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“The hair at your nape is almost long enough to braid,” said Laurent, gently pulling a shell comb through Damen’s curls.
Damen, still recovering from Kastor’s knife attack, was sitting up in bed while Laurent knelt behind him. Damen wore soft, white sleep pants tied low at the hips to avoid the still-healing wound.
He’d given up his protests against Laurent’s fussing after the first couple days of his convalescence, and allowed him to take care of him in his sickbed. Laurent excelled at the job, having a penchant for cleanliness, neatness and order. It came naturally to him. After the first day when Damen was at his worst, he had Damen on a schedule for hygiene, eating and napping that Damen felt hastened his healing. And when Damen couldn’t sleep because of pain or fever, Laurent artfully entertained him with stories or games. The distractions worked until the pain receded and Damen could sleep secure in the feeling that Laurent never left his side.
Paschal declared him a fast healer. In truth, his lover was a surprisingly fantastic nurse.
But now, after five days and feeling much better, Damen was distracted by something else. He stared at a wall mural of a sun-glazed sea behind a palm tree lined fortress, and barely heard Laurent speaking from behind him. A wind beyond the casements echoed a quiet urgency that had begun to form in his chest.
Damen had not lost track of the days, but he asked anyway. “What day is it?”
Laurent stopped combing. “The last day of Boedromion. Tomorrow it will be officially autumn. And the first day of Pyanepsion.”
Damon could smell the new season on the sea breeze. Even in temperate Akielos, autumn came with a distinct darkening of the light, and a leaf-and-loam tinge to the air.
“I need to gather the council. Today,” said Damen.
“You haven’t had your coronation yet. And you’re still on strict bed rest,” said Laurent.
“It’s important,” said Damen.
“What is it? Maybe I can take care of it—“
“No. It’s—too many things. It’s been five days since my return. I need to have a meeting. Today.” Damen had interrupted him quickly, moving to the edge of the bed. He stood slowly, gingerly stretching his muscles. The wound pinched. The muscles around it were still sore, but he felt well enough to make it to the council chambers and sit.
“Down the hall and back is all you’re allowed.” Laurent slid off the bed and came around Damen to face him. His blue eyes sparked. “What is it? Why do you need a meeting now?”
Damen held back a breath. Laurent looked beautiful in the still flickering candlelight and the edges of morning sun that leaked through the curtains. His chin and cheekbones seemed less sharp. The tight line of his mouth had become a softer, pink curve. His demeanor had been hardened and icy for so long. Now the muscles of his face had softened. He still had an agile and clever look about him, but the desperate man Damen had first met was gone. For now.
He did not have the heart to see that relaxed visage contract, go pale, or turn away from him, so he chose to lie. “It’s about Kastor. It must be taken care of.”
“If that’s all, you can give the order from here. Your guard and the servants will do your bidding. If you want him buried now, and any kind of ceremony—“ He hesitated, taking a patient breath. “It’s done.”
“No. The council.” He stopped. Tried to find the right words. “I need their approval for some things.”
“What things?”
“Just—Laurent. Why are you questioning me? I need to meet with them!” His voice came out clipped and he didn’t mean it.
Laurent started to take a step back. Damen stepped forward. He took Laurent’s hand in his and said gently, “It is simply that there are a lot of things on my mind. That’s all.”
“Of course.” But Laurent was frowning, sleek, golden eyebrows tilted inward.
The way Laurent made his heart hammer in his chest, Damen thought every day that he might actually die of it. He never imagined love could be this overwhelming. He pulled Laurent toward him.
I’m doing this for you, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t. Laurent could never know why he wanted this meeting. He was going to have to figure out a way to keep him out. For five minutes at least. That was all the time he needed. And then hope for the discretion of the council that Laurent would never be told about one tradition in the country of Akielos that needed abolishment now.
Damen blinked hard. Laurent started to speak. Forcing a smile against the tightness in his chest, Damen spoke first. “Will you accompany me to the baths?”
Newly shaved earlier that morning, he now wanted to attend to the rest of his body as well. He needed to appear fresh and healthy his first time back at council since he’d been ambushed, kidnapped, and taken away as a slave.
One side of Laurent’s mouth quirked up. “It is not the duty of the Crown Prince of Vere to attend the King of Akielos.”
“I know.”
Yet Laurent had been attending to him for five days now without a single complaint.
Laurent leaned forward, touching his palm to the center of Damen’s broad chest. Damen’s skin heated but he did not move.
“It has been too long since I have bathed,” said Laurent, head tilting back to meet Damen’s eyes. “You shall accompany me.”
“With pleasure,” said Damen.
There were no rules between them anymore, but Laurent still liked to play at it, what a king or prince should or should not say, do, or believe. Yet in truth, in their private moments, they were not kings or princes bred from royal blood, but two men, desperate and alone for far too long, who had done the impossible and fallen in love.
Laurent gathered robes and towels. There were times Damen could not take his eyes off him, and now he stood back and watched as Laurent, with unhesitant grace, prepared them for their journey.
The baths were not a far walk, but further than Damen had gone since being wounded.
Damen had only one moment of dizziness in the private hall.
All Laurent said, as he reached out to cup his palm under Damen’s elbow, was, “Just take it slow.”
It was as if he cupped Damen’s very heart.
*
The baths smelled of myrrh, candle wax, and incense. Morning light from the high windows made the water glow and throw bluish shadows on the white walls. Soft, watery murals of nymphs and satyrs lounging by rivers and streams surrounded the pool. A fountain sparkled to one side, dimpling the water's surface. It seemed the room was filled with liquid echoes.
Damen stopped suddenly at the threshold. This room was not the slave baths, and yet it was similar to them. The white floor, the damp air. It was very much like his last battlefield, with Kastor the victor and Damen slain.
But no red blood stained this floor. No mad-eyed brother waited to face him down.
The royal baths were private. No one would be here but them and any servants or slaves they requested.
Today they had requested none, though the baths were tended to daily. Someone had come in early, lit all the candles and laid out scented soaps and oils.
Laurent took his hand. “This place is beautiful,” he said calmly.
Damen realized Laurent had never been here before. Of course he was still getting to know Ios, the palace and everything Akielon except the language. He now spoke it so beautifully, his accent like a poet’s soft cadence.
“Not too barbarian for your tastes?” teased Damen.
Laurent flushed very slightly, pleasing Damen to no end.
“By now,” said Laurent, “you should be aware that my tastes run slightly toward barbarian. I don’t know what is wrong with me, but there it is.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
“It’s no secret and be warned, I shall brag about it loudly to any who will hear me.”
Damen pressed his lips together to keep from grinning.
As if by magic, Laurent had distracted him from his initial nervousness. He squeezed his hand tightly in thanks as Laurent led him into the dappled, pale room.
“Take care not to soak the wound too much,” said Laurent, letting go of his hand and placing the towels on the lip of the pool.
Damen untied his pants and let them slip to the floor. He moved onto the first step and slowly waded into the water, letting the ecstasy of it flow over his legs and hips. He stopped when the water level was just below his bandage. The water rippled as Laurent came up alongside him with a cloth and wordlessly began to wash his shoulders.
“I can do it,” said Damen, reaching for the cloth.
Laurent smiled and let him have it.
Laurent turned away and ducked under the water, then came up dripping, the water slicking his hair to a darker shade. He washed himself un-self-consciously, muscles rippling against skin of porcelain, and it was so erotic that Damen felt himself rouse. The scent of Laurent’s soap filled him up: woodsy, jasmine, rain.
After a minute, Laurent looked up, meeting Damen’s eyes. There was mischief there, but he merely held out his hand and handed Damen the soap.
Slowly, Damen cleaned himself as Laurent rinsed his own body. He was secretly pleased to note, out the corner of his eye, that Laurent watched him as well, eyelids heavy, just as he’d watched Laurent.
They had not made love since the night before the meeting with the Regent at Kingsmeet. After, Damen’s subsequent injury and recovery had dampened the mood.
Now they were immersed in a beautiful chamber of liquid light and bathwater in a pool deep enough to swim in with a fountain softly spraying into the air. Rose-amber light flowed through the high windows. Soap-scent and gleaming skin. Reflections of pink and sapphire and topaz on the water. The soft sound of water lapping against tile. As if in a dream, Damen was lost.
Laurent moved toward him. His erection bobbed in the water but he seemed not to notice it. He had a small chalice in his hand and held it up. “If you sit on the high step, I’ll wash your hair.”
Damen’s own arousal quivered toward the water’s surface but he ignored it. He sat on the top step, the water up to his hips, and let Laurent stand beside him, entirely exposed now, erect and beautiful, oh so beautiful, as he poured the water over Damen’s hair. He soaped him efficiently, then ran his fingers through the wet, slippery curls and gently massaged his scalp. He did it over and over, until Damen’s mind swam in a haze of sensual bliss.
More water poured over his head as Laurent washed away the soap. Laurent rinsed him several times, fingers combing, lightly tugging, before he was satisfied. Then he came around Damen and stood before him, hands on Damen’s thighs.
Damen parted his thighs until Laurent could stand between them, the water just barely touching the curve of his buttocks. He leaned forward, his erection sliding up Damen’s thigh. “You look like a drowned rat,” he whispered into Damen’s ear.
Damen lifted his hands and set them lightly on Laurent’s narrow hips. “You look radiant,” he replied, and felt his breath catch.
Laurent moved against him then, lips meeting Damen’s with a soft tug until Damen opened his mouth.
Their kisses fell into each other and fed their hunger. No need for air. Laurent pressed tighter to Damen, his cock sliding against Damen’s groin, Damen’s own cock pressed to Laurent’s stomach. He began to move. The water lapped. Their bodies, clean and still slightly soapy, slid together.
Damen’s heart opened. Raced. No one had ever made him feel the way Laurent did. He didn’t even notice his wound anymore, not a twinge, as his hands moved from Laurent’s hips mapping the territory up and down his back.
Laurent’s rhythm, as they kissed, made the room spin. Usually, Damen needed more stimulation than this to come, but right now he was so close, on the verge of utter, unspeakable surrender in Laurent’s arms, and he didn’t care about anything else right now but this. This inconceivable beauty and liquid warmth. This man. This precious being he held. He wanted him on him, in him forever and ever.
When Laurent’s hand slid down his chest and gripped him, he did not have time to brace himself. He bucked and came, pulsing hard, as Laurent’s fingers milked everything he had to give.
Pulling back a little, Laurent gave a small groan. Damen’s hands moved over his chest, barely touching, knowing that the lighter the touch, the stronger Laurent responded. His hands dipped. He brushed his fingertips over the tip of Laurent’s cock and curved underneath to cup his balls. Laurent’s body trembled, pumping white streaks over Damen’s abdomen. The water washed it away.
When he recovered, leaning against Damen’s strong arms, Laurent reached out to Damen’s bandage. “Still dry. Amazing.”
“No doubt due to your care and consideration,” said Damen.
Laurent’s lips curved up.
Damen leaned in to his lover’s still-rapt face and stole an afterglow kiss.
*
Damen wore a short, red cape that fell just above the backs of his knees. The white chiton underneath matched it in length. His sandals wrapped his calves to the knee. A gold circlet of leaves in his dark brown hair completed the king’s uniform.
He did not eschew jewelry in the same way Laurent did. Before Damen had become a slave, he had liked arm bands, necklaces, rings. Now he placed a red ruby ring on his middle left finger, and a lion’s head ring on his right. His arms beneath the cape were bare, so he added a gold ring on his upper bicep to not only match, but bring attention to the gold cuff that was twin to Laurent’s on his wrist. He knew that slave cuff made others uncomfortable. Well, he wanted them uncomfortable. He intended to work hard to abolish slavery and that cuff would remind people of his intentions every day. Not to mention, the cuff was a symbol of his and Laurent’s commitment, devotion, love. He would never rule from a pure and solid foundation if he hid that fact of his life. He intended to marry Laurent in a public ceremony, and that was that.
Their countries would ally and eventually merge. They would rule united.
But right now, those larger issues and dreams were set aside. All in due time. This was his first day as the true King of Akielos, not bedridden, and his first official council meeting. He had something else he wanted taken care of first.
Laurent looked resplendent in his choice of wardrobe. He intended to accompany Damen, and Damen did not have the heart to tell him he did not want him by his side for this, not today, not concerning this one exclusively Akielon matter. So he was going to have to find another way to get Laurent out of the council chambers, if only for a stretch of five minutes, so he could take care of the issue once and for all.
Laurent had chosen a combination of two cultures, wearing tight, sky blue trousers with laces down the sides and at the crotch, and a loose, white blouse with sleeves that stretched only to his elbows and a collar that opened at his neck and revealed several inches of lean chest. His gold wrist cuff was exposed. He also wore a circlet on his head, a thin oval of gold that gleamed among his burnished locks. He liked his boots more than Akielon sandals, and wore them every chance he got. They laced half-way up his calves. A blue, waist-length cape flowed behind him made of glowing satin, looking almost like an afterthought except it framed him perfectly, making his eyes stand out vivid and clear.
“You promise not to over-do it today?” he asked curtly.
Damen nodded.
“We break at noon. Agreed? And come back here for the rest of the day to relax.”
Damen did not expect to take that long to accomplish what he wanted, but Laurent did not know this.
“Agreed.”
Laurent reached out and took Damen’s hand in his. “You look like a true king.” Then he did something Damen never thought he’d see. He knelt on one knee and put his lips to the top of Damen’s hand. Just as quickly, he rose, as if it had never happened.
Damen opened his mouth only to find himself speechless.
Laurent dropped his hand, turned toward the door, and said, “Let’s go. Exalted.”
*
The council members were waiting. Everything had been set up for the arrival of the King of Akielos and the Crown Prince of Vere.
The balcony of the chamber had its doors flung wide open to the late morning light. The sea beyond made a shushing, vibrant sound. The blue sky was cloudless. The tops of palm trees riffled in a low wind. Lanterns were lit about the room, tawny and wavering. Scrolls and papers lay on the large, round, table made of dark wood. Two empty chairs waited for Damen and Laurent.
Every member of the council rose from their seats at the table to meet their king, murmuring appropriate greetings.
“We are making our self available for immediate issues and concerns, but this session will be a half-session,” Damen began. But he really didn’t care about any of it. There was only one thing he wanted accomplished today.
Laurent sat back with his hands woven in front of his chest looking casual, indifferent. But Damen knew he was anything but indifferent and nothing that happened here would get by that sharp mind.
Each council member had an agenda. Everyone took their turn to speak. It was exactly the distraction that Damen needed to make everything look normal. But his own agenda was prickling at the back of his mind, and he truly needed a private moment with the council, and away from Laurent, to address it.
He made an excuse to break for five minutes, got up and went into the hall. Luck was with him. Laurent did not immediately follow. He beckoned to Nikandros, who accompanied him into the hall. As a kyros, Nikandros attended council meetings at his whim.
“You look well.” Nikandros smiled.
“I need a favor,” said Damen.
“Anything.”
“There is an issue I want to bring up with the council but I do not want Laurent to hear it.”
Nikandros frowned. “It’s not like you to keep secrets. That was more Kastor’s arena.”
Damen winced.
“Apologies if I spoke out of turn, Exalted.”
“You did not. But I still want you to take care of it. Get him out of this room. A moment. That is all I need.”
“Consider it done.”
When the meeting resumed, more council agendas, including that of Kastor’s memorial services, came up.
Laurent kept quiet but attentive. He kept notes in a book Damen had not seen before.
Finally, a servant came in and discreetly handed a note to Laurent. Damen watched Laurent read it, and then make his excuses to exit the room.
Damen took the moment to interrupt the proceedings. “There is an issue we need taken care of while the Prince of Vere is not in this room. We will count on your discretion to see it to fruition without his awareness of it.”
“Something to do with your impending wedding?” Nikandros offered, suppressing a grin.
The council members who had not heard of any engagement, looked instantly interested.
“No,” said Damen. “The celebration on the tenth day of Pyanepsion. It must be abolished without delay. There are to be no festivals or ceremonies, no parties. There is to be no holiday on that day from now and henceforth. And no acknowledgement of it ever made. By law and our decree. See to it.”
Many council members began making notes.
Nikandros said, hesitantly, “Exalted, your victory at the Battle of Marlas is an important one to the people. Even Kastor still celebrated it, although he took credit for it and erased your name from the histories.”
“He erased my name?”
“Yes.”
“That is irrelevant anyway. Now it is no longer appropriate to celebrate it. Tell the people. No holiday. No festivals. It will be unlawful to celebrate on the tenth of Pyanepsion. Make it known. Vere is our friend now, and it is an affront of the highest regard to us, your Exalted, should anyone refer to the Battle at Marlas as a day of glory.”
Someone muttered, “But it was a day of glory.”
A noise came from the other end of the room. Damen looked over his shoulder. Laurent was standing in the archway. Jord stood behind him, meeting Damen’s eyes and giving a small shrug.
How long had he been standing there? From the look on Laurent’s face—unyielding, eyes fierce—long enough.
Damen turned back to the council. “Enough! We have spoken. It is our will the holiday be abolished. Immediately!” Damen glanced back over his shoulder.
Laurent turned away from the door and vanished down the hall.
Damen’s heart sank. How much had Laurent heard?
Damen rose. “This session is over. We are feeling unwell.”
Nikandros stood up and immediately went to Damen, supporting him by his elbow. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Jord was supposed to detain him.”
Jord came into the room. Damen looked directly at him. “How much did he hear?”
Jord looked down gravely. “Most of it. I couldn’t keep him away. He kept telling me that he didn’t want to miss any of the meeting. I am sorry—“
Damen put his hand up. “Do not say another word.” His body felt unsteady, but not because of his wound.
Nikandros said, “May I accompany you back to the king’s rooms?”
“Yes, but I need to find Laurent first.”
Softly, Nikandros said, “We’ll find him.”
“He could not know we’d made a holiday of Marlas. I did not want him to find out this way. I didn’t want him to know!”
“He would expect it, wouldn’t he?” Nikandros asked.
“I don’t care what he would or would not expect. This is devastating either way.” He leaned against Nikandros as a sudden weariness overcame him. “Find him.”
“First, we get you back to bed. Before you collapse.”
Damen grimaced at his own weakness. Of course he knew Nikandros was right, but all he could think of was Laurent. The pain in his side flared. “Please. Just find him,” he said, as they moved slowly down the hall.
“The servants have been instructed. Everyone is looking.”
Halfway back to his rooms, two servants approached Damen and Nikandros. They fell to their knees in front of them.
“Exalted,” said one.
“Have you located him?”
“The Prince of Vere has been found. He is in the king’s chambers as we speak.”
So, Laurent had simply gone back to their rooms. Damen let out a long breath of relief. “Thank you.”
“It will be all right, then,” said Nikandros.
“You don’t know him at all, or you would not assume any such thing,” said Damen.
When they came to the king’s chamber doors, Nikandros said, “Do you want me to come in with you?”
“No,” said Damen firmly. “Leave us.”
Nikandros nodded and turned away. The usual guards were situated just down the hall. He was alone when he opened the doors.
Damen came into the front room and saw broken cups on the floor, silverware, candles, maps, statues. The pillows of one couch had been strewn across the rug. The left curtain on the window had been torn. The blue satin cape Laurent had been wearing was a puddle of shiny blue by the hearth.
He had expected no less. Laurent’s temper was infamous.
Laurent stood facing the window, back straight and stiff in his loose Akielon shirt, golden hair tumbled across his shoulders as if he’d been through a storm.
The urgent need to apologize and never stop overcame Damen.”Laurent, I—“
The body before him did not move, as if his words fell upon a deaf and blind sculpture.
Damen started again. “I didn’t want you to know about the holiday on the tenth. I wanted it all taken care of so you wouldn’t have to know.”
Laurent’s hands were fists at his sides.
Damen said, “I didn’t want you hurt by it. Ever.”
The prince of Vere whirled, eyes flashing with unshed tears. His hands came up, fists shaking, mouth crunched into a crooked line. He took sharp, shocking breaths through his nose. Then, fists up, he came at Damen. Fast.
Damen braced for the onslaught, fearing Laurent’s temper more than fists or words. In the back of his mind, he always feared Laurent would eventually leave him because of, well, everything from their darkened pasts.
He stood firm as Laurent’s body slammed into his, making the knife wound twinge, but instead of punches, kicks, or a tirade, Laurent’s arms went tight around his waist and Laurent pulled him in to an embrace so quick and firm that Damen forgot to breathe. His forehead pushed against Damen’s chest, his breath a sudden, warm spot just above Damen’s heart.
Slowly, in reverent amazement, Damen lifted his arms about Laurent’s shoulders.
He thought he heard Laurent whisper “Thank you” over and over.
Damen’s hands were filled with Laurent’s silken hair.
They stood that way for a long time until the shadows lengthened. The ocean called from beyond with its never-ending roar. Their hearts beat like two seas joined by the slipping of untamable tides.
Finally, Laurent stood back. Looked up. His eyes were red but his face was calm. “You did right. And we’ll never speak of this again,” he said.
Damen could only nod as Laurent tilted his face up and brushed his lips to Damen’s. Softly. Like a man who has just discovered his soul.