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Laurent was adjusting the bandages around his chest -bless Paschal for not questioning why he needed so much bandage so often- making them a little tighter than usual. It was hard to breath and he knew it would hurt in a couple hours but it was worth it. 

So worth it, he thought as he looked at himself in the mirror. Two brown eyes were staring at him, full of a tenderness that warmed his heart. “You’re sure you don’t want me to help with that?”

“No. You’re a barbarian. You’ll just make it hurt more. However, you can go fetch my jacket,” Laurent said as he passed his loose white shirt over his head. 

“Yes, your Highness,” Damen said with a smile, walking to the bed, where Laurent’s jacket was laid out. 

It was beautiful. Dark blue, Laurent’s favorite colour, with elegant but subtle golden embroideries all over and laces everywhere. Damen didn’t understand why Veretians loved those laces so much, they were not practical at all, but there was something about undoing Laurent’s laces that got him all hot and bothered. 

Damen helped Laurent put his jacket on because the laces were in the back and as stubborn as he was about not wanting Damen to help him dress up, he couldn’t fasten those on his own. “You look handsome,” Damen whispered, tucking Laurent’s long blonde hair behind his ear. “What are you going to do with this? Let it down or put it up?”

“I’m not sure. I look more masculine when my hair isn’t on my face, but it’s better for noble men in Akielos to wear their hair down, isn’t it?”

“It is, indeed. But you’re Kemptian tonight remember? No one expects you to know all of Akielon fashion etiquette. Do whatever makes you more comfortable.”

“Nothing makes me comfortable, Damen. Absolutely everything about this evening makes me highly uncomfortable,” Laurent said, and Damen could hear the apprehension in his voice. 

They had been talking about this for months, even since Laurent had told Damen his secret, they had the whole evening planned out. 

Laurent would be using a disguise to be more himself than he had been in a very long time.

It sounded awfully antithetical, but to them it made sense. 

Damen wrapped his arms around Laurent’s middle, resting his chin on his shoulder. “It’s going to be fine.”

“How can you possibly know that? What if someone recognizes me? I may not be Auguste, but people still know me.”

Laurent’s brows were furrowed, a sign of extreme worry for him. He didn’t usually let anything show. 

“That’s why we made up that story, sweetheart. Trust me, no one will know. And anyway, if someone starts making you feel unsafe, I’ll put them back in their place. I’m the Crown Prince, no one can stand up to me except my father.”

“Then what if your father is the one questioning me?”

“I’ll improvise. And you know, if it’s stressing you that much you can always choose not to go. There’s no pressure,” Damen assured him, pressing his lips behind his ear, a spot that made Laurent shiver every time Damen kissed it. 

“No, no, I want to go. I’m anxious, that’s all. I’ll drown my anxiety with alcohol and I’ll be fine,” Laurent said confidently, straightening his back. 

“You don’t drink.”

“But Laurent of Kempt does. Will you give me my hair tie? It’s on the desk.”

“Will you stop treating me like a servant?” Damen said without bite. 

“Don’t you live to serve me?”

“You know I do.”

Damen gave Laurent a ridiculous flirty smile that made him sneer. “My hair tie, Damianos.”

Damen finally fetched it, and watched Laurent expertly put his hair in a low ponytail. Laurent’s hair was so smooth it was ridiculously easy for him to manipulate it. Back when Damen had long hair, it was a struggle to tie it by himself.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready too, instead of watching me?” Laurent asked, turning around to look at Damen directly, and not through the mirror anymore. 

“I’m ready.”

Laurent let his gaze wonder along Damen’s body, a scornful smirk slowly growing on his face “You Akielons are uncivilized people. This is merely a handkerchief, not at all clothing.”

Damen put a hand on his forehead and dramatically pretended to swoon. 

“Forgive me, oh Gods, for I show my ankles.”

“And thighs. And arms. And almost everything else.”

“Oh, do I offend your Veretian sensibilities? I’m really sorry, sweetheart.”

“What Veretian sensibilities? I’m Kemptian, have you forgotten?” Laurent said with a playful smile, reaching out to hold Damen’s hand. “Let’s go, lover, or we’ll be late.”

“And of course you can’t allow that.”

“No, I’m never late. Neither is Laurent of Kempt.”

And he dragged Damen outside of the room.

…

The first thing they did when they arrived in the ballroom was meet Nikandros. Damen was hardly ever seen away from him, and even though Laurent and Nikandros tolerated each other more than they were friend, Nikandros was still a comforting presence in this room, being the only one, other than Damen, who knew the truth about him. 

“Exalted,” Nikandros saluted Damen, bowing respectfully.

“I told you a million times you didn’t have to ‘Exalted’ me, Nik. We’re friends.”

“I’m your subject before anything else. Laurent,” he finally said, very pleased by the fact that he didn’t have to use Laurent’s proper title tonight. 

“Nikandros. Don’t you have a slave at your arm? I thought it was something you barbarians did at such parties.”

“If only,” Nikandros answered, glancing at Laurent’s hand on Damen’s arm, making it very clear he’d rather see a slave with his best friend than the Veretian Prince.

“Nikandros, don’t be rude. I expect you to treat Laurent with respect.”

“Yes Nikandros,” Laurent said with a honeyed voice. “Keep in mind that you might be talking to your Prince’s future spouse.”

Nikandros was about to say something, but Damen shut him up with a dangerous glare. Instead, he said “Try staying away from Cleiton. Your disguise is not excellent.”

Cleiton. The Akielon Ambassador to Vere. He had been in Vere often enough to know what the royal family looked like, and both Damen and Laurent knew he was the one they had to be the most careful around. They couldn’t completely ignore him, it would be rude and suspicious, but if they lingered with him too long, he might connect the dots. He was a smart man. 

“We will. Thank you for the advice.”

“Gods, Laurent, you might actually be a good influence on him. He never listens to my advices.”

“Of course I’m a good influence on him,” Laurent replied with a big, fake smile. “Now come on, Damen, I want to get drunk.”

Maybe not that good of an influence. 

However, before Laurent could reach one of the slaves who was serving drinks, they were interrupted by a man and a woman Laurent didn’t know. They both looked like the perfect cliché of an Akielon, so Laurent guessed they were from the South. The Northerners’ skin was paler, for they were exposed to less sun, and they had thiner features, due to interbreeding with Veretians, centuries ago. The same way, Veretians from the South tended to look less delicate than those from the North. 

“Exalted.” They bowed before Damen, less deeply than Nikandros had.

They were either very high ranked, or very arrogant, Laurenr thought. Nikandros was from one of the most important families in Akielos, he was the Crown Prince’s most trusted friend, and had been a soldier at the Kingsmeet and he was now Kyros of Delpha ; there were very few people who were superior to him in the Akielon hierarchy. Therefore, anyone who showed less respect than him to the Crown Prince must be extremely important.

“Endymion, Kaira, what a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all ours, Exalted,” the man, Endymion, said before offering Laurent his hand. “I’m the Kyros of Ios.”

So they had a better rank than Nikandros, they weren’t just full of themselves. 

“Please to meet you, Kyros,” Laurent said. “I’m Laurent of Kempt. I’m a cousin of the King of Vere,” he added.

“I didn’t know King Auguste had cousins. I thought his uncle died unwed and without children.”

Of course they would mention him. His trial and execution had been on the mouth of everyone in the continent for months. It was rare for a royal to be put on trial. 

Laurent tensed at the mention of his uncle, but so slightly that only Damen’s averted eye could notice. 

“That’s because I’m from the other side of the family. The King’s late mother, bless her soul, was my aunt.”

Endymion nodded, though he probably didn’t know the Veretian royal family enough to know anything about the late Queen. 

“You do look a lot like Queen Hennike may she rest in peace,” said a voice behind Endymion and Kaira. Laurent looked between them and saw the face he feared. “Sorry for my rudeness. Let me introduce myself. I’m Cleiton, the Ambassador to Vere. I knew your aunt. She was a fine woman. Much less hostile to my presence on Veretian soil than late King Aleron. May I ask your name?”

“Laurent.” 

He tried keeping his voice as deep as he could. Cleiton had heard him talk so many times, if he used his regular voice his cover would be blown instantly. He couldn’t help that he looked like himself, but he could at least try not to sound like himself. He didn’t like his regular voice anyway, so it didn’t bother him that much. 

“Laurent. I’ve never heard about you.”

Cleiton sounded suspicious. Laurent felt Damen’s hand between his shoulder blades, warm and comforting. 

“My parents and my aunt weren’t very close, and my father didn’t approve of my aunt marrying King Aleron, so they avoided each other for a long time. But now they’re all dead and my cousin is king, so I thought I could try getting in touch with my Veretian relatives.”

“That’s how Laurent and I met, he was at King Auguste’s wedding,” Damen intervened, and Laurent silently thanked him for that.

He was excellent at lying, he had to be to survive on the Veretian Court, but tonight he was particularly anxious and it made him less controlled than usual. He was so afraid Cleiton would figure out the truth. He wasn’t ready for the scandal that would follow if everyone knew…

“I thought you were courting Lady Jokaste, Exalted,” Kaira said.

Laurent had been so focused on Cleiton he had forgotten her and her husband. 

“I was,” Damen confirmed. “But I’m not anymore. Lady Jokast has shown more interest in my brother than in myself, unfortunately. Therefore, I’m free to fool around a little bit. Don’t tell my father I said that,” he said like a child, making his three countrymen laugh. “He wants me married as soon as possible.”

“Theomedes-Exalted only has Akielos’s best interests in mind.” Endymion had a kind of deference in his voice when he said his King’s name that reminded Laurent of the way the Kings Guard looked at his brother. 

He wished someone would ever feel that way about him. The only thing he got were crass looks from men who wanted him in their beds and gross comments about what his body must look like under all those clothes.

The joys of being the second child, the one who was never meant for the throne, only for marriage.

“I know, of course. I will marry, as soon as I will find a spouse that my father approves of.”

His hand went from Laurent’s shoulder blades to his hip as he said that, instinctively bringing him closer. The gesture surely didn’t escape the Kyros, his wife and Cleiton, who glanced at their joined hips disapprovingly.

It was no secret that the Crown Prince had a taste for men, the story of him fighting a man for hours and then fucking him for hours was famous among the nobility, but there was a huge difference between having male lovers and marrying one, and though it wasn’t forbidden, it was not something that happened often. Heirs were too important. 

“If you’ll excuse us,” Laurent said all of a sudden, before walking away, expecting Damen to follow him, which he did.

He walked to one of the slaves and took a drink, taking a few sips before whispering “Don’t make your people believe our relationship is serious. They’re seeing Laurent , remember? None of your subjects would approve of you marrying someone like that. Be careful, Damianos. You don’t want rumors spreading. I’m your lover, nothing more. Don’t act like you’re crazy in love with me.”

“I am crazy in love with you,” Damen said with one of these smiled that gave Laurent butterflies, though he’d never admit it out loud.

“Not the point. You’re just fucking Laurent of Kempt, okay? You’re not in love with him. Now come on, we have a lot of small talk to do if we don’t want your Lords and Ladies to feel neglected by their Prince.”

So that’s what they did, Laurent growing more and more comfortable as time went by and they talked to more and more people, doing as Nikandros said and staying away from Cleiton. They had acknowledged his presence, talked to him for a couple minutes, they had done their part. 

Everything was fine, until Kastor made his way to them “Father wants a word with you,” he told his brother, purposely avoiding Laurent. “Alone, and immediately.”

And he left. 

“He can’t bear to breathe the same air as you for more than five seconds?” Laurent said, clearly irritated.

He had only met Kastor a few times, but it was enough to make him strongly dislike his lover’s brother.

“Laurent, please. I don’t need to hear another one of your rants about my brother. He’s not as bad as you think, really. Anyway, I’d rather not keep my father waiting. Will you survive without me?”

The tone was teasing, but Laurent could hear the underlying worry. “I’ll go pick on Nikandros. It’s distracting enough.”

Damen laughed.

“Please don’t piss him off too much. I do value his friendship.”

“I know you do. Now go, lover. Your King wants to talk to you,” Laurent said, pushing Damen a little bit until he started walking away by himself.

…

“I think you should take your boy toy back to your room,” Nikandros said, almost jumping on Damen as he entered the ballroom. “He’s out of control. After you left he started drinking alcohol like it was clear water. I don’t think he’s drunk enough to say anything that would endanger his secret, but as they say, better safe than sorry.”

“Fuck. Where is he?”

“When I saw you he was around here, chatting with Jokaste,” Nikandros said, waving at the left top corner of the room. “Something about how good you are in bed. Things I really don’t want to hear about.”

“Oh, dear Gods. He’s really drunk,” Damen muttered under his breath, already crossing the room to find Laurent.

Fortunately, he wasn’t hard to spot, with his pale complexion, so rare here in Akielos.

Jokaste wasn’t hard to spot either. Jokaste. Why the hell was Laurent talking to Jokaste . Damen had specifically told him it’d be better if they never interacted, though he knew it was quite unlikely. Jokaste was going to be Kastor’s wife, and may the Gods be on their side, Laurent would be his husband. They would have met, eventually. Damen just wished it wouldn’t have happened tonight, Laurent’s first public appearance as Laurent of Kempt. 

“Damen. Look who I met,” Jokaste’s stone-cold voice said as Damen arrived next to the both of them. 

She was standing as straight as always, while Laurent seemed about to flinch. His eyes were wet and his cheeks red.

Gods, how much had he drunk? Damen hadn’t even been gone that long, had he?

“Hello Jokaste. It’s nice to see you, but I really don’t have time to talk to you right now.”

“Afraid your plaything is going to create havoc.”

“Pretty much, yes. See you another time,” Damen said as he grabbed Laurent by the shoulder, making him jump. 

“Damen! You’re back! How did it go with your father?” Laurent asked as Damen dragged him out of the room. The sooner they’d be far from the ballroom, the better.

He moved his arm so that it was around Laurent’s middle and Laurent instinctively put his arm around Damen’s shoulder, for balance. His fingers dug in Damen’s skin, in a way that would leave bruises on someone with a paler complexion. 

“Not so well. He’s heard I’m dating you and he absolutely doesn’t want me to marry you. I told him you were a better match than you appeared to be but I still think he’s going to give me a lecture tomorrow when everyone is gone about my responsibilities as Crown Prince and how important it is for me to marry a woman.”

“If he knew,” Laurent sneered.

He tripped on his own foot as he did, and Damen tightened his grip on him.

Every time he pulled Laurent close, the smell of alcohol that had clung to his clothes and came from his breath reached Damen’s nostrils in a way that made him scrunch up his nose.

“Wow, careful pretty boy. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt, would we.”

“Auguste could declare war on you if I came back home with so much as a scratch on my knee.”

The thought was apparently hilarious to him, because he started laughing uncontrollably.

“Gods, you’re really drunk,” Damen whispered fondly. It was probably too low for Laurent to hear him over his laughter.

Once Laurent finally calmed down, his cheeks even redder and his eyes watering, Damen teased him “You’d show your knee to your brother? How outrageous. How perverse. Would his Veretian self handle seeing so much skin?”

Laurent tried to straighten his position.

And failed, slumping on Damen even more, his legs barely able to hold up the weight of his body.

“Auguste’s a slut, he’s used to seeing skin.”

Damen had heard some of Laurent’s snarky comments about his brother’s active sex life, but he’d never heard him use such crude language to talk about him.

(Not that Veretians were foreign to words like this. As elegant and proper as the nobility looked, they all talked like they’d been raised on the floor of a brothel.)

Damen burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Laurent asked, while his facial expression changed in a way that didn’t look like anything, but that Damen imagined was intended to be a cocked eyebrow. 

“You just called your King a slut,” he answered with a chuckle.

“Well, he’s one. I thank the Gods for marriage everyday. Auguste would be fathering bastards at this very moment if he wasn’t wed. There would be blonde little monsters all over the continent.”

“You talk terrifyingly well for someone as drunk as you.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“You so are. You can’t even walk in a straight line.”

Laurent tilted his chin. “Irrelevant.”

“You can’t just say ‘irrelevant’ as if it was a valid argument. You can’t walk straight, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you still clinging to me? Walk by yourself, Mr Sober.”

“No.”

Damen snorted.

He kissed the top of Laurent’s head, tenderly. In moments like that, when Laurent was himself and carefree, Damen could feel a love so overwhelming that all he wanted was to stop time, to keep Laurent like that forever. 

He dreamed of a world where his lover wouldn’t have to worry or hide.

“Damen, I think we just walked past your rooms.”

They had. His room was a few steps back from the lamp they had stopped next to, that was casting a gorgeous orange glow on Laurent’s face. It made the shadows there harsher, sharpening his angles. 

“Oh, I didn’t notice. I was lost in thoughts.”

“You have thoughts?” Laurent asked, his eyes searching for Damen’s.

He could have been teasing, but he sounded serious.

“Only once a decade,” Damen smiled as he opened the room. 

“I thought so. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you think.”

“Are you suggesting you’re not into me for my brains?”

“Of course not. I’m only interested in your muscles and your enormous cock.”

The comment made Damen pause. And choke on his breath.

Damn Veretians and their dirty mouths.

“As flattered as I am, sweetheart, I believe you might regret saying that tomorrow,” he answers.

He’d rather keep the mood light and teasing than let himself be shocked by every filthy thing his lover might say. He seemed even more prompt to that kind of outrageous langue when alcohol was making his blood hotter and his tongue freer.

“It’s true though,” Laurent cooed. “You do have an enormous cock, and I do love it.”

“Laurent, for your own sake, please stop talking,” Damen said, sounding clearly amused.

He was quite enjoying this drunk version of Laurent, but he knew he would be very embarrassed when he’d sober up. 

His prince usually kept the dirty talk to a minimal. He was very purposeful about everything he said, lovers’ talk included.

“Or you could shut me up,” Laurent suggested, very wisely. “With your big cock. Gods, what a good idea. Can I suck you off?”

He was already dropping to his knees. 

The sight of it alone would usually turn Damen’s brain into mush. Few things were as beautiful as that lovely blonde head bobbing between his legs, those lips, which had always been Laurent’s best weapon, stretched around his dick, used for pleasure and not to tear someone down. 

Right now, though, he could not let it trouble him.

He put his hands under Laurent’s armpits and before he could complain, put him back on his feet. “Laurent, no. I’m not taking advantage of you while you’re drunk.”

“It’s not taking advantage of me if I want to. Please Damen I want to feel you in my mouth,” he whined, pouting like a displeased child. 

“It’s the alcohol talking. I’m not having sex with you now, Laurent, that’s not up to debate. Instead, I’m going to get you out of those intricate clothes of yours, and we’ll go to bed. Does that sound like a good plan?”

“No.”

“Well, too bad, because that’s what’s happening,” Damen said with his most serious voice.

Laurent groaned, but didn’t argue any further. Instead, he offered one of his wrists to Damen. “Attend me.”

“I’m a Crown Prince, you know? I’m not supposed to attend anyone.”

But Damen loved attending him. And Laurent knew that. As much as he could complain about Veretian clothing being unnecessarily complicated, he had once confessed that he actually enjoyed it. He said it felt like unwrapping the most perfect of presents, every time he was undressing Laurent.

“I’m not anyone, I’m your favorite person.”

“You really are,” Damen agreed, working on Laurent’s laces. 

“Aw, you like me. How embarrassing.”

“A lot of things I do are embarrassing, but loving you isn’t one of those.”

Laurent rolled his eyes at him, but Damen saw the way the corner of his lips twitched. 

Damen had undone the laces of both of Laurent’s sleeves and he was now making him turn around to undo those on his back. The jacket fell on the floor in a ruffle of cloth, almost at the same time as Laurent’s pants fell open. Damen hadn’t even noticed Laurent was working on his front laces. 

He went down on his knees to take Laurent’s boots off and help him out of his pants. 

Now, he was only wearing his loose undershirt. And the bandages. 

Damen knew it was time for him to look away and let Laurent deal with the rest of his clothes. He used the time to unclasp the pin of his chiton and undo the thin belt that held it around his waist. 

Just like that, he was naked.

He climbed in bed, making sure to keep his gaze away from Laurent. Only when he felt the bed shift under Laurent’s weight did he look at him. The shirt was still here, but Damen could see the bandages carefully folded on the desk, along with his pants and jacket. 

Of course, even drunk Laurent would fold his things. 

He settled over the sheets, on his side to look at Damen. 

In Vere, he slept with two blankets. Here, the heat would kill him if he simply thought about covering himself. 

“So, how was the party? Well, until you got drunk and started talking to my ex,” Damen smiled. 

Laurent ignored his teasing “It was great. Everyone called me Laurent. They didn’t even doubt it, Damen. They just did,” he said, his voice shaking a little with emotions. 

It made Damen’s smile widen. “Of course they did, love,” he said, softly stroking Laurent’s thigh. “You are Laurent.”

“No, to most people, I’m not. But it was nice to be him for a night.”

“You were not him. You were you .”

Laurent shook his head. There was emotion in his voice when he said “It was just a disguise.” but this time it was bitterness. Sadness. 

“No it wasn’t. The real disguise, it’s who you pretend to be every day back in Arles. Laurent… It’s just who you are.”

Damen couldn’t see well in the dim candle light, but he was sure he saw a tear rolling down Laurent’s cheek. Before he could ask Laurent about it, he fell his lips against his, kissing him with so much intensity it made his head spin. Laurent’s kisses weren’t usually like that. He liked it slow, tender. Not urgent and demanding. But maybe it was what he needed right now

“I love you,” he whispered when he broke away from the kiss. 

…

Damen was fastening the laces in Laurent’s back, standing as far from the mirror as they could, when someone knocked on the door. Damen allowed them entrance, and one of Laurent’s guards, Rose, opened the door just enough to pass her head through the small opening. “Your boat is waiting for you, Princess Aliénor”