He wanted to be free. He wanted to find his way home. He wanted to stand in the capital, raised on its marble pillars, and look out over the greens and blues of mountains and ocean. He wanted to face Kastor, his brother, and ask him, man to man, why he had done what he had done. But life in Akielos went on without Damianos. These slaves had no one else to help them.
And what did it mean, to be a prince, if he did not strive to protect those weaker than himself?
The sun, sinking low in the sky, brought light into his room through the grilled windows.
When Radel entered, Damen begged an audience with the Prince.
Radel, with obvious relish, refused. The Prince, said Radel, did not care to trouble himself with a turncoat Akielon slave. He had more exalted business to attend to. Tonight there was a banquet in honour of the Patran Ambassador. Eighteen courses, and the most talented pets entertaining with dance and games and performance. Knowing Patran culture, Damen could only imagine the reaction of the delegation to the more inventive entertainments of the Veretian court, but he stayed silent as Radel described the glory of the table, and the courses in detail, and the wines: mulberry wine and fruit wine and sinopel. Damen was not fit for that company. Damen was not fit to eat the leavings from the table. Radel, having made his point at satisfactory length, left.
Damen waited. He knew that Radel would be obliged to pass on the request.
He had no illusions about his relative importance in Laurent’s household, but if nothing else, his inadvertent role in Laurent’s power struggle with his uncle meant that his request for an audience would not be ignored. Would probably not be ignored. He settled in, knowing that Laurent would make him wait. Surely not longer than a day or two, he thought.
That was what he thought. And so, when night came, he slept.
He woke amid crushed pillows and disturbed silken sheets to find that Laurent’s cool blue gaze was on him.
The torches were lit and the servants who had lit them were withdrawing. Damen moved; silk, skin-warm, slid away completely to pool among the cushions as he pushed himself up. Laurent paid it no attention. Damen recalled that a visit from Laurent had woken him from sleep once before.
It was closer to dawn than sunset. Laurent was dressed in court clothes, having come, presumably, after the eighteenth course and whatever nightly entertainments had followed. Not drunk this time.
Damen had expected a long, excruciating wait. There was slight resistance from the chain as it dragged across the cushions, following his movement. He thought about what he had to do, and why he had to do it.
Very deliberately, he knelt, and bowed his head, and lowered his eyes to the floor. For a moment, it was so quiet that he could hear the flames from the torches fluttering in the air.
‘This is new,’ said Laurent.
‘There’s something I want,’ said Damen.
‘Something you want.’ The same words, precisely enunciated.
He had known it was not going to be easy. Even with someone else, not this cold, unpleasant prince, it would not be easy.
‘You get something in return,’ said Damen.
He set his jaw as Laurent slowly paced around him, as though simply interested in viewing him from all angles. Laurent stepped mincingly over the chain that lay slack on the ground, completing his tour.
‘Are you misguided enough to try to bargain with me? What could you possibly offer that I would want?’
‘Obedience,’ said Damen.
He felt Laurent react to that idea. Subtly but unmistakably, the interest was there. Damen tried not to think too much about what he was offering, what it would mean to keep this promise. He would face that future when he came to it.
‘You want me to submit. I’ll do it. You want me to publicly earn the punishment that your uncle won’t let you mete out? Whatever performance you want from me, you’ll have it. I will throw myself on the sword. In exchange for one thing.’
‘Let me guess. You want me to take off your chains. Or reduce your guard. Or put you in a room where the doors and windows are unbarred. Don’t waste your breath.’
Damen forced the anger down. It was more important to be clear. ‘I don’t think the slaves in your uncle’s care are well treated. Do something about it, and the bargain is made.’
‘The slaves?’ Laurent said, after a slight pause. And then, with renewed drawling scorn: ‘Am I supposed to believe you care about their welfare? How exactly would they be treated better in Akielos? It is your barbaric society that forced them into slavery, not mine. I would not have thought it possible to train the will out of a man, but you have managed it. Congratulations. Your show of compassion rings false.’
Damen said, ‘One of the handlers took a heated iron from the fire to test whether the slave would obey an order to stay silent while he used it. I don’t know if that is usual practice in this place, but good men don’t torture slaves in Akielos. Slaves are trained to obey in all things, but their submission is a pact: they give up free will in exchange for perfect treatment. To abuse someone who cannot resist—isn’t that monstrous?’
Damen said, ‘Please. They’re not like me. They’re not soldiers. They haven’t killed anyone. They’re innocent. They will serve you willingly. And so will I, if you do something to help them.’
There was a long silence. Laurent’s expression had changed.
Finally, Laurent said, ‘You overestimate my influence over my uncle.’
Damen began to speak, but Laurent cut him off.
‘No. I—’ Laurent’s golden brows had drawn slightly together, as though he had encountered something that did not make sense. ‘You would really sacrifice your pride over the fate of a handful of slaves?’ He had worn the same look on his face at the ring; he was gazing at Damen as though he was searching for an answer to an unexpected problem. ‘Why?’
Anger and frustration broke free of their bonds. ‘
Because I am stuck here in this cage and I have no other way to help them
.’ He heard the rage lash in his voice, and tried to force it down, with limited success. His breathing was uneven.
Laurent was staring at him. The little golden frown was etched deeper.
After a moment, Laurent gestured to the guard at the door and Radel was summoned. He arrived presently.
Without taking his eyes off Damen, Laurent said, ‘Has anyone been in or out of this room?’
‘No one but your own staff, Your Highness. As you ordered.’
‘Which of the staff?’
Radel recited a list of names. Laurent said, ‘I want to speak to the guards who were watching over the slave in the gardens.’
‘I’ll send for them personally,’ said Radel, departing on the errand.
‘You think this is a trick,’ said Damen.
He could see from the assessing look on Laurent’s face that he was right. The bitter laughter just came out.
‘Something amuses you?’ Laurent.
‘What would I have to gain from—’ Damen broke off. ‘I don’t know how to convince you. You don’t do anything without a dozen motives. You lie even to your own uncle. This is country of deviousness and deception.’
‘Whereas pure Akielos is free of treachery? The heir dies on the same night as the King and it is merely coincidence that smiles on Kastor?’ said Laurent, silkily. ‘You should kiss the floor when you beg for my favour.’
Of course Laurent would invoke Kastor. They were alike. Damen forcibly reminded himself of why he was here. ‘I apologise. I spoke out of turn.’ Grittily.
Laurent said, ‘If this is a fabrication—if I find you have been moonlighting with emissaries from my uncle—’
‘I haven’t,’ said Damen.
The guard took a little longer to rouse than Radel, who presumably never slept, but they arrived reasonably promptly. Dressed in livery and looking alert, rather than, as might be expected, yawning and trailing bed linen.
‘I want to know who spoke with the slave the night you watched over him in the gardens,’ said Laurent. ‘Nicaise and Vannes I know about.’
‘That was it,’ came the answer. ‘There was no other.’ And then, as Damen felt a sick sensation in his stomach: ‘No. Wait.’
‘Oh?’
‘After you left,’ the guard said, ‘he got a visit from Govart.’
Laurent turned back to Damen, blue eyes like ice.
‘No,’ said Damen, knowing Laurent believed this now to be some scheme of his uncle’s. ‘It’s not what you think.’
But it was too late.
‘Shut him up,’ said Laurent. ‘Try not to leave any new marks. He’s caused enough trouble for me as it is.’
S
EEING NO REASON
whatsoever to cooperate with that order, Damen stood up.
It had an interesting effect on the guard who brought up short and swung his gaze back to Laurent, seeking further guidance. Radel was also in the room, and at the door stood the two guards who were on watch.
Laurent narrowed his eyes at the problem, but offered no immediate solution.
Damen said, ‘You could bring in more men.’
Behind him were strewn the cushions and rumpled silk sheets, and trailing across the floor was the single chain linked to his wrist-cuff that was no impediment to movement at all.
‘You are really courting danger tonight,’ Laurent said.
‘Am I? I thought I was appealing to your better nature. Order whatever punishment you like, from the coward’s distance of a chain-length. You and Govart are two of a kind.’
It was not Laurent but the guard who reacted, steel flashing out of the sheath. ‘Watch your mouth.’
He was wearing livery, not armour. The threat was negligible. Damen looked at his drawn sword with scorn. ‘You’re no better. You saw what Govart was doing. You did nothing to stop him.’
Laurent raised a hand, halting the guard before he could take another angry step forward.
‘What was it he was doing?’ said Laurent.
The guard stepped back, then shrugged. ‘Raping one of the slaves.’
There was a pause, but if Laurent had any reaction to these words, it didn’t show on his face. Laurent transferred his gaze back to Damen and said, pleasantly, ‘Does that bother you? I recall you being free with your own hands, not so very long ago.’
‘That was—’ Damen flushed. He wanted to deny that he’d done anything of the kind, but he remembered rather unequivocally that he had. ‘I promise you, Govart did a great deal more than simply enjoy the view.’
‘To a slave,’ Laurent said. ‘The Prince’s Guard doesn’t interfere with the Regency. Govart can stick his cock into anything of my uncle’s he likes.’
Damen made a sound of disgust. ‘With your blessing?’
‘Why not?’ said Laurent. His voice was honeyed. ‘He certainly had my blessing to fuck you, but it turned out he’d rather take a blow to the head. Disappointing, but I can’t fault his taste. Then again, maybe if you’d spread in the ring, Govart wouldn’t have been so hot to get inside your friend.’
Damen said, ‘This isn’t a scheme of your uncle’s. I don’t take orders from men like Govart. You’re wrong.’
‘Wrong,’ said Laurent. ‘How lucky I am to have servants to point out my shortcomings. What makes you think I will tolerate any of this, even if I believed what you are saying to be true?’
‘Because you can end this conversation any time you like.’
With so much at stake, Damen was sick of certain kinds of exchanges; the kind Laurent favoured, and enjoyed, and was good at. Wordplay for its own sake; words that built traps. None of it meant anything.
‘You’re right. I can. Leave us,’ Laurent said. He was gazing at Damen while he said it, but it was Radel and the guards who bowed and went out.
‘Very well. Let us play this out. You’re concerned for the wellbeing of the other slaves? Why hand me that kind of advantage?’
‘Advantage?’ said Damen.
‘When someone doesn’t like you very much, it isn’t a good idea to let them know that you care about something,’ said Laurent.
Damen felt himself turn ashen, as the threat sank in.
‘Would it hurt worse than a lashing for me to cut down someone you care for?’ said Laurent.
Damen was silent.
Why do you hate us so much?
he almost said, except that he knew the answer to that question.
‘I don’t think I need to bring in more men,’ said Laurent. ‘I think all I have to do is tell you to kneel, and you’ll do it. Without me lifting a finger to help anyone.’
‘You’re right,’ said Damen.
‘I can end this any time I like?’ said Laurent. ‘I haven’t even begun.’
‘The Prince’s orders,’ Damen was told the next day, stripped and re-dressed, and when he asked what these preparations were for, he was told that tonight he would serve the Prince at the high table.
Radel, clearly disapproving of the fact that Damen was being taken into refined company, delivered a peripatetic lecture, striding up and down in Damen’s room. Few pets were invited to serve their masters at the high table. To offer him this opportunity, the Prince must see something in Damen that surpassed Radel’s understanding. It was pointless to instruct someone like Damen in the rudiments of polite etiquette, but he should try to keep silent, obey the Prince and refrain from attacking or molesting anyone.