Inside the tent, there was no sign whatsoever of Nicaise. The Regent was riding, but the child pet had been left behind.
Laurent’s words last night had been a shock. It was hard to reconcile what he now knew with the manner and the bearing of the man. The Regent gave no sign of his—tastes. Damen might almost have thought Laurent was lying. Except he could see in Nicaise’s actions all the ways it was true. Who but the Regent’s pet would behave as brazenly as Nicaise did in the company of princes?
Considering Nicaise’s loyalties, it was strange that Laurent had seemed drawn to him—had seemed even oddly to like him—but who knew what went on in that maze of a mind?
There was nothing to do but watch while the riders mounted and waited for the first signal of game. Damen wandered over to the mouth of the tent and looked out.
The hunting party, sunlit, spanned the hill, flashing with jewels and polished saddlery. The two princes were mounted alongside one another, close by the tent. Torveld looked powerful and competent. Laurent dressed in black hunting leathers was an even more austere sight than normal. He was riding a bay mare. She was a beautiful mount, with perfectly balanced proportions and long hips made for hunting, but she was fractious and difficult, already covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It gave Laurent, controlling her under a light rein, a chance to show off his seat, which was excellent. But it was show without substance. The hunt, like the art of war, required strength, stamina, and skill with a weapon. But more important than all three was a calm horse.
Dogs wove their way through the legs of the horses. They were trained to be calm around large animals, trained to ignore hares and foxes and deer, and focus on nothing but sanglier.
Laurent’s fussy horse began acting out again, and he leaned forward in the saddle, murmuring something as he stroked her neck in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture to quiet her. Then he looked up at Damen.
It was wasteful of nature to have bestowed those looks on one whose character was so unpleasant. Laurent’s fair skin and blue eyes were a combination that was rare in Patras, rarer in Akielos, and a particular weakness of Damen’s. The golden hair made it worse.
‘Can’t afford a good horse?’ said Damen.
‘Try to keep up,’ said Laurent.
He said it to Torveld, after a chilly look at Damen. A touch of his heels, and his mount moved out like she was part of him. Torveld, who was grinning, followed.
In the distance, a horn blew, announcing game. The riders kicked their mounts and the whole party streamed towards the sound of the horn. Hooves thundered after the baying of hounds. The terrain was only lightly wooded, with trees scattered here and there. A large party could canter. There was a clear view of the dogs and the front runners, who were approaching a more heavily wooded area. The boar was somewhere under the cover. It was not long before the party was out of sight, through the trees, over the crest of a hill.
Inside the royal tent, servants were clearing away the last of the luncheon, which had been eaten reclining on strewn cushions, the occasional hound wandering in only to be pushed good-naturedly off the cloths.
Erasmus was like an exotic ornament, kneeling obediently on a cushion the colour of yellow apples. He had done a beautifully unobtrusive job of serving Torveld at lunch, and later in arranging his riding leathers. He was wearing a short tunic in Patran style that exposed his arms and legs, yet was long enough to cover his scarring. Re-entering the tent, Damen looked nowhere else.
Erasmus looked down and tried not to smile, and instead blushed, slowly and thoroughly.
‘Hello,’ said Damen.
‘I know that you have somehow arranged this,’ said Erasmus. He was incapable of hiding what he felt, and just seemed to radiate embarrassed happiness. ‘You kept your promise. You and your master. I told you he was kind,’ Erasmus said.
‘You did,’ said Damen.
He was pleased to see Erasmus happy. Whatever Erasmus believed about Laurent, Damen wasn’t going to dissuade him.
‘He’s even nicer in person. Did you know he came and talked to me?’ said Erasmus.
‘—He did?’ said Damen. It was something he couldn’t imagine.
‘He asked about . . . what happened in the gardens. Then he warned me. About last night.’
‘He warned you,’ said Damen.
‘He said that Nicaise would make me perform before the court and it would be awful, but that if I was brave, something good might come at the end of it.’ Erasmus looked up at Damen curiously. ‘Why do you look surprised?’
‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t be. He likes to plan things in advance,’ said Damen.
‘He wouldn’t have even known about someone like me if you hadn’t asked him to help me,’ said Erasmus. ‘He’s a prince, his life is so important, so many people must want him to do things for them. I’m glad I have this chance to say thank you. If there is a way to repay you, I will find it. I swear that I will.’
‘There’s no need. Your happiness is repayment enough.’
‘And what about you?’ said Erasmus. ‘Won’t you be lonely, all by yourself?’
‘I have a kind master,’ said Damen.
He did pretty well in getting the words out, all things considered. Erasmus bit his lip, and all his burnished curls fell over his forehead. ‘You’re—in love with him?’