‘That’s enough,’ said Laurent, pushing himself away unexpectedly.
When Laurent turned to face him, his eyes were dark. His lips were parted uncertainly. He had lifted his hand to his own shoulder, as though chasing a ghost touch there. He did not look exactly relaxed, but the movement did look a little easier. As if realising that, Laurent said, almost awkwardly, ‘Thank you.’ And then, in wry acknowledgement: ‘Getting tied up leaves an impression. I didn’t realise being captured was so uncomfortable.’
‘Well, it is.’ The words sounded close to normal.
‘I promise I’ll never tie you to the back of a horse,’ said Laurent.
There was a pause in which Laurent’s mordant gaze was on him.
‘That’s right, I’m still captured,’ said Damen.
‘Your eyes say, “For now,”’ Laurent said. ‘Your eyes have always said, “For now.”’ And then: ‘If you were a pet, I would have gifted you enough by now to buy out your contract, many times over.’
‘I’d still be here,’ said Damen, ‘with you. I told you that I would see this border dispute through to its finish. Do you think I’d go back on my word?’
‘No,’ said Laurent, almost as if he was realising it for the first time. ‘I don’t think you would. But I know you don’t like it. I remember how much it maddened you in the palace, to be bound and powerless. I felt yesterday how badly you wanted to hit someone.’
Damen found he’d moved without realising it, his fingers lifting to touch the bruised edge of Laurent’s jaw. He said, ‘The man who did this to you.’
The words just came out. The warmth of skin under his fingers in that moment took all his attention, before he became aware that Laurent had jerked back and was staring at him, blue eyes
huge with pupil.
Damen was suddenly aware of how out of control he was—he felt—and called violently on his faculties to try to put a stop to—this.
‘I’m sorry. I . . . know better than that.’ He forced himself a step back too. He said, ‘I think . . . I had better report to the watch. I can take a shift tonight.’
He turned to leave, and made it all the way to the tent’s entrance. Laurent’s voice caught him with his hand parting the canvas.
‘No. Wait. I . . . wait.’
Damen stopped, and turned. Laurent’s gaze was edged with indecipherable emotion, and his jaw was set at a new angle. The silence stretched out for such a long time that the words, when they came, were a shock.
‘What Govart said about my brother and I . . . it wasn’t true.’
‘I never thought it was,’ said Damen, uneasily.
‘I mean that whatever . . . whatever taint exists in my family, Auguste was free of it.’
‘Taint?’
‘I wanted to tell you that, because you,’ said Laurent, as though he was forcing the words out, ‘You remind me of him. He was the best man I have ever known. You deserve to know that, as you deserve at least a fair . . . In Arles, I treated you with malice and cruelty. I will not insult you by attempting to atone for deeds with words, but I would not treat you that way again. I was angry. Angry, that isn’t the word.’ It was bitten off; a jagged silence followed.
Laurent said steadily, ‘I have your oath that you will see this border skirmish through to its end? Then you have mine: stay with me until this thing is done, and I will take off the cuffs and the collar. I will release you willingly. We can face each other as free men. Whatever is to fall out between us can do so then.’
Damen stared at him. He felt a strange pressure in his chest. The lamplight appeared to wave and flicker.
‘It’s not a trick,’ said Laurent.
‘You’d let me go,’ said Damen.
This time it was Laurent who was silent, gazing back at him.
Damen said, ‘And—until then?’
‘Until then, you are my slave, and I am your Prince, and that is how it is between us.’ Then, with a return to his more usual tone, ‘And you don’t need to take watch,’ said Laurent. ‘You sleep prudently.’
Damen searched his face, but found nothing in it that he could read, which, he supposed, as he lifted his hands to the laces of his own jacket, was typical.