in love.
“We’ll see.” Bowing his head, he kissed her hand again and left. He always did it, perhaps because he didn’t want her to feel ignored or alone the way his mother was. Eira never told him to stop, so Auguste didn’t.
The training arena clearly wasn’t empty. Auguste could hear his brother’s sweet voice, but that shouldn’t surprise him – Laurent could talk for hours about ponies, books, and heroes, so not giving Damianos time to answer sounded like something his little brother would definitely do. Carefully, he got closer and hid behind the wall to have a clear view of the arena. Laurent stood with his side to him; he was wearing a white shirt and the trousers he chose for riding, and his blue jacket was lying on the ground. Auguste frowned. It was Laurent’s best jacket, embroidered with golden starbursts, and it seemed that he couldn’t decide between wearing his most beautiful clothes and choosing something comfortable enough for swordfighting. Damianos, on the other hand, was wearing only brown trousers. Auguste’s eye twitched when he saw his discarded shirt, but the man was sitting on the bench, cleaning his sword. His brown eyes were fixed to the hilt despite Laurent staring at him as if he were the most magnificent painting in the world. Laurent, the same boy who gagged at the mere mention of love, was utterly infatuated with the tousled curls, big brown eyes, and a pair of mighty shoulders that surely weren’t done growing yet. And that bare chest.
“Tell me again,” Damen began, frowning. Gods, only three days had passed since his arrival, and Auguste already knew that this man frowned a lot. “You said Auguste is sick?”
“Not sick. Drunk.”
Oh, that was new. Auguste reined himself in despite wanting to strangle Laurent. What was this rascal–
“He drank without me?” The outrage on Damen’s face was almost palpable. “It’s not very hospitable.”
“No, he took his lady to–” Laurent shrugged. His little fist clenched on the hilt of the wooden sword. “To do whatever one does with their betrothed.”
“Princess Eira is very clearly a woman,” Damen observed, putting his sword away. “Isn’t it forbidden in Vere?”
Yes, it was strictly forbidden for couples to be alone before the wedding, but it seemed to escape Laurent’s conniving little head. He had sworn to protect Vere and his queen-to-be, and Laurent’s infatuation wasn’t going to stand in his way. Auguste made to intervene, but Laurent’s voice stopped him.
“First of all,” Laurent said with the arrogance only a Prince could possess, “they weren’t completely alone. Second of all, Princess Eira is a woman because Auguste likes women. In fact, he only likes women.”
Something passed over Damen’s face, but he clearly schooled it into indifference. “Must be hard in Vere,” Damen finally murmured, clearing his throat. Auguste didn’t understand what happened on Damen’s face, but he didn’t exactly have the time for it. The Akielon Prince frowned and gazed at Laurent, as if the world turned upside down. “With all your strange customs.”
“At least he knows how to keep his cock in one woman.”
Damen’s mouth opened on its own, and Auguste had to press his fist to his mouth to stop his laughter. Laurent’s sweetness was always tinged with wit, but he had never in his life heard his little brother speak like this. He didn’t know whether he was scandalised or charmed – all he knew was that he was right, that Laurent would grow into a formidable diplomat, a charmer even.
Damen was still speechless, recovering from the shock, so Laurent continued, “Eira’s going to be his wife, his queen and the mother of their heirs. He loves her and she loves him.”
Perhaps Auguste was too forward with his thoughts about diplomacy. He pressed his forehead to the cold wall, willing himself to remember to school Laurent about subtlety. Love comes and goes. Auguste hardly cared about his feelings in that matter or at least made it look like he wasn’t bothered by it. Really, his sentiments were worthless here – he was doing it for Vere and for Laurent. This alliance saved them from war with Akielos, and that was so close. He should have seen that the unrest at the Akielon border was just too convenient, too fitting, he should have known that uncle wouldn’t spare even the life of his own brother. Mother told him what she suspected of uncle before she died, didn’t she? Uncle insisted on father and Auguste going to the border together, but his mother had forbidden Auguste from leaving the capital, so he did what had to be done in order to avoid it – he took a dagger and hurt his arm just to convince his father to let him stay and rule in his place for the campaign’s time.
He should have foreseen it, but naivety had still clung to him back then. Who, what kind of a person, could even think that you could kill your own brother? The news of his father’s death came, and Auguste, at least in the beginning, thought that the Akielons started the war by this act, but it wasn’t Akielos. The stray arrow happened to be Veretian, and they knew it only because uncle’s pet, a boy of sixteen torn by rejection and jealousy, stole uncle’s letter and gave it for safekeeping to Paschal. Auguste’s stomach turned with disgust – everyone knew that sixteen was the lowest age the court could accept, but those boys always looked younger to him anyway. His uncle was executed for treason and Auguste was crowned King, but none of it made him feel less guilty for his father’s death.
Damen smiled, leaning against the back of the bench. “How come I didn’t see them if they were in public?”
“I don’t know,” Laurent said through gritted teeth. “Do you need to be told everything?”
Damen bit back another smile. “Forgive me, my little prince. I shall never be this curious again.”
Laurent blushed, but it was clearly from frustration. The way Damen said it – he could have as well said little rascal or whatever other word an adult would use to talk to a particularly irritating child. Suddenly, Auguste wanted to run up to Damen and kiss him on that dimple.
“Auguste is sick, but you can train with me.”
“With you?” Damen asked, smiling in disbelief. He actually sized Laurent up. “Aren’t you ten? Your brother would kill me if you scraped your knee in my presence.”
“I’m thirteen,” Laurent ground out, his cheeks turning scarlet. “Almost fourteen.”
Damen shrugged as if ten and thirteen were the same number. Gods, Auguste really wanted to kiss that Akielon lion right on his cheeks. It didn’t even matter how low Auguste’s standards were – Damen was perfect, a gift from the gods, the best man in the world. This was the exact moment Auguste decided that he found his best friend despite knowing him for mere days.
“I already train with Auguste and I’m his squire.”
“I was Kastor’s squire,” Damen replied. “It’s a beautiful feeling, isn’t it?”
Laurent scoffed. “He should have served you. You’re the King.”
“I’m not the King yet. My father is. Kastor is older than me and I followed him everywhere like a puppy. It’s an honour for a younger brother to serve his older brother. Come on, you know what it’s like.”
“But Kastor’s a bastard.”
“Hey,” Damen said, looking Laurent in the eye. Every last trace of a smile was gone. “Akielos is different about it. You can’t hold it against him or disrespect him like that. He’s my brother. Is that understood, Laurent?”
Laurent blushed, staring at his feet. How beautiful it was to know that Laurent was blushing from frustration, not other things a boy his age shouldn’t even think about!
“How long have you been training?” Damen asked gently.
“Since I was seven,” Laurent said, straightening his back. “Auguste trains me himself. He says I need to grow, but I always win whenever we race on our horses.”
“We should race then.” Laurent brightened up, his embarrassment forgotten, but then Damen said, “All three of us to see who truly is the best rider. I want to see Auguste’s face when he loses to the future King of Akielos and his own ten-year-old brother.”
“I’m not ten.”
The expression on Laurent’s face almost broke Auguste’s heart, and it must have done something similar to Damen’s. “I’m joking,” he reassured Laurent. “You’re an excellent equestrian, I know it. Your brother told me all about it. In fact, he talks about you almost all the time.”
Laurent smiled, digging the tip of his wooden sword into the sand.
“All right,” Damen said, patting the wooden sword. “Show me what Auguste taught you and I’ll show you how Akielons fight.”
“Auguste says I’m quite good!”
“Then it must be true.” Damen ruffled Laurent’s hair and slapped him on the shoulder gently.
No, no, definitely no fighting with Akielons. Auguste cleared his throat, stepping into the arena. Laurent turned, his mouth opening. His eyes were wide, but Auguste would be a fool if he tried looking for remorse on that little face.
“Auguste,” Damen said, smiling widely. He stood up, towering over Laurent who gazed up at him as if he were a god. Auguste resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “How are you feeling? Laurent told me you’re sick.”
“Oh, I was,” Auguste said, walking up to them. He was a terrible liar, but Damen was even worse at spotting a lie. “Paschal gave me something to drink, terribly bitter, but it worked. I was just wondering where my little brother was when a servant informed me that he was here.”
“Auguste,” Laurent whined, embarrassed. “You’re not maman.”
Yes, I am, Auguste thought. I am your mother, your father, and your brother. I am the King and I’ll be a husband soon. You’re lucky I won’t be Damen’s murderer soon.
Instead, Auguste said, “Tell that to our court, Laurent.”
Damen raised his eyebrow. Auguste sighed theatrically. “Some liked to joke it was me who carried Laurent in his womb because I’m so… overprotective. There have been some… incidents.”
Laurent nudged him in the ribs. He would always tell Auguste that he was a terrible liar, an awful manipulator, and a naive man in general. Laurent used to be sweet and green, but their parents’ death along with his new admirers seemed to harden him or perhaps dig his sharpness out. This mathematical mind of his would thrive in the Veretian court in a few years, Auguste was certain of it.
“Don’t worry, Auguste. We haven’t started yet, and I’d prefer it if you were present.”
“And why is that?”
“So you could save me when Laurent attacks me with more than his sharp tongue.”
Oh, so Damen didn’t understand the veiled threats. He didn’t understand anything because it didn’t even occur to him. Auguste truly wondered if it could cause a scandal if he kissed Damen on the cheeks. He has liked him almost since the moment he saw him, but now he adored him.
“Laurent is better than anyone thinks. He’s the smartest person here, and he’s going to become an excellent swordsman when he grows into a man. Arrogance is dangerous because it makes you underestimate others, Damen.”
Auguste hugged Laurent to his sternum. Gazing down, he looked into Laurent’s pale face and saw that he was smiling proudly. Unable to help himself, Auguste ruffled Laurent’s golden hair and caressed the plump cheek. It seemed as if he was growing and changing everyday, especially now when they were orphans. Auguste’s heart panged. To think that uncle could have hurt him if Auguste had died at the border.
“Patronising everyone who is younger than you is also arrogance, my dear Auguste.”
Auguste ignored the jab. “Let’s start practicing.”
Damen turned, and Auguste used this moment to send a murderous glance towards Laurent. We’re going to talk. Laurent only nudged him in the ribs and stomped on his foot. Hard.