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Laurent was putting on his gloves when he heard a pair of feet stopping behind him. He was twenty, and it was supposed to be his first diplomatic trip, but Auguste was the same old unbearable mother hen. Laurent allowed himself to roll his eyes. 

“You must be happy,” Auguste said. “You’ll finally get Damen only for yourself.” 

Laurent finished putting his gloves on and turned, raising his eyebrow. “Are you really going to make fun of my childhood infatuation?”

Auguste came closer, his golden hair shining in the sunlight. He looked a little tired, but Laurent guessed everyone would be a little worn out if they had to manage a kingdom and two awfully spoiled children.

“I am your older brother,” Auguste said as if it were a sensical answer.

Laurent glanced at the carriage and the horses, the servants bustling around them. He took his brother by the arm and led him aside into the shade of trees. Auguste went willingly, but kept staring at Laurent with suspicion in his dark blue eyes. 

“Love is sweet,” Laurent said quietly, “but it doesn’t change a man.”

Auguste frowned. Gods, what was it about him and Damen always doing this? “What do you mean? This sounds awfully cryptic.”

“I mean that it was a childhood infatuation. I simply grew out of it.” Laurent shrugged, a perfect picture of innocence. “Besides, Damen’s a… charmer. So many men and women fall into his bed, and you know what I’m like, Auguste. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t true or demand that he changes his nature for me. This is a matter of compatibility, not only my adulthood.”

Auguste blinked, but the frown never really disappeared off his face. The wind played with his hair, and he pushed it away, mindful of the crown on his head. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” 

Laurent leaned against the tree, crossing his arms over his chest. Auguste stood beside him, his back straight. There were little wrinkles around his eyes, a natural consequence of fathering two rascals, and still wanting to patronise and baby everyone. Well, smiling certainly caused those wrinkles as well. And making sure Laurent and Damen were never alone whenever they met every few years. It was strange to see Auguste so calm; Laurent was almost certain he’d hear an entire speech about leaving Damen alone, but no nagging came out of his brother’s mouth. Laurent did his best to look indifferent, but it prickled his skin – he was never wrong about someone’s intentions and yet Auguste managed to surprise him. 

“You really aren’t going to preach about staying away from Damen?”

“You’re a man now,” Auguste said proudly. “I can’t rule over your heart.”

Laurent tilted his head. If he didn’t know his brother any better, he’d assume it was a ploy, but Auguste was completely hopeless when it came to plotting and scheming. None of it was going according to his plan, but Laurent was an excellent actor, so he only glanced at his brother with disbelief in his eyes.

After a moment, Auguste sighed and said, “Laurent, we both know what Damen’s like, but I will not try to tell you how to live because I don’t want you to resent me for it. I trust you to protect your own heart and I trust that he’ll treat you with respect. If not, I will destroy him despite my affection for him.”

“You didn’t believe in any word I said, did you? You can’t possibly think that I’m still enamoured with him. It’s been six years! Three since I’ve last seen him.”

Laurent’s heart clenched. They met every year until the summer three years ago because Damen simply couldn’t leave the country – his father’s death that turned out to be an antagonisingly slow assassination and then Kastor’s coup, all in one year. Not to mention Jokaste’s betrayal. It was childish, so foolish, but Laurent couldn’t stifle his jealousy even now. Both Auguste and Laurent wrote letters to Damen, but they were often left unanswered. Damen regained his throne, but, once the letters began coming again, they were different. It reminded Laurent of the way Auguste changed after their parents’ death, crushed by the weight of duties and threats of war. The ever-present brightness and a little bit of unbearable smugness were somehow faded now. 

Auguste put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it. “I just hope it’s your own choice, not something you do because I had been so persistent at keeping you both apart. I know how seriously you take your duties as the Prince. The only reason why I didn’t want him alone with you was because of your age and men like our uncle. I didn’t distrust Damen per se. I knew he wouldn’t do anything to you, but I distrusted men in general, and every man that wasn’t me had no right to be alone with you because I saw the way those men and even some women looked at you the moment you turned twelve. I know it may have been harsh, but I swore to myself that no one would hurt you, and I wasn’t going to make exceptions about people who could be alone with you, not even for Damen. He’s my dearest friend, but nothing is more important to me than your safety even if I sound paranoid.”

“I understand,” Laurent reassured him. He still remembered the sudden attention his looks drew when he turned twelve, not even understanding what it meant. It made his skin crawl, but he shook his head as if to chase those feelings away. “I thought you’d give me a long talk about leaving him alone and that I’d be forced to tell you at least a thousand times that I don’t like him like this anymore.”

“You don’t?” Auguste asked, clearing his throat. His eyes were boring holes in Laurent’s face, the ill-concealed hope threatening to emerge. 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes or punch Auguste in the face. “As I said, it was a childhood infatuation. You know what I think about love and heirs.”

“I know. I believe you, but he–” Auguste hummed, frowning as he did whenever he was forced to read about some particularly boring tax law. “I’d rather Damen didn’t flirt with you, but I can’t do anything about it. I trust he knows you’re the Prince of Vere and my brother, not one of his slaves or easy lovers.”

Laurent’s heart stumbled, but he commanded it to mind its own business. Very carefully, he said, “You think he’s going to try to woo me?”

“Laurent,” Auguste said, sighing like the tortured man he was. He finally leaned against the tree, their shoulders almost touching. “I think I know exactly how it’s going to be. Your hair is golden, your eyes are bluer than the sky, you’re beautiful and your mind is too devious for your own good. You are everything Damen likes.”

Laurent shrugged. “Well, I’m not a woman.”

“His appetites don't stop at women. I realised a few days ago that he had tried to steal my virtue before I told him I had a fiancée,” Auguste murmured, rubbing his temple. Helpfully, Laurent didn’t remind his brother that his virtue was long gone before the talk of his betrothal even became an idea. “I trust that he’ll know you aren’t a pet or a slave he can cast away anytime he wants. And that someone told him about the sanctity of pre-marital and marital vows.” His face twisted. “Better him than Torveld. That man could be your father and I’m going to break his neck the next time he even looks in your direction. Honestly, where do the likes of him get the audacity from?”

Auguste frowned again as if he could kill Torveld or Damen with the power of his mind. Laurent laughed and then choked out, “You needed six years to realise that Damen wanted to fuck you the first time you met?” Even at thirteen Laurent knew it, and he still remembered Damen’s pouty face upon learning that Auguste didn’t like men at all. “It doesn’t matter what Damen likes. I’m not interested in romance, especially with big barbarian brutes like him.”

Auguste didn’t answer; his eyes turning to the carriage and the horses. A wrinkle appeared between his brows. “I wish I could go with you, but I can’t leave Eira and the children alone. She told me she feels unwell. I’m worried for her.”

Oh, there it was. This time, Laurent rolled his eyes. “How come my sister-in-law endures your overprotectiveness? You’re unbearable and she’s a saint.”

“A husband’s place is with his wife and children, Laurent.”

“Yes, yes, who will protect Eira and the children when a herd of vicious chamois come from the Vaskian mountains in the middle of the night to take your throne and enslave your people?”

“Laurent.” 

Auguste was an excellent father, to the point of the court joking about it years after the incident that occurred after the birth of his first child, a baby girl, the first in generations of their dynasty. When little Princess Hélène, the closest they could find to Hennike in Veretian, was placed on her mother’s breast and began suckling, Auguste simply burst into tears. He had been present during labour, holding Eira’s hand and listening to her insults, but his steadiness must have taken a toll on him because, as Laurent witnessed himself, he couldn’t stop sobbing for the next hour whenever he looked at his wife and daughter resting in bed. Honestly, he cried more than little Hélène. Auguste, still sniffling from time to time, but absolutely proud, said that she was already behaving like the Queen of Vere. When Prince Aleron was born three years later, Auguste sobbed for only half an hour. It seemed that he was more terrified of childbirth than Eira herself; Laurent even heard Vannes yelling at Auguste once, begging him to consider that he wasn’t the one being ripped open during labour, but it seemed to worsen his state. He didn’t even know it yet, but Eira wanted a third babe, a secret she told Laurent. Well, Auguste was to blame, because, when he learned that Eira had given birth to the first girl and future queen in generations, he called it a miracle, and Eira took offense. I told you I was going to give birth to the Queen of Vere on purpose, and you dare call it a miracle? I’ll show you it wasn’t a miracle that I gave you a daughter. Since Aleron was a boy, she had yet to prove it, and Laurent would roll his eyes if he weren’t so happy that Auguste and Eira truly loved each other. 

“This is a good opportunity for me to attend to my duties as the Prince and your advisor,” Laurent said after a moment, still warm from the memory. Auguste smiled proudly. “Are you going to cry? Should I wipe your nose?”

“Like I wiped yours?” Auguste retorted, opening his arms. “Come here.”

Laurent fell into his brother’s embrace; he had done it a thousand times before, but it still felt strange to be tall enough to hold his chin over Auguste’s shoulder, not to reach his sternum at best. Auguste tightened his arms around him, petting Laurent’s soft hair. 

“Auguste, it’s a trip to Delfeur, not the end of the world. I’m not even leaving our lands and I have my Princeguard with me.”

“I know. I’m not worried about your safety. It’s just–” Auguste said as he pulled away to look at Laurent. His dark blue eyes turned warm. “When did you get so tall?”

Laurent rolled his eyes. “I hope you finally shave that ridiculous moustache while I’m gone.”

“I will not,” Auguste said, his hand reaching for the said moustache. “Eira likes it.”

Laurent scoffed. They watched together as the servants and soldiers readied the carriage and the horses; Auguste’s eyes never left Laurent’s back, not when he mounted his mare, not when he gave a command to move. 

It was almost heartbreaking how easy it was to play Auguste. Eira didn’t feel unwell – in fact, her eyes shone with mischief when Laurent asked her to feign sickness. His sister-in-law proved to be an excellent partner in crime, and making Auguste stay in Arles was mutually beneficial; she had her beloved husband with her and the children, and Laurent… Well, Laurent would almost feel guilty for tricking Auguste into letting him meet Damen alone, but he had more important things on his mind. Laurent frowned, knowing that Damen would be harder to play, but, of course, not because he had a mind made to see through manipulation, not at all. Auguste and Damen shared the same naivety, but the thing was that Damen has always been by far more dangerous to Laurent and his carefully made plans. 

-

The lush greenery of the Veretian forests always calmed Damen. He suspected it was because every journey to Vere brought him happiness and peace; it’s been three years since he last saw the starburst and the two golden-haired brothers wearing those ridiculous blue laces. His heart ached when Auguste wrote to him that he must stay with his wife and children, but he understood it – his own father suffered for months until sickness took him. Well, not sickness – poison, given to him little by little by his own son, Damen’s beloved brother. Damen only hoped that Auguste’s wife would soon find her strength again, especially now that they had two little children. He smiled to himself as he thought about the little golden-haired Princess; she was so little in his arms the last time he held her, and Auguste was so proud. He hasn’t seen the little Prince yet, but he hoped he’d hold him soon, given that Akielos was beginning to grow strong again. 

Three years have passed since the failed coup, three years since Kastor was executed for treason and Jokaste disappeared. Damen’s stomach coiled at the memory of Kastor’s head falling to the ground after the executioner's blow – this man, his older brother, the one that taught him to swim and gave him a seashell once, betrayed him for the crown, and Damen watched him die for it. Would it ever stop hurting? Would he ever forget his father’s endless fevers or the sight of his household slaughtered? Damen clenched his teeth, trying to push the nausea down. The woman, his slave named Lykaios, bared her neck upon command with no questions behind it. Almost all of his slaves did so, and Damen couldn’t stop seeing it in his dreams. There was no will behind it, not even this primal need to survive. Damen tightened his hold on the reins.  

Delfeur was a tangle of blue banners and golden starbursts. He rode past the villagers towards the Veretian retinue, uncaring of the occasional glares. The relationship between their kingdoms was growing strong, but the endless prejudice was yet to die, especially now when Akielos was weakened by the civil war. Damen’s heart ached again at the thought of Auguste not being here to meet him. 

Damen swung off his stallion, giving the reins to the nearest servant. Straightening his back, he fixed the lion pin on his collarbone, and turned to the Veretian retinue. People made space for him, either from respect or fear, and soon Damen found himself waiting before a group of Veretian nobles and soldiers. They inclined their heads, but that was it. Damen looked around, hoping to see–

“King Damianos,” someone said. 

The Veretian nobility spread out, bowing when the loveliest man Damen has ever seen approached him with a cool smile on his pale face. Laurent of Vere grew into a slender and tall man with golden hair and a pair of the bluest and sweetest eyes in the world. Even his eyelashes and eyebrows were golden, and it was impossible not to gaze down at his full, soft lips or the sharp edge of his masculine jaw. His light blue jacket was laced tight around his waist, accentuating its narrowness, making Laurent look equally beautiful and handsome. 

“Prince Laurent,” Damen said after a long moment. His tongue felt like a clumsy tangle in his mouth. It wasn’t like him at all. “It’s good to see you again.”

Laurent nodded. He turned his head and dismissed his retinue, and Damen did the same with his own. Their eyes met again, and Damen realised how much Laurent had grown. The top of his golden head could reach Damen’s chin now. It was still a lot of difference between them, and he’d love to tease Laurent for it, but he currently found himself speechless, completely unable to utter a sensical sentence. 

“It’s rude to stare,” Laurent said after a while. “Even in Vere.”

“It’s been three years since I last saw you.”

Laurent’s eyes softened. “Are you–” he began, coming a little closer. Damen’s heart stumbled. “I’m sorry for your father. And everything that happened after.”

Damen felt his heart constrict. “Thank you.”

“You must be hungry. Let Vere feed you.”

-

Damen didn’t lie to himself. The entire journey was more for himself than politics. With the alliance between their kingdoms and friendship between the kings, there was no threat of war or betrayal looming above them. Perhaps it wasn’t an entirely responsible decision, but Damen needed to escape Ios, even if just for a month or so. Not even Nikandros’ glares and nagging could stop him from leaving for Vere under the pretext of strengthening the bond between their countries. 

Damen barely remembered bathing himself or feasting beside Laurent, still too overwhelmed by the sight of the Veretian Prince, the same one that used to follow him everywhere just to be equally snarky and adorable. It was as if Damen saw Laurent anew, as if he truly saw him for the first time in his life; he felt drawn to him, desiring nothing more than simply being allowed to be by his side. Perhaps Laurent felt the same because his slender figure appeared beside Damen’s when he decided to walk along the shore, suddenly struck by longing for the beach in Ios. Damen barely understood himself these days – he felt so happy seeing the Veretian forests, but now it was all gone, replaced by his yearning for the cerulean sea and white walls of his palace in Ios.  

“I look just like her, don’t I?” Laurent asked. Damen gazed down at him. The blue of his eyes were just like the sea in Ios. 

“Who?”

Laurent squinted, turning his face away. He looked at the crashing waves as if following Damen’s gaze. The sea wasn’t nearly as warm or beautiful as it was in Ios. Damen knew what would come out of Laurent’s mouth, but the name still echoed with pain around his ribs. 

“Lady Jokaste.”

Damen clenched his teeth. He came here to forget about her and Kastor, not to have the salt rubbed into his wounds. “There are similarities,” he finally said. “If one assumes that every beautiful person with blond hair and blue eyes looks the same. To me, it’s quite a bold assumption.”

“Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. She broke my heart.”

“She broke your heart or you don’t care?”

Damen felt his cheeks burn with anger. “She broke my heart and I don’t care about her anymore. What else do you need to know?”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Upset. That was the most foolish and emptiest word there could be. Damen turned his face to Laurent’s, his jaw clenched tight, but those lovely blue eyes were wide with innocence, not a shadow of petty cruelty. 

“I really didn’t mean to upset you,” Laurent said. 

Damen’s tongue tasted bitter. “Then why did you ask about her of all people?”

Laurent opened his mouth and then closed it, his eyebrows furrowing. His cheeks turned the palest shade of pink. “I’m sorry, Damen.”

Shrugging, he gazed at the sea and the white waves crashing against the rocks. Would it look strange if he just walked into the water and disappeared? Laurent’s eyes were fixed to his profile, so he decided to forget about this foolish desire to walk away.

“How are Auguste and Eira?”

“Good.”

“And the children?”

“Awfully spoiled.”

Damen smiled. He felt long fingers at his wrist, holding it gently. He jerked, staring down at Laurent’s pale hand so close to his own; it was so unexpected that he felt his skin prickle. When he looked into Laurent’s lovely face, he was met with a blue stare, somehow warmer now despite the familiar cold of his eyes. 

“I’m glad you came, Damen.”

His chest felt warm when he said, “I am, too.”

“You owe me three horse races.”

“You mean you want to lose to me three times, sweetheart?”

The word just slipped out, and Damen felt the weight of it settling between them. He waited for Laurent’s reaction, but Laurent only raised one of his golden eyebrows. Damen would assume it was indifference if it weren’t for the prettiest shade of pink that took over his cheeks. 

“Arrogance makes people underestimate their opponent, sweetheart.”

Damen, the one that died three years ago, would have probably lifted his hand to pet the rosiness on Laurent’s cheeks, maybe he would have tilted his chin for a deep kiss or maybe he would have let his hands roam over Laurent’s narrow waist. But that Damen was gone or maybe it was Laurent who made him feel anew; all he knew was that he felt as if he held something very delicate. If he took his own beating heart in his palms, would the sensation be similar? 

“Let’s not speak of my father and Kastor. Jokaste, too,” Damen said. “I wish to be free from them even if it’s just for a moment. Can we have this?”

Laurent nodded, pushing a curl of his hair behind his ear. “I promise I won’t touch this subject.”

-

They raced only once, and Damen already knew he’d never win against Laurent. Normally – or if it were Auguste – Damen would grumble at his defeat, but Laurent’s victory made him smile wider than he has smiled in three years. Laurent was one with his horse, his body poised and full of elegance that few people could possess. He was made to be graceful, steering his mount with the barest hint of command as if they were truly one being. It was impossible not to gaze at him, full of admiration. Damen felt proud, which was ridiculous, but Laurent’s flushed face looked so lovely when he swung off his dappled grey mare and laughed. Damen dismounted his own black stallion, rubbing his neck. 

“You did so well, Étoile,” Laurent murmured to his mare, giving her a carrot. She was the loveliest animal Damen has ever seen, and it was clear how dearly Laurent loved her. He kissed Étoile on the muzzle, and Damen found himself being jealous of a horse. 

Laurent’s skin was a little damp, his cheeks red with exertion, but it only made him look prettier. His gloved hands were elegant, made to hold an instrument or reins. Damen wanted to take the glove off, lace their fingers together to see the stark contrast of their skins – Laurent’s snowy colouring and his bronze one. 

Damen realised he was staring only when Laurent turned to him, smiling, and said, “I won.”

“You did.”

The admission clearly pleased him. He took his glove off and reached into his pocket to give Damen’s stallion a carrot, petting him behind the ears. “I told you I’m the best rider. Not even years of you and Auguste letting me win could change that.”

Damen blinked. “You knew?”

“I realised he was letting me win when I was nine,” Laurent said, shrugging. “I just wanted to impress you, and Auguste never said anything.”

“You did impress me,” Damen admitted. “Now and then.”

“I’m going to impress you at least two more times, Damianos. I told you that you owe me those three years.”

The curving of Laurent’s full lips along with the sharpness spilling out of them made Damen dizzy. It was impossible to turn his eyes away. The words left his mouth before he had a chance to think about them: “We should wrestle later.”

Laurent went still, and then, carefully, he asked, “In the Akielon style?”

“If you wish.” Damen shrugged, but the corner of his lips twitched. “I’d never demand, but I’m up for anything you allow.”

Laurent lifted his eyebrow. It was bold, perhaps too bold,, but Laurent only smacked him on the chest with his glove, his cheeks turning rosy. He wanted to take the glove from his hand and kiss his fingertips, and then ask him to smack him again. Damen felt pleasure spill in his belly when he saw Laurent’s little smile, almost imperceptible if you didn’t know him well. 

Wordlessly, Laurent mounted his mare and spurred her, leaving Damen behind. Damen smiled to himself as he murmured into his stallion's ear, “Do you think he likes it?”

When they reached the courtyard, Damen waited until the stableboy took their horses and left. Leaning in, he whispered into Laurent’s ear: “If you don’t want to wrestle, that’s fine, but I can never beat you on horseback. I think it’s only fair if you agree to a sword fight, Laurent.”

“So,” the Prince said, “you’ve already assumed that I’d agree and you've already decided that you'd win?”

“Come on,” Damen whined. His hand itched to move a curl of golden hair from Laurent’s face. It was probably so soft to touch. Like silk. “It will be fun.”

Laurent sighed and then turned away, presenting his back to Damen whose heart dropped to his feet. “Well?” Laurent asked, his voice thick with arrogance only he could possess. His head was turned to the side, as if inviting Damen. “Unlace the back if you really want me to put you in the dirt.”

Damen lifted his fingers, feeling slightly clumsy, and pushed them into the laces at Laurent’s narrow waist. He has never done something like that before, and no King should ever do that, but Damen couldn’t deny the heat that came with watching the blue jacket peel off to show the curvature of Laurent’s still clothed back. The shirt underneath was white and oversized, making Damen fall into the pits of his own imagination; what would it be like to let his hand slip into the dip of Laurent’s waist and feel the warmth of his flushed skin, still overheated from their ride? Has anyone ever touched Laurent like that? Damen felt inexperienced again, something he has not felt in years, but pleasure took over him. He barely knew that they were in public – alone, but still on display. Damen felt his skin tingle as he moved upwards until it was all done. Laurent put the jacket away, turning to face Damen.

“How come you’re so good at this, Damianos?” Laurent asked, tilting his head. “Do your Akielon lovers wear laces just for you?”

“Maybe I’m just naturally good at some things,” he answered. “Like at swordfighting, for example.”

Damen didn’t know what this game Laurent played was, but he enjoyed every step. He was torn between wanting to go further and restraining himself, knowing that this was Laurent, the Prince of Vere, his best friend’s little brother. There was this vulnerability to him, the sweetness that made Damen’s heart feel as if it were outside of his chest. Damen let himself drink Laurent’s face in, and he knew that he was in trouble. 

“Draw, sweetheart.”

Laurent, for once, ignored him. He unsheathed his sword; the blade was slimmer than his own, but it was in perfect proportion to the well-balanced lines of Laurent’s slender body. Damen lifted his sword, grinning. He was the first to attack, their swords clinking. Damen didn’t even use all of his strength, but, as their swords met, Laurent stumbled, his arms straining. He barely managed to hold his balance, and a soft sound of surprise left his mouth. Damen smiled, seeking his eyes. Laurent, full of fury, forced Damen to pull back.

“I won.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. We’re doing this for fun,” Damen said, straightening his back. “If I struck only a little harder, in a real fight, the sword would fall from your hands. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“Really?”

Instead of dragging this, Damen pressed forward again, attacking him in a series of forceful thrusts, but Laurent parried all of them. Damen stopped smiling; Laurent was good. And strong – stronger than he expected. He was agile and quick, and he could easily escape the strongest of Damen’s swings. But he did so because he had to – because one blow would be enough to finish him. Laurent avoided each and every of Damen’s thrusts, shifting his weight at the right moment or using the most intricate moves that made him unpredictable. Damen was older and more experienced, so – even if he couldn’t always foresee Laurent’s next move – he was quick enough to match the rhythm and throw Laurent off. All Damen needed was one good blow, but it was impossible to land it directly on his sword when Laurent’s wicked mind was there to guide him. Frustration flooded Damen, and he forced Laurent to retreat, his thrusts becoming more violent and cutting. Laurent’s finer wrists wouldn’t endure the onslaught of Damen’s full strength and the snake knew it. He was almost there, almost sure that Laurent would yield, until he parried. Damen swore, but then Laurent stumbled, cutting too far to the left. I won, Damen wanted to say, but then Laurent swung his sword and stopped it inches from Damen’s side. 

“I won,” Laurent said, a little breathless.

Damen stared at the blade, frowning. Laurent’s lovely face was smiling, but it didn’t work on Damen this time. “You cheated.”

“I did not.”

Damen sheathed his sword and Laurent did the same, still smiling. Oh, how much he wanted to strangle him! 

“I was only using my talents to my advantage.”

“Talents?” he spat out. “You pretended to stumble!”

“Everyone fights to win, Damianos.”

Damen huffed. “Pretending to stumble isn’t using your strengths to your advantage.”

Laurent regarded him, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re taller and stronger than me. I can’t stand even one of your blows if they land straight on my sword. Your arms and legs are longer, not to mention all of the experience you have. You’re stronger, but you’re also heavier, which makes you less agile than me. All I can do is use my speed and mind to outpace and outsmart you. If you can use your assets, then I can use mine, Damen.”

“You still cheated, Laurent.”

He shrugged. “If that’s what makes you feel better.”

Damen still felt frustrated. Well, there was admiration too, and something akin to pleasure. After all, Laurent called him tall and strong at least twice in the span of one minute, and that was doing wonders to Damen’s mood. 

Laurent looked at him, sighing. “Of course you’re better than me, Damen. You won.” Damen felt his lips curve into a smile, at least until Laurent added, “You won once, and then I did.”

“Laurent!”

Would it mean war if he just threw Laurent over his shoulder and threatened to dump him into the sea? He clearly deserved that after years of being awfully spoiled by Auguste. 

“You did not win. You cheated,” Damen ground out. “I should have never gone easy on you, you snake. This is what I get for not wanting to break your pretty wrists.”

Laurent snorted, and that was Damen’s last straw. He walked towards that conniving viper of a man, and grabbed him by the waist, digging his fingers in. Laurent yelped, his hands landing on Damen’s arms. His reddened face twisted into a smile, laughter spilling from his mouth as Damen squeezed him harder. Damen tried not to think about holding that exquisite waist without any piece of clothing separating their skins. 

“That tickles,” Laurent choked out. “Stop.”

Damen looked into his face, looking for a real no, but he only found happiness. His eyes were like two slits adorned with gold, and his hands didn’t even try to push Damen away. On the contrary, they gripped Damen’s arms as he arched in his hold. 

“Do you have anything to say?”

“Only that you’re a big barbarian brute who never learned how to lose.” Damen dug his fingers in, and Laurent squealed. “All right, I might have used some unconventional techniques to bend the odds to my favour.”

Damen sighed, knowing that it was the most he’d get out of Laurent. Reluctantly, he released Laurent, and his eyes fell to his soft, smiling lips. He shook his head, stifling his desire. “You’re good, Laurent. Better than I thought.”

“Thank you,” he said. “You’re even stronger than I thought. No one fights like you do.”

Even stronger. Damen felt pleasure fill his chest. “Did you think about my strength very often?”

Laurent blushed, the change in his colouring a furious contrast. “I’m going to bathe, Damianos. I feel like I look too much like an Akielon barbarian at the moment.”

Damen grinned and watched as Laurent left. 

-

They might not be on the same page when it came to rules of conduct, but they were compatible when deciding that all the paperwork should be done as quickly as possible. Damen’s mind was filled with the images of yesterday, Laurent’s flushed cheeks, horses, and sword fights. Some part of him was still sore with ‘defeat’ or, as he should say, Laurent’s Veretian mind that was designed to trick, but there was sweetness to it all. At night, he dreamed about Laurent’s eyes and the way his laughter sounded like the sweetest melody; there were other dreams as well, strands of it, really, but Damen knew that Auguste would kill him even for those short moments when Damen’s mind was free to indulge in his fantasies. Well, something told him that Auguste would kill him the moment he called Laurent sweetheart, but he didn’t want to think about it. 

The third day of his stay in Delfeur marked almost the half of it. Damen’s heart ached at the thought of returning to Akielos. He hasn’t felt this happy in three years, and having to leave Laurent behind only added to the mountain of pain he already felt. It was a delight to see Laurent politicking, endlessly charming and witty, but sweet and sometimes shy when he was only with Damen. He could bend every lord and lady to his will using only his sharp mind, but he blushed so easily whenever Damen told him something that would make Auguste rip his intestines out. 

They rode again, and Damen couldn’t help but steal a glance at Laurent from time to time. He has never felt anything like this before; it was as if Laurent opened the doors inside him and let new light in. Damen has never felt more like himself than when he was allowed to be by Laurent’s side. I’m leaving in four days. When will I see him again?

“There’s a glade not so far from here,” Laurent said, turning his head to Damen. “We could let our horses rest.”

Damen nodded. Laurent didn’t have one of his light blue jackets on today; the white oversized shirt was only a little paler than his skin, and it did nothing to hide his swan-like neck or the edges of his collarbones. 

The glade was small, and the grass was very long, as if never touched by anyone. Damen liked that they were completely alone here, free from the sounds of the palace or servants and nobles ready to write a short letter to Auguste about the King of Akielos making his little brother blush and smile all the time. At least that was what Damen’s mind kept telling him. 

Damen tried not to think about Auguste as he tied their horses to the nearest tree. Laurent was twenty and he was a grown man; he didn’t need his brother’s permission to enjoy courtship or take a lover. Damen frowned. Did Laurent even like men? He could, given that he was Veretian, after all, and he also never once told Damen to stop being so bold.

Laurent plopped down on the lush grass, and Damen followed him, sitting so close that their arms almost touched. 

“Would you like to teach me some Akielon?”

Damen blinked. “What?” Laurent didn’t need any lessons. “What do you mean?”

Laurent leaned back on his palms, the book he took out of nowhere sliding from his lap onto the grass. Damen opened the book and saw that it was filled with Akielon poems; it made him smile to think that Laurent must have read them in his bed, perhaps saying the words out loud to master them. He used to be like that, walking around the palace in Arles with his nose in the book and forever blabbering about heroes and ponies. 

“It’s not like I can just go and find an Akielon in Arles, and I can’t waste the opportunity to be tutored by a native speaker, don’t you think?”

Damen had already decided that Laurent would be given whatever he wanted, so he only nodded and gave the book to Laurent. He’d be lying if he said that he was listening to the actual meaning of the words that were being read to him, but he couldn’t stop himself from drowning in the timbre of Laurent’s baritone. Hearing him speak Akielon pleased Damen in that new, ridiculous way – he felt as if someone covered his body with a blanket that was resting by the fire. Akielon was a little too rounded in Laurent’s mouth, but it only gave the sounds more sweetness. This was how Akielon tasted in Laurent’s mouth. Damen has heard him speak it before, but it never was this beautiful for him. It was impossible not to stare at Laurent’s lips as they worked to make the sounds.

Laurent looked at him sharply, his eyebrow raised. Only then did Damen realise that he stopped either correcting or complimenting Laurent’s efforts. He cleared his throat, but it did nothing to keep his thoughts at bay. Damen’s eyes met Laurent’s, as if they were suddenly aware of their closeness. He could count each and every one of Laurent’s golden lashes. 

Slowly, Damen lifted his hand and cupped Laurent’s cheek, feeling its warmth seep into his palm. He leaned in, his eyes falling to the curvature of Laurent’s lips, and he thought he was in paradise. 

That was until Laurent’s breath hitched, and he turned his head away. His cheeks were covered in scarlet. “No?” Damen asked, pulling away. 

Laurent denied Damen his face and stood up. He walked away, his arms crossed over his chest. Damen observed his back, not knowing what to do with himself. Even if the kiss never happened, the moment was so sweet that Damen’s heart couldn’t calm. He hasn’t felt this green in a long time. Laurent stood with his back to Damen, his shoulders rising and falling quickly. Damen pulled himself to his feet, and Laurent turned just a little; he could now see his left cheek, pink in the place where Damen’s thumb touched it. 

“I lose control when I’m with you,” Laurent finally said. His voice sounded strange. 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing, Laurent. As if I don’t feel the same… rush.”

Laurent turned sharply, his fists clenched into two tight balls. His knuckles were completely white. “A prince doesn’t belong only to himself, Damen. My actions affect Auguste and Vere. I cannot be another one of your conquests.”

Damen asked, softly, “Is that what you think it is?”

“I don't know what this is. That is the issue.”

Damen did the boldest thing he could – he approached Laurent and took one of his hands. He lifted it to his lips like he wanted to so many times; Laurent’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away. “I won’t deny that I was drawn by your beauty when I saw you,” Damen said softly. “But it doesn’t mean I only want to bed you. I like spending time with you, and I know you may say that I’ve been here only for three days, but I can't stop thinking about you. I can hardly stand to be without you.”

Laurent gazed up at him, his blue eyes somehow darker. He didn’t reply, so Damen kissed his hand again and continued, “If you want me to stop this, I’ll never try to flirt with you again. I thought that maybe you like me as well or maybe–”

Laurent laughed, tangling their fingers. “Is that what you believe?” he asked. “That I don’t like you? Have you forgotten how big of an idiot I was, always following you and Auguste? Don’t you remember me trying to get you alone all the time or blabbering about swords and sports and whatever a big barbarian brute like you enjoyed? I don’t care for those things!” 

“But that was–” Damen sputtered. “Laurent, you were thirteen!”

“Was it terribly painful to learn to count past ten?”

Damen gazed down at their linked hands, feeling his heart fall to his feet. He remembered Laurent always trailing behind him and Auguste, always talking about ponies and books, an adorable boy with hair that was almost white back then and a pair of curious eyes. He remembered the wooden swords and their endless horse rides, Laurent laughing whenever he won, the sound sweeter than any melody in the world. But he was just a boy, and Damen would have never seen him as anything other than his best friend’s little brother and a child-prince. 

“This is why Auguste never allowed you to be alone with me,” he found himself saying. 

Laurent shook his head. “It wasn’t about you. He was suspicious of every man there was, but he quickly learned you were good and decent. He just didn’t fully trust anyone. How could he when the traitor was in our family?”

“I’m not angry about that,” Damen protested. “He just wanted to protect you. I just–”

“You never noticed?” He averted his gaze when the question left his mouth. Damen squeezed his fingers, and covered his slender hand with both of his. 

“Laurent, you were just a boy. An adorable, vicious smartmouth, but you were just a boy. You were no taller than my waist when I met you for the first time. Even three years ago you looked like a twig, more like a boy than a man.”

Laurent’s mouth twitched. He lifted his eyes to meet Damen’s. “You see, this is why Auguste liked you almost immediately.”

“Is this why you told me back then at least three times that Auguste likes only women?”

Laurent blushed. “Perhaps.”

Damen laughed, dizzy with happiness, but then grew serious. “What scares you so, Laurent? Tell me.”

“Those feelings can be sweet, but they don’t change a man.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I won’t change my nature for you because I can’t and don’t want to, and I don’t expect you to change yours for me. Damen, I don’t want to fall into your bed at night and fall out of it in the morning. I’m not made to enjoy simple pleasures and then forget.”

“Sweetheart,” Damen said, cupping Laurent’s cheeks. “Is that what you think it is? I know how it sounds, but I’ve never felt like this with anyone. This isn’t an attempt to lure you to my bed. Laurent, I want so many things with you. I want you.”

“You didn’t feel like that even with Jokaste?”

“I loved her,” Damen said, his voice bitter. “Or I thought I did, I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve never felt like this with anyone but you.”

Laurent’s eyes were wide and somehow bluer. Damen wanted to drown in them or at least steal an answer from them, but they were glassy, unreadable. 

“I’ll court you with all the grace and courtesy you deserve,” Damen said, pushing a curl of hair from Laurent’s face. “If you only say yes.”

Laurent’s breath hitched. His fingers tightened their hold on Damen’s hand, perhaps unknowingly. The lines of his graceful body were taut as a bowstring, but his mouth opened slowly to say, “Yes.”

Unable to refuse himself this pleasure, Damen bent his knees and lifted Laurent up, just a little, but it made him squeal all the same. “Brute,” Laurent murmured, his fingers digging into Damen’s biceps. 

Damen put him down, letting their foreheads touch. He closed his eyes as if he could shield himself from the fear he felt seconds ago; it would have broken his heart if Laurent had said no. Damen, giddy with relief, nuzzled against Laurent’s forehead. It felt like standing at the edge of the abyss, but instead of being filled with fear, he felt new hope grow inside him. 

“Kiss me,” Laurent said. “I want to know what it’s like.”

Damen stilled. What it’s like. Oh. No one has ever kissed Laurent. He was a virgin. Damen’s heart felt tender; he would have been more attentive if he knew. Carefully, he pulled away and searched Laurent’s lovely face. His skin was flushed, his body eager. 

Gently, as gently as he could, Damen leaned in, looking for the barest sign of protest, but Laurent only closed his eyes when his mouth opened. It was barely a kiss because Laurent barely let himself take a breath. When Damen cupped his warm cheek, he felt Laurent tremble. Caressing his cheek, Damen deepened the kiss just a little, knowing now how delicate Laurent was; he reacted to pleasure as if it could be stolen from him soon or like a starved man. Damen’s heart quickened when he heard Laurent let out the softest sigh, his mouth opening wider. He didn’t expect Laurent throwing his arm around his neck to draw him closer, but he smiled into the kiss, feeling Laurent’s eagerness. Damen put his hand on Laurent’s waist, drawing him closer until he could feel the slight trembles in his body. He’s so sensitive, Damen thought, full of speechless wonder. 

“Were my kisses pleasing?” Damen asked as he pulled away. He didn’t know who needed this break more – his stumbling heart or Laurent’s trembling form? “Or should I expect a letter forbidding me from ever entering Veretian lands?”

Laurent grabbed the curls at Damen’s nape and squeezed them, climbing onto his tiptoes. His eyes darkened with pleasure. “If you don’t shut up now, there will be something else you will never enter, Damianos.”

Damen’s mouth opened, but Laurent’s lips shut him up rather effectively. Frankly, he wouldn’t even say anything sensical, completely taken aback by the filth coming from Laurent’s sweet lips. Damen kissed him back, angling Laurent’s jaw the way he liked, but letting him lead with everything else. Laurent was clearly inexperienced, but so eager to explore that Damen himself felt the almost forgotten sensation of being green. Damen pulled away, gazing into those blue eyes; unable to refuse himself this pleasure, he kissed Laurent on the left cheek and then on the right one, and then on his forehead. Laurent laughed, caging Damen between his arms; it was so sweet and unexpected that Damen stilled for a moment before allowing himself to bury his head in the crook of Laurent’s neck. He was warmer there, and it felt so good that Damen felt his throat sting. They were rushing, Damen was aware of it, but it felt like coming home or burying yourself under a pile of warm blankets – how had Damen lived without it before? 

Damen let Laurent lead him to the widest tree at the edge of the glade; he sat and leaned against the bark, watching as his Prince followed him and nestled up to him, his golden hair tickling his chin. His Prince – could Damen even call him that? It felt proprietary, and Auguste would definitely consider killing him for it, but Damen never wanted anything this much, no matter what this realisation said about his kingship. 

“Would you have tried to flirt with Auguste six years ago?” Laurent asked after a moment, playing with a blade of grass.

Damen laughed, making Laurent bounce on his chest. His fingers found the curvature of Laurent’s waist. “I don’t think so. I still remember my first visit to Arles. You told me at least three times that he doesn’t like men, and he had a fiancée. It was apparent that he took his vows seriously.”

“So,” Laurent said indifferently or at least he tried to, “you liked him.”

Well, that was an exaggeration. “Not exactly.” Damen wrapped a strand of Laurent’s golden heir around his finger. “I thought he was handsome, and I was planning on inviting him to my bed, but he very clearly wouldn’t have appreciated the offer. And then I realised how annoying he is.”

Laurent snorted, sitting up to look Damen in the eye. “Auguste’s just like you. Two preening peacocks, always swinging your swords and cocks, always right and always the best.”

“At least I’m not babying everyone,” Damen said, petting Laurent’s cheek. His eyes inevitably slid down to the curvature of those full lips. This mouth was made to torment him. 

Laurent nuzzled against Damen’s palm like a cat. “You can’t blame him for being like that.”

Damen nodded, thumbing over Laurent's cheek. “No, I can’t. I don’t mean it like this. He’s too nice for me to like him anyway.”

“Oh.”

Damen bit back a smile, seeing Laurent’s pout. It was so Veretian and Damen was so charmed that he thumbed over the contour of those full lips. “My inclination is towards sweet and vicious Veretian princes.”

“Isn’t it awfully gullible to offer your heart to someone so vicious?” Laurent asked, his lips moving under his thumb. Damen felt his cheeks fill with heat. “You’ve been here for three days, Damianos.”

“Perhaps I’m a fool or perhaps I just know.”

Laurent blinked, straightening his back. Damen’s hand fell to his lap. “Know what? That is not a sensical sentence.”

“What I mean,” he said, tangling their fingers, “is that you just know those things.”

“What things?” 

Damen drank the sight of Laurent’s lovely face in, lifting his hand to his own lips. Those hands were made to be kissed and held gently. “It's when you look at someone and you just know you want them close.”

Laurent hummed. His smile, almost shy, told Damen everything he needed to know. “I see.”

“It’s not like I met you yesterday, Laurent.”

“Trust me,” he replied, his golden eyebrows arching, “I am aware of that.”

Damen laughed, swallowing the retort when Laurent pressed their lips together. Unable to stop himself, he tilted Laurent’s head and kissed him there, just under the sharp edge of his masculine jaw. It was paradise, the way Laurent’s breath hitched and his skin turned warmer. His heartbeat betrayed everything, and Damen smiled into his swan-like neck. 

“Damen, I can’t,” Laurent said, pulling away. He had his hand pressed to Damen’s chest, as if keeping him in place. 

“I wasn’t trying to initiate anything, sweetheart,” Damen replied softly, rubbing the back of Laurent’s hand with his thumb. “I just wanted to kiss you there. I would never do something like that in public.”

Laurent raised his eyebrow. “We are not exactly in public.”

“Yes, we are.”

The expression on his face was equally disbelieving and curious. “All right, let’s say we are in public. What is so scandalous about us potentially fucking in public?”

It wasn’t visible, but Damen’s skin was hot. “That is private!” he sputtered. “Especially if I were to bed you, the Prince of Vere. This is a matter of respect, Laurent.”

“Oh.” Laurent turned his gaze down, pushing a curl of hair behind his ear. 

“I meant what I said. We have time for those things.”

Laurent wasn’t ready for anything other than sweet kisses and touching for the sake of touching, without it leading towards the laces in his trousers. Damen’s heart ached for this particular kind of pleasure he could give Laurent, but those things were meant to wait. He wanted Laurent willing and certain, without the doe-like expression in his blue eyes that appeared when Damen dared to press his lips to the underside of his jaw. 

As if on cue, Laurent said, “You can kiss my neck, Damen. You just surprised me.”

Smiling, Damen got to work. Laurent reacted beautifully to pleasure; soft sounds kept escaping his mouth, his thighs were trembling. Damen understood now that it wasn’t fear or uncertainty – it was Laurent’s sensitivity to tenderness that made him flush so easily and shiver upon receiving the gentlest of touches. Damen kissed the warm skin underneath Laurent’s ear, under his jaw, he grazed the pulsepoint, and Laurent grabbed his curls, tugging at them. He liked the subtle sting of it, and the way Laurent’s touch softened, as if apologising for it. 

“I–” Laurent said, pulling away. His cheeks and neck were red. “You’re too good at this, Damen. I can’t control myself.”

“Am I, really?” Damen asked, pleased. 

Laurent rolled his eyes, and Damen grinned, completely satisfied with himself – at least until Laurent made him bare his neck and, with his lips pressed against Damen’s pulsepoint, said, “My turn.”

-

“Will Auguste kill me?” Damen asked, recollecting all the things he did with Laurent that would make his older brother execute him on the spot. Honestly, the list was getting quite long. 

“No,” Laurent replied, laughing. “You’re innocent. We aren’t even doing anything now, Damen.”

“Not exactly.”

Nothing was innocent about Laurent pulling him into his own chambers in the evening, uncaring of all the stares. Damen was certain that someone was currently writing a very short letter to Auguste. Damianos. Laurent. One bed. Once or twice, Damen was certain that he heard the hoofbeat and the trumpets, and that he’d see a golden starburst on the chest of his best friend, his very angry best friend. But what were Auguste’s imaginary threats against the feeling of Laurent’s head on his chest? His heart panged as he watched Laurent’s relaxed sprawl beside him, lying on a mountain of pretty cushions and playing with Damen’s fingers. Damen knew now how delicate Laurent was in private, when his trust was fully given to someone. 

“Fine,” Laurent finally said, sighing. He sat up, tucking his legs to one side. His oversized shirt did nothing to hide the little bruises on his neck and collarbones. Damen had his back pressed to the headboard, and he was fully clothed, half-convinced that Auguste was lurking somewhere in the dark. “But you should know I’m guiltier.”

“How come?” Damen frowned. 

“Eira isn’t sick. I asked her to pretend, so that Auguste would let me meet you alone. I told him I don’t like you anymore because I wanted him off my back, and he believed me like a naive fool he is. I’m sorry for asking about Jokaste, but she was also a part of my plan. I might have been a little… jealous.”

Damen opened his mouth and then closed it. Laurent’s eyes were somehow darker in the dim light of his bedroom. “So, it was a test?” he finally asked. “To see my intentions.”

“Perhaps.” Laurent shrugged, pecking Damen on the mouth. Damen kept staring at him, and Laurent sighed after a long moment, as if he was explaining something very simple for the third time. “I am the Prince of Vere, Damen. I’d make anyone work for my favour.”

Grinning, he grabbed his Prince by the hips, digging his thumbs in. “You’re a devious man, Laurent.”

This laughter was perhaps the sweetest sound in the world. Laurent leaned in to kiss him on the mouth, his hair falling on his face. Damen’s lips twisted into a smile, and he couldn’t stop himself from laughing into Laurent’s mouth.

“What?” his Prince asked as he pulled away, his golden eyebrows arched. 

Damen grinned harder, caressing Laurent’s cheek. “You've liked me for so long.”

Laurent smacked him on the chest, his face turning pink. He didn’t answer, so Damen continued, “You plotted everything because you like me.”

Instead of smacking him again, Laurent kissed him, which was a more effective way of shutting someone up. 

Later, when Laurent grew tired of kisses, he lay down on Damen’s chest, which he was beginning to treat as his personal possession. Damen had some time left to spend in Delfeur, but he saw the same yearning and ache mirrored in Laurent’s body. 

“I take all of it seriously, Laurent,” he said. “I only want you, so you can expect news of King Damianos refusing to take a lover to his bed.”

“It could be a year until we meet again.”

“And?”

Laurent sat up again. He opened his mouth, but then closed it. Damen wanted to slip into his mind to steal the answer. “This Damianos of Akielos is known to be quite voracious.”

“This Damianos isn’t the same man he was.” He couldn’t tell Laurent about the visions of his massacred household, Lykaios’s severed head, and that he promised to himself that he would end slavery. It wasn’t a good idea to say those things out loud, even to Laurent, not when Akielos was still licking its wounds. All Damen knew is that he would see it done. Instead, he patted Laurent and the nose, and said, “He also knows sweetness comes with waiting."

“How poetic.”

“No, I–” Damen began, frowning. “How come it isn’t known in Vere that I haven’t taken a slave to bed in three years? All my lovers from the last three years were free.”

“I did know it.” This time it was Laurent who frowned. “I just thought your enemies lied about it to make you look weak, but the truth is you're trying to change something, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s not easy now. I need time.”

“I know,” Laurent said and kissed him on the mouth, deeper than before. As he pulled away, mischief appeared in his eyes, and he leaned in to whisper into Damen’s ear, softly: “Exalted.”

Damen’s heart stumbled. A wave of heat took his entire body, settling somewhere low in his belly. Laurent’s blue eyes were wide with innocence, but the curving of his mouth betrayed him. Damen groaned, and Laurent laughed, entirely too pleased with himself. 

“I expect a lot of letters from you, preferably two pages long,” Damen said after a moment. “I also think you should make some devious plan, so we could meet sooner. Do you think Auguste would let you come to Akielos?”

Laurent blinked, taking Damen’s hand to play with his fingers. “I don’t know.”

“I want to show you my mother’s palace. The sea is actually warm there.”

“I’d like that,” his Prince replied, their eyes meeting. “You’re lonely in that white palace of yours, aren’t you?”

“A bit,” Damen admitted softly. “Sometimes. I have Nikandros. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Laurent nodded, squeezing Damen’s broad hand. A lonely curl of his golden hair fell on his face, so he pushed it behind his ear. Has Damen ever felt this close to someone? He almost forgot what comfort meant, both him and Nikandros not exactly familiar with this language of offering each other softness. 

“The next time we all meet,” Damen said, kissing Laurent’s palm, “I’m going to ask Auguste for permission to officially court you.”

Laurent’s smile was so bright. “Are you ready for threats of castration and being watched all the time?”

“I’m ready for that and more if that’s what it takes to win his favour.”

Laurent flushed. The sounds of the servants in the corridors drew his attention. He pointed at the door with his chin. “They all think we’re fucking now.”

“As long as no one writes to Auguste about this blatant lie, we’re going to survive it.”

“You can’t possibly think that I’d let Auguste hurt you,” Laurent said, cupping Damen’s cheek. “Besides, he’s unable to refuse me anything. It’s always been like that.”

Their eyes met, and Damen saw himself in a year, kneeling before Auguste to ask him for permission to officially court his younger brother. He saw Laurent in a white chiton on the balcony in Ios, hiding his fussy skin from the cruel Akielon sun. He saw himself by his side, bending his neck to press a lingering kiss to his bare arm. 

“I think I know exactly how it feels,” Damen said, sitting up to kiss Laurent’s shoulder.