fists.
‘We must have some conversation. You see: I have asked after your health, and now I am reminiscing. I fondly remember our night together. Have you been thinking about me this morning?’
There was no good answer to that question. Damen’s mind unexpectedly supplied him with a memory of the baths, the heat of the water, the sweet scent of the incense, the curl of steam. You have a scar.
‘My uncle interrupted us just as things were getting interesting. It left me curious.’ Laurent’s expression was guileless, but he was systematically turning over stones, searching for weakness. ‘You did something to make Kastor hate you. What was it?’
‘Hate me?’ said Damen, looking up, hearing the reaction in his voice, despite his resolution not to engage. Those words worked on him.
‘Did you think he sent you to me out of love? What did you do to him? Beat him in a tournament? Or fuck his mistress—what was her name?—Jokaste. Maybe,’ said Laurent, his eyes widening a little, ‘you strayed after he fucked you.’
That idea revolted him so much, took him so unawares, that he tasted bile in his throat. ‘No.’
Laurent’s blue eyes gleamed. ‘So that’s it. Kastor mounts his soldiers like horses in the yard. Did you grit your teeth and take it because he was the King, or did you like it? You really,’ said Laurent, ‘have no idea how happy that idea makes me. It’s perfect: a man who holds you down while he fucks you, with a cock like a bottle, and a beard like my uncle’s.’
Damen realised he had physically drawn back—the chain had pulled taut. There was something obscene about someone with a face like that speaking those words in a conversational voice.
Further unpleasantness was prevented by the approach of a select group of courtiers, to whom Laurent presented an angelic countenance. Damen stiffened when he recognised Councillor Guion, dressed in heavy dark clothing, with his councillor’s medallion around his neck. From the brief words that Laurent spoke in greeting, he gathered that the woman with the commanding air was called Vannes, and the man with the peaked nose was Estienne.
‘It’s so rare to see you at these entertainments, Your Highness,’ said Vannes.
‘I was in the mood to enjoy myself,’ said Laurent.
‘Your new pet is causing quite a stir.’ Vannes walked around Damen as she spoke. ‘He’s nothing like the slaves that Kastor gifted to your uncle. I wonder if Your Highness has had the chance to see them? They’re much more . . .’
‘I’ve seen them.’
‘You don’t sound pleased.’
‘Kastor sends two dozen slaves trained to worm their way into the bedchambers of the most powerful members of court. I’m overjoyed.’
‘What an entirely pleasant sort of espionage,’ said Vannes, arranging herself comfortably. ‘But the Regent keeps the slaves on a tight leash, I hear, and has not loaned them out at all. Regardless, I highly doubt we’ll see them in the ring. They didn’t quite have the—élan.’
Estienne sniffed and gathered his pet to him, a delicate flower who looked like he would bruise if you so much as brushed a petal. ‘Not everyone has your taste for pets who can sweep the ring competitions, Vannes. I, for one, am relieved to hear that all the slaves in Akielos are not like this one. They’re not, are they?’ This last a little nervously.
‘No.’ Councillor Guion spoke with authority. ‘None of them are. Among the Akielon nobility, dominance is a sign of status. The slaves are all submissive. I suppose it’s intended as a compliment to you, Your Highness, to imply that you can break a slave a strong as this one—’
No. It wasn’t. Kastor was amusing himself at everyone’s expense. A living hell for his half-brother, and a backhand insult to Vere.
‘—as for his provenance, they have arena matches regularly—sword, trident, dagger—I’d guess he was one of the display fighters. It’s truly barbaric. They wear almost nothing during the sword fights, and they fight the wrestling matches nude.’
‘Like pets,’ laughed one of the courtiers.
The conversation turned to gossip. Damen heard nothing useful in it, but then, he was having difficulty concentrating. The ring, with its promise of humiliation and violence, was holding most of his attention. He thought: so the Regent keeps a close watch on his slaves. At least that is something.
‘This new alliance with Akielos can’t sit easily with you, Your Highness,’ said Estienne. ‘Everyone knows how you feel about that country. Their barbaric practices—and of course what happened at Marlas—’
The space around him was suddenly very quiet.
‘My uncle is Regent,’ Laurent said.
‘You are twenty one in spring.’
‘Then you would do well to be prudent in my presence as well as my uncle’s.’
‘Yes, Your Highness,’ said Estienne, bowing briefly and moving off to one side, acknowledging it for the dismissal it was.
Something was happening in the ring.