He felt, momentarily, as though the floor was sliding out from under him, the world rearranging itself.
It was simple and obvious. It was something he should have seen straight away—would have seen, if he had not been blinded by the need to escape. It lay before him, dark and consummate in design and intent.
There was no way out of this room, so he had to wait, and wait, and wait, until the next gorgeous platter. He gave all his thanks that the silent servant was accompanied by Radel.
He said, ‘I have to talk to the Prince.’
The last time he had made a request like this Laurent had appeared promptly, in court clothes, with brushed hair. Damen expected no less now, in these urgent circumstances, and he scrambled up from the pallet when the door was pushed open no more than an hour later.
Into his room, alone, dismissing the guards, came the Regent.
He entered with the slow strolling walk of a lord touring his lands. This time there were no councillors, no retinue, no ceremony. The overwhelming impression remained one of authority; the Regent had an imposing physical presence, and his shoulders wore the robes well. The silver shot through his dark hair and beard spoke to his experience. He was not Laurent, lounging idly on the throne. He was to his nephew as a warhorse to a show pony.
Damen made his obeisance.
‘Your Highness,’ he said.
‘You’re a man. Stand,’ said the Regent.
He did so, slowly.
‘You must be relieved that my nephew is leaving,’ said the Regent. It was not a good question to answer.
‘I’m sure he’ll do honour to his country,’ said Damen.
The Regent gazed at him. ‘You are quite diplomatic. For a soldier.’
Damen took a steadying breath. This high, the air was thin.
‘Your Highness,’ he said, submissively.
‘I wait for a real answer,’ said the Regent.
Damen made the attempt. ‘I’m—glad he does his duty. A prince should learn how to lead men before he becomes a king.’
The Regent considered his words. ‘My nephew is a difficult case. Most men would think that leadership was a quality that ran naturally in the blood of a king’s heir—not something that must be forced on him against his own flawed nature. But then, Laurent was born a second son.’
So were you, came the thought, unbidden. The Regent made Laurent feel like a warm up. He was not here for an exchange of views, whatever it might look like. For a man of his status to visit a slave at all was unlikely and bizarre.
‘Why don’t you tell me what happened last night?’ said the Regent.
‘Your Highness. You already have the story from your nephew.’
‘Perhaps, in the confusion, there was something my nephew misunderstood, or left out,’ said the Regent. ‘He is not used to fighting, as you are.’
Damen was silent, though the urge to speak dragged at him like an undertow.
‘I know your first instinct is to honesty,’ said the Regent. ‘You will not be penalised for it.’
‘I—’ said Damen.
There was movement in the doorway. Damen shifted his gaze, almost with a guilty start.
‘Uncle,’ said Laurent.
‘Laurent,’ said the Regent.
‘Did you have some business with my slave?’