‘Nicaise tells me you influenced Torveld to bargain for the slaves. Why do it in secret?’ said the Regent. His gaze tracked over Laurent slowly and consideringly. ‘I suppose the real question is what motivated you to do it at all?’
‘I thought it was terribly unfair of you,’ drawled Laurent, ‘to burn the skin of your slaves when you would not let me flay mine even a little.’
Damen felt all the breath leave his body.
The Regent’s expression changed. ‘I see you can’t be talked to. I won’t indulge your current mood. Petulance is ugly in a child and worse in a man. If you break your toys, it is no one’s fault but your own.’
The Regent left through the folded tent flaps that were held open by red silk ropes. From outside there came voices and the chink of saddlery and all the milling hubbub of a hunting party, and nearer to was the sound of the tent canvases flapping in the wind. Laurent’s blue eyes were on him.
‘Something to say?’ said Laurent.
‘I heard you killed your horse.’
‘It’s just a horse,’ said Laurent. ‘I’ll have my uncle buy me a new one.’
These words seemed savagely to amuse him; there was a jagged, private edge to his voice. Damen thought, tomorrow morning Torveld departs, and I am once again free to try and leave this sickening, treacherous, overripe place however I can.
The chance came two nights later, though not in any way that he had anticipated.
Woken in the dead of night, torches flaring and the doors to his room flung open. He was expecting it to be Laurent—when it came to these nocturnal visits, these abrupt awakenings, it was always Laurent—but he saw only two men in livery, the Prince’s livery. He didn’t recognise the men.
‘You’ve been sent for,’ one said, unlocking his chain from the floor and giving it a tug.
‘Sent where?’
‘The Prince,’ said the one, ‘wants you in his bed.’
‘What?’ said Damen, bringing up short, so that the chain pulled taut.
He felt a sharp push from behind. ‘Get a move on. Don’t want to keep him waiting.’
‘But—’ Digging his heels in after the push.
‘Move it.’
He took a step forward, still resisting. Another. It was going to be a slow journey.
The man behind him swore. ‘Half the guard is hot to fuck him. You think you’d be happier about the idea.’
‘The Prince doesn’t want me to fuck him,’ said Damen.
‘Will you move it,’ the man behind him said, and Damen felt the prick of a knife point behind him, and he let himself be taken out of the room.
CHAPTER 10
DAMEN HAD SURVIVED summons from Laurent before. He had no reason for the tension across his shoulders, the anxiety in his stomach, curled and hot.
His journey was made in total privacy, giving the false outward impression of a secret rendezvous. But whatever this looked like, whatever it felt like—whatever he’d been told—was wrong. If he thought about it too much, hysteria threatened: Laurent was not the type to smuggle men into his rooms for midnight assignations.
That wasn’t what this was.
It didn’t make sense, but Laurent was impossible to second guess. Damen’s eyes raked the passageway, and found another inconsistency. Where were the guards who had held position all along these corridors the last time Damen had walked them? Did they stand down at night? Or had they been cleared out for a reason?
‘Did he use those words—his bed? What else did he say?’ Damen asked and received no answer.
The knife at his back pricked him forward. There was nothing to do but continue along the corridor. With every step he took, the tension tightened, the uneasiness increased. The grilled windows along the passage threw squares of moonlight that passed over the faces of his escort. No sound but their footsteps.
There was a thin line of light under the doors of Laurent’s room.