Archive of Our Own

The difference between him and the others, maybe even between him and Laurent, was that in all the time Nicaise enjoyed the Regent's attentions, he had never once held affection for the man. The touch was easy enough to bear and Nicaise had his boundaries so tightly leashed to his heart that what happened to the skin above hardly mattered. He used the tools at his disposal to achieve his goals. Any hurt that came of it was mere childish affectation.

He had no love for Laurent either. Somewhere in their petty courtier wars, Laurent had always found his weaknesses and needled at them relentlessly. Nicaise resented the prince for all the times that people had looked through him, looked only for that angle at which he was a perfect, younger facsimile. A more agreeable sort.

But Nicaise had been a street rat before he became a pet dog and if anything sustained him it was the desire to accumulate as much money and power as he could and then shove it down the nobility's throat. Let them choke and grow purple like ripe plums.

Three years, almost four now, and things were changing faster than even the Regent or Laurent could predict. Nicaise made no claim to the twisted schemes that ran like a river under the surface of the court, but he did have his own plans in place. He was a survivor. All he needed was to place his bets and wait for the endgame.

Laurent's victories had brought the prince back to court with enough of a force behind him that the throne was once again in jeopardy. The Regent relieved his rage on Nicaise's back and thighs, his skin, but none of it mattered when the air was so tense with the potential for change. Something was about to happen and Nicaise would be ready.

If he could see the Regent's dead eyes as the life fled from his body somewhere along the way, that would just be a bountiful luxury.

Nicaise had the freedom of the palace and was allowed to leave when he wished, though guards would always follow him whenever his restlessness drew him to the city. He had not been able to visit his mother's grave in years, but the market let him breathe. He loved the atmosphere of a life lived loud and boisterous and simple, far enough away from the palace that honesty was not a liability. He gave coins to mud-caked, hungry little children and haggled with eager merchants for cheap trinkets.

It was mere chance, for once, that brought him face to face with Laurent's slave, the Akelion giant. Nicaise suppressed his body's immediate reaction, which was to cower and expose his belly to the beast. When the man caught sight of him, his face grew dark and troubled.

Nicaise narrowed his eyes. “Funny how your luck has changed, now that Laurent pants for you like a dog.”

There was a stunned silence as the Akelion's brain slowly worked through the implications. He was by no means stupid, but his mind had the straight-forward intelligence of a soldier, not the meandering creativity of a courtier.

“He finds me useful,” said the Akielon, a strange expression on his hard, dark features. “I don't presume to know anything more of his motivations than that.”

Nicaise frowned and thought of the way Laurent had practically draped himself over the slave at any given moment ever since his return. They were rarely seen without each other in the palace. In fact, this whole encounter was out of the ordinary, so much so that Nicaise began to suspect a game.

“Laurent works in twisted ways, like a snake. It surprises me that he would stoop to keep your company, let alone give you his confidence. I assumed it must be your prowess in bed.”

The Akielon shrugged, a gesture like moving mountains. Nicaise stared back at him without flinching, steeling himself for an attack against all logic. There was nothing quite as unpredictable as a wounded animal and Nicaise knew how to lash out, knew how to hurt. Before he could say anything damaging however, the slave began to rummage in his satchel, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like “that scheming son of a bitch”.

“Here,” the slave said, thrusting his curled fist at Nicaise's face. It was only iron will and a slight tendency for punishing himself that let Nicaise stay calm and rooted where he stood instead of dodging out of the way.

In that calloused, brutal hand lay something Nicaise remembered only too well. The earring Laurent had cheated him out of, sparkling in the sun like the decadent treasure it was. “He said to give you this, should I happen to encounter you while I'm on my errands. He said it served him adequately and that it is yours to do with as you please.”

And Nicaise knew in his bones that Laurent just made his opening play, but damned if he could tell what it was. He took the piece of jewelry and watched as the Akielon giant wandered away, looking for all the world like his purpose had been silks and vegetables from the start.

Jord glared at the guards as he passed into their rooms, laden with an assortment of cut meats and fruit, not quite a full meal, but enough to sustain them until the evening feast. The guards were officially a gesture of goodwill, a sign that the Regent cared deeply about their health and well-being, but little more than a symbol. It was tradition that such ceremonial guards should come from whatever highborn youngsters had stumbled their way into service. These guards were no aristocrats; they were brutish, common men, well-trained and honed to a point. They were armed to the teeth under the gaudy ceremonial armor, and even though they would not win in a fair fight, Jord had a feeling no one was aiming for fair in this court.

Inside their rooms, a weight lifted from his shoulders, the need to be constantly on guard slowly seeping away. He was not made for subterfuge, and this whole game made him sick.

Speaking of things that made him sick. “Captain,” he called sourly. Damianos, the prince-killer, looked up at him with open, questioning eyes. Jord could hardly believe that this man could lie to anyone with a face that open, but then Jord was not the man to ask about good judgment. “There is no more tension in the kitchens than is to be expected before a great banquet. If the first strike comes tonight, it will not come from the commons.”

Damen nodded, an economical motion, military and stark in nature. Jord recognized beneath the swell of his righteous abhorrence that this was a man he could follow into death if only he did not hate him so. Perhaps even then, for the right reasons. “He'll be relieved,” Damen said, like he knew the prince's mind. Fuck, maybe he did.

Damen sighed. Some tension went from his shoulders and he leaned back against the wall. “Jord, can we lay this to rest between us? No matter what happens in the next week, I am not going to hurt your prince. I am here to make him king and so are you. We need to work together.”

Jord scoffed, putting the tray away and crossing his arms. “You will not have my trust, Sire, but you may have my complicity until you show yourself the traitor you are.”

Damen shook his head. “That's not good enough. The next few days will be full of lies and I need you at my back. If you can't give that, I understand, but you may as well plant the dagger in my back right now, and turn him over to his uncle right after.”

Jord lunged forward, unthinking, and dug the tip of his sword into Damen's unarmored chest. They were supposed to wear at least an undershirt of mail or thick felt at all times, and under his anger ran a current of annoyance. They could not afford to show weakness, not until the ascension. “I would never put him at risk. Unlike you, Prince of fucking Akielos.”

Damen's eyes flickered away to the door, real fear visible for a short moment, but Jord knew they were alone. Jord could always tell simply by the way Damen straightened whenever Laurent entered a room, unconsciously and unnoticed by anyone but Jord who had nothing to watch but his two charges. He hated his life with a passion, all of a sudden, and cursed the fate that brought him here. His hands relaxed on the hilt of his sword and he dropped it slowly to the ground.

“I will find a way to kill you, if you fail him.”

Swallowing heavily, as if the words weighed more than gold, Damen gave him a nod. “If I did, I would let you.” And the honesty in those eyes could not be faked. Jord knew Damen because they were essentially the same. They trusted too easily and let their hearts dictate their actions.

“You do realize,” Jord said softly, “that we are both going to be crushed in the machinery of his great game. He will plan it all meticulously, but when things go wrong as they are bound to do, we will take the fall for him.”

Damn laughed, short and hard like the frustrated snort of a horse. “His plans are always a gamble stacked so he comes out the winner, no matter what happens.”

Jord knew the truth was more complex. For all that Laurent had a mind like a steel trap, his heart was as soft as a peach. Caged in iron and ice, but once engaged it was as vulnerable as Jord's own, as Damen's. They were, all three of them, fools, but perhaps only fools could pull off a mad, impossible gambit and win.

Nicaise followed the slave as he slipped from the long and boring speech that detailed all Laurent's accomplishments before a captive audience. It was a tedious ceremony meant to present the future king to his people, and the great hall reeked of commoners - merchants and farmers, blacksmiths and weavers. It was at once beneath him and a terrifyingly familiar atmosphere. Nicaise fled gladly, unwilling to witness these disparate worlds colliding.

The Akielon pulled a hood over his head, effectively disguising himself little or not at all. There were not many men his size in the palace, fewer who had the freedom to roam the halls alone. He left the palace for an upscale tavern, just outside the walls and close enough to attract pets and minor lords as well as the more affluent citizens. A good place not to stand out too much for a man who so obviously didn't belong. At this time of day, the tavern had a lazy, comfortable feel to it, with conversations hushed between their participants and food more readily consumed than drink. Nicaise watched through the windows as the slave ordered a drink but did not touch it.

He almost missed the man walking through the door, so focused was he on the one already there, but something caught his awareness. And if he thought Laurent's slave was big and Akielon and all that a Rabatian nightmare entailed, he had been mistaken. The man barging through the door now had the fairer coloring of border folk, but his size nearly prevented his entrance and he wore the armor of their enemies as if he was born to it. Nicaise had not seen him before, but reputation and gossip preceded him. This was Nikandros, a king maker and a king breaker, if rumors were to be believed. Kastor, king of Akielos, would only come to witness Laurent's crowning for fear of this man finding allies at the Rabatian court despite years of war and hatred.

Nicaise had a feeling that Kastor had failed on that front thoroughly before he even arrived, that history was being made here in this tavern, and the thought filled him with a certain kind of glee.

The elation lasted until Nikandros bowed deeply before the slave, then clasped him on the shoulder as if he were a long lost brother. Nicaise recoiled from the sight and his mind began to churn with something very much like fear. Perhaps the slave was someone from Nikandros' past, a valued soldier, a friendship honed in battle. Or he'd been the husband of someone, the nephew or brother, a dear cousin. But no, the likes of Nikandros only bowed for kings.

Nicaise ran for the palace, his hands clenched into fists.

Jord hated the glamorous trappings of polite society, more so now than he had when Laurent was a headstrong boy refusing the protection his brother had arranged for him. Of the men Auguste had picked to replace him as the wall between his brother and all that would harm him, only Jord had passed muster, and that only barely. Laurent, tired and eyes still red from tears he would never admit to, had cut into them all like a hot knife. All but Jord had melted away.

Now the joviality of the rich and powerful reminded Jord of Aimeric and his betrayal. More than that it reminded him of the sick, hollow feeling in his chest when he realized that he could never hate the boy for what he had done. Jord loved with little regard for himself, and because of that he found himself staring at the man who had caused all this heartbreak, all this pain, and doing nothing.

There was a good chance that the Regent would not survive the week. If they played the game well enough, he would hang himself on his own web of lies and deceit. But given a choice, oh, Jord would love to wrap his hands around the slimy bastard's neck and squeeze the life from him, just like the Regent had squeezed the life so carelessly from Jord's heart.

The feast was a terrible display of wealth and power. The food was served in extravagant silver and gold, carved into the shapes of different animals; beef made up to look like a swan and venison in the shape of a rabbit. Everything gleamed and glittered in the light of a hundred candles and torches, light and expensive as the jewels adorning guests as well as servants.

Laurent, of course, looked starkly out of place in his simple, dark tunic, and aside from the gold collar around his neck, Damen, too, had none of the affectations of the nobility. It struck Jord that in all this sickening splendor, these were the men with the most right to it and the least interest. If there had to be kings at all, then these were the men he would want for the position. Not that people like Jord had a choice in the matter, beyond his small part in Laurent's plans to take back what was rightfully his.

The Regent had spared nothing to impress the representatives at his table, but the Patrans looked visibly uncomfortable and the Vaskian princess wore an expression of polite boredom. Jord paid little attention to the lords and ladies – everyone in the room was watching their every move; he needed to look out for those who would slip through unnoticed.

Laurent and Damen acted like any other master and pet, though a master quite taken and a pet entirely devoted. To anyone unaware, they had eyes only for each other. Jord felt a little sick. He knew more than anyone, and even he could not say how much of it was faked for their audience. They had grown close in the harsh winter months, preparing to launch their campaign against Arles, and Jord had kept his secret. He couldn't explain why he had never revealed Damen's true identity, but perhaps it was that one genuine smile he had seen on his prince's face, directed at the man who would have been his greatest enemy. Jord would rather die than be the one to wipe that away permanently, even if he would only be the messenger.

As the evening wore on and the entertainment reached extravagant heights never before seen, it became clear that no one quite knew what to do about Laurent. The Regent frowned into his fruit punch and tugged hard on the leash around his pet's neck. The boy kept glaring at either Laurent or Damen as if he could not decide who to hate more. The king of Patras and the Vaskian princess discussed their own border and an upcoming festival to promote the use of a particular kind of grain. A lady whose name Jord should probably know kept going on about the price of emeralds.

No one tried to assassinate anyone. It was positively boring.

Of course, Laurent had told him to expect as much. The Regent would not try to poison him at the feast. Probably. Jord wondered briefly if the Regent had used poison against Laurent before. In any case, Laurent was the kind of man who acquired immunities and let others taste test the food for him. That was one of the reasons Damen had taken on the role as submissive pet with something like good grace. It put him exactly where he needed to be to protect Laurent.

When he attempt came, it was straightforward and quick. On the way back to their rooms they were joined by armed and armored men; men who expected them to be drunk and jovial. They wore no livery or any identifying objects. This time suspicion, not outright proof, was the goal of the attack.

Jord felt the hard, cold steel of a gauntlet around his throat, blocking his breath. It caught him by surprise, but he'd had months to prepare. He could wind himself out of a choke hold by much better opponents; he even beat Damen once or twice. Using the momentum, Jord whirled around and drew his dagger, pushing it forward and slicing through the neck of the man who had Laurent backed against the wall. There were five men standing, with three dead or incapacitated. The fight had never been fair. The mercenaries had been given faulty information and were walking into their own ambush blind.

Damen and Laurent fought as one, using the space around the other as if it were their own. Their moves had something of an intricate dance, a ritual in the space of the darkened hallway. Jord didn't have anyone to impress, so he simply dispatched his would-be killer with a few decisive strikes and waited for the spectacle to be over.

“That was interesting,” Jord said. “Not a very good effort if they want us dead.”

Laurent, still elated and a little flushed from the fight, nodded. “Exactly. That was our first warning. The news will be all over the palace come morning and it will give my uncle an excuse to station an army in front of our doors.”

Damen chuckled. “That could be useful.”

“I don't know about you,” Jord said, “but I'd rather not have more of those burly chaperones.” He brushed some debris off his armor. He'd taken a few hits from the blunt end of a sword, but no open wounds. He'd feel this tomorrow. “I'm too old for this.”

Laurent's eyes strayed to the corpses, and a shadow passed over his face. Jord felt himself shiver. “We should leave them for someone else to find. We are done here.”

Damen shook his head at Jord, who'd opened his mouth to say something about honoring the dead. Jord bit on his tongue and followed a few paces behind. Laurent would be in a mood all night, and if Jord was particularly unlucky, Damen would be banished to the small ante-chamber that Jord called his own. He really didn't need to think about the other option.

Jord sighed and missed the days when his most difficult choice in life had been to follow a man into battle.

The most valuable currency for Nicaise was information. He hadn't always made the best choices about what to do with it, but information, more so than gold or reputation, could buy him a new life. All he wanted in the beginning was to get out. Now he wanted something more, something like justice. And if justice came with a nice estate somewhere out in the country, who was he to say no to that?

He watched and relayed selected rumors and gossip to his master. The Regent would pat him on the head like a dog, calling him a good boy. Nicaise hated the tone more than anything, hated the patronizing, careless sound of it. The Regent had no heart, and his voice often gave him away where his face was perfectly schooled. His eyes had an emptiness that froze Nicaise to the core.

If anyone ever found out and were to ask, Nicaise could not say why he began to sabotage the villain's plot. He had no special interest in Laurent, and after everything he'd done, Laurent surely did not hold him in any high regard. But there was a kind of satisfying rightness in the act that Nicaise never got from watching. He intercepted deliveries of poison, exchanged potent oils with simple cooking fat, brought visitors to the dark places where assassins might lurk.

And yet, the plots began to unravel in their impossible frequency. Every day, every hour, some attempt at Laurent's life would be made, and Laurent himself refused to name a culprit or even acknowledge the bodies. Rumors began to spin wildly out of control, and by the time the Akielon king was to arrive, Laurent could hardly move from his rooms without stepping over his would-be murderers.

Nicaise cared only because it paid to care about the men in power, whichever way the winds of fate began to blow. If Laurent were to miraculously survive the onslaught of assassination attempts, Nicaise needed to be ready. King Laurent would not look kindly on anyone perceived to be an ally of the Regent. Nicaise had to be far away from Arles should that happen. He doubted he could convince anyone that he'd always been on Laurent's side. He was not that good a liar, most likely.

Nicaise watched as the Vaskian princess entered Laurent's chambers at night and listened as the Patran king invited Laurent to a hunt. He was there, in the background, when Laurent killed a man in a duel for insulting his brother, and waited out all the silent rage the Regent could lay into his skin. At night there were feasts and lavish entertainment and Nicaise drank little but noticed much. Laurent grew ever more tense as the days ran down to his coronation and the slave would not move from his side, looking more and more like a vicious hunting dog than a domesticated pet poodle.

And Nicaise noticed the soldier, too. A man who'd been in Laurent's guard for years, loyal to a fault and clearly in Laurent's inner circle. Jord.

In a few hours Kastor would arrive, and Jord kept stalking the halls around his master's chambers. It looked, almost, as if he was afraid to face whatever waited inside. Nicaise could not suppress his curiosity and decided to risk a little exposure. He leaned suggestively against a wall, hip thrust out, arms crossed, a small grin gracing his lips. Even if Jord wasn't interested, it was not a pose that could be easily overlooked.

“Great,” Jord said as he rounded the corner and saw him. “A little spy.”

Nicaise chuckled. “Hardly little. I'm grown enough to know that spies don't stand in the torchlight.”

“They do if they want something.”

Jord had come close enough for Nicaise to smell sweat and leather, the sharpness of freshly oiled weapons. “And what do you think I want?”

“A message from the Regent, perhaps. Or something for yourself. Laurent said to expect you at some point. I'm surprised it took you so long. If I were you, I would have come the first time I stole the Regent's poisoned apples.”

Nicaise blinked. “Poisoned apples?”

Rolling his eyes, Jord leaned back against the opposite wall. “Akielon story, or so I hear. A jealous queen wants to kill the princess for being too beautiful and runs her out of the castle. Tries to kill her with poisoned apples.”

“And does it work?” Nicaise wasn't interested, not really. Akielos held nothing for him to learn. But Jord seemed to enjoy the attention.

The soldier shrugged. “I think she dies, but then some prince kisses her awake and they live happily ever after.”

Nicaise mulled that over. A tale for children. He had never had much use for such stories. “That's not how it works in the real world though, is it?”

But at that, Jord laughed. “Depends on your perspective. Some say the princess merely played dead until she could ensure the aid of another kingdom to take down the queen.”

Nicaise laughed and thought of the army outside Arles, too imposing to ignore. Laurent's might was not merely the affectation of a boy who played at royalty. These men would kill and die for him, and the horizon was awash with the prince's colors. Laurent was no princess.

They stayed like that for a while, talking of inconsequential things, and Nicaise felt unexpectedly like he could want this for himself, the easy camaraderie of two men with no agenda between them. With Jord, it seemed that survival was not such an imperative. Perhaps he even felt safe.

Jord had no desire to return to their chambers. The best case scenario was probably that Damen and Laurent were fucking the anxiety away, and he really didn't need to hear that the whole night. The Regent's pet – Nicaise – had turned out to be much better company than walls that might as well be paper. Jord was still left with a few hours to kill before their first big test.

Kastor of Akielos, the bastard king, the man who'd taken Damen's throne. In a perverse way, they probably had to thank him for his involvement. Jord was under no illusion that without Damen they would even be here. Laurent, for all that his mind could outshine the sun itself, needed people to rely on, and before Damen there had been no one he could trust. The irony weighed heavily on Jord's shoulders.

He wandered outside onto the battlements and was immediately warmed by the view of the fires. Their forces were not on alert, but they did look threatening enough. That army was the only reason Laurent could even move into Arles without being quietly whisked away into a dungeon and forgotten. If he stopped sending them coded messages each day, they would leave no stone unturned to find him. It could easily spell the end of Rabat as they all knew it, but the potential of an attack had power in itself.

No one wanted a civil war. Laurent merely prepared for it just in case.

Suddenly, a string of light peeled off from the general area and moved at high speed toward the city. Jord cursed and began to run.

Nicaise woke to chaos. The Regent's voice was calm in the cacophony of panic. Men raced past the open doors, filling the corridors with the clanging of weapons. Getting up and dressing quickly, Nicaise wondered if they had finally managed to get the better of Laurent. Was it regicide if Laurent wasn't technically king yet?

The Regent dominated the room, but it was the ambassador Nicaise noticed. The man's face was white as a sheet and he rubbed his arms as if to keep himself warm. Arran listened as the Regent explained, nodding in all the right places, but Nicaise could swear he had not heard a word. The situation was less dire than it sounded from all the commotion.

Kastor had arrived, earlier than expected and with a retinue of soldiers that rivaled the forces still in residence in the city. It was nowhere near what Laurent had mustered, but the gesture was obvious. Kastor did not trust anyone in this city and he was willing to pay his ransom in blood should it come to that. Nicaaise slipped out, unnoticed. Who cared for a pet when it came to politics?

Outside, away from prying eyes, Nicaise laughed. He had not felt this much glee in years. He had no control, never had had it, but suddenly everyone else was on the same level, holding on to anything as events barreled toward an inevitable conclusion. It felt like freedom.

Jord stumbled down the stairs and through corridors at break-neck speed, only slowing down for corners and expensive vases. The palace had gone on high alert, and he knew without a doubt that Laurent and Damen would be awake and aware within moments of the first footfall outside their door. At any rate, the disturbance would be great cover for a successful assassination, and whoever had set the palace abuzz would make a fantastic scapegoat.

In his haste, Jord didn't notice the figure stepping out of the shadows and couldn't stop his momentum in time. They went down hard, rolling twice before coming to an awkward halt. Jord raised himself up and looked at Nicaise questioningly. The boy groaned a little, rubbing the back of his head.

"Are you hurt?" Jord asked and it didn't matter that Nicaise was possibly a spy and dangerous to be around - Jord was not so callous to enjoy the suffering of someone very nearly still a child.

Nicaise grumbled as Jord jumped up and offered his hand. "I'm fine, no thanks to you."

Jord was torn between wanting to help and pushing the boy aside to reach his destination. Looking at the stubborn tilt of Nicaise's face as he brushed himself off, Jord decided to do the only logical thing. He took the boy's wrist and dragged him along. It was not safe in this place at night, certainly not this night.

"What are you doing?" Nicaise asked, his voice high and terrified.

Jord had no time to look back. "Honestly, lad, I have no idea, but I have a feeling like everything is going to get blown to hell in a few minutes so you better stay somewhere safe."

"And this is why you're dragging me with you to wherever it is Laurent is going to cause trouble?"

Jord grinned to himself. "Safest place to be in a fight is right next to the target of everyone's ire."

He felt near invincible suddenly, prepared to take on whatever the world could throw at him. He felt like the storm was finally about to break and he could pour all his frustration into real battle, not this subtle needling Laurent did so well. They rounded the corner into a familiar hallway and the sight of so many people was hardly surprising, yet disheartening nonetheless.

He had come too late. "This looks bad."

Nicaise twisted out of his hold. He'd forgotten about his hand curled around that too thin wrist. "What's going on?"

Jord couldn't say with absolute certainty, but Damen had his sword at someone's throat, and Laurent looked like he was about to kill, all cold and intense. Soldiers surrounded the tableau, swords drawn and crossbows loaded, pointed equally at both of them. Jord swallowed the cry of outrage and waited. Laurent's gaze flickered to him and he recieved the tiniest of nods. Stay, it said, watch.

Laurent's voice rang loud and hollow over the din. "Stand down," he called, and it could have been directed at anyone, everyone. The soldiers shifted and some of them loosened their grips, lowered their weapons. But the one that mattered would not heed, and Jord's stomach tied itself in knots. Damen's opponent could only be one person and this right here was too public a place, too unprepared a moment. Jord could see real panic in the line of Laurent's jaw, the way his knuckles had gone white from pressure.

"Stand down or you forfeit your life, slave."
Damen flinched hard, enough that his sword scratched the skin on the man's throat. He did not lower his sword but turned enough to look Laurent in the eyes. Damen was overstretched and looked wild, uncontrollable. At no point had he ever been as much the barbarian of Rabatian nightmare as in that moment.

His voice though, his voice. He sounded broken. In a pain that no physical wound could cause. “Laurent,” he said, and Jord was glad not to be able to see his face. “Please.” Jord had never heard him sound so desperate, so shattered.

Laurent drew his dagger, slowly, and set the blade against Damen's throat. “Do as you are ordered and you will have a quick death. Prolong this and I will personally flay the skin off you until you bleed out like a pig.”

Kastor - for who else could it be but him? - laughed a little thready laugh and stepped back, but not enough to be fully out of danger. Jord was sure he wanted to be close enough to see Damen's face as he took all that was his a second time. “I am disappointed,” Kastor said, voice rough and deep. “I thought you would have trained your dog better. I have heard so much about your skill with animals.”

Laurent twitched, eyes still on Damen. He did not withdraw the dagger, and neither did he slice it across the vulnerable skin. “Heel,” Laurent said, a disgusting smile on his lips that made even Jord want to punch him. And yet, the tension fell from Damen and his sword clattered to the ground, his grip gone and body gone lax. Damen, head bowed, went to stand before Laurent like a chastised hound, tail between his legs. Jord blinked, unable to quite believe what he was seeing.

“Good boy,” Laurent said, that same sickly sweet voice he'd only ever used to hurt. Jord remembered the days after Aimeric's betrayal and shuddered. Laurent had used that voice on him maybe once or twice, more than enough for a lifetime.

Then Jord's head snapped up as he heard a new voice, a feminine lilt with an Akielon accent. “Oh dear,” said the woman, “isn't this marvelous. Such a coincidence, wouldn't you say? Nikandros will be so upset that his new allies were caught in such an obvious plot to kill the king.” She had to have come from one of the rooms on the opposite side of the corridor. The Regent, too, had arrived. Most likely they had both been waiting for this confrontation. Her smile was directed at the Regent who held her arm with the least amount of possible contact. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

“Indeed, what a coincidence, to find my nephew once again embarrassing the crown. I'm not sure this can be overlooked any longer, as much as it pains my heart. What if he became king and this plan came to fruit?”

Jord's confusion was mirrored on nearly all the faces around, even Kastor's whose sneering had given way to the expression of a sheep during the shearing. The lady, however, stepped toward Damen with no fear at all in her posture. “What a beautiful specimen, don't you agree? So much fire.”

Damen tensed as she touched his face, and Jord could read the revulsion in the line of his back. If Aimeric had come to him, like this, would Jord have been able to keep from giving in, just a little? Damen did not move, however, and let the woman that had betrayed him so thoroughly touch him as if inspecting the health of a horse.

“We know of the plot against our ally, the King of Akielos,” the Regent said, a wistful sigh indicating what he thought of the whole ordeal. “That you would ally yourself with the war-mongering forces across the border, that you would get in bed with the enemy – this can not be ignored.”

Laurent stayed silent, his eyes on Damen's bowed head. Jord could barely stand the tension. Next to him, Nicaise shifted from foot to foot, clearly about to stumble into this mess the way Jord wanted to. He held the boy back with an arm across his chest. He shook his head slightly. “Don't,” he whispered, “there is nothing you can do.”

“This is high treason,” the Regent declared. “The slave will be killed, of course, but you. Laurent, my dear boy, what should I do with you?”

The voice that rang out in the pregnant pause could not be Jord's – he had learned his lesson, hadn't he? Heroics and the heart only ever landed a man in dire straits. “Is it treason?” The voice – not his, never his – asked a little shaky as so much attention focused in it. All eyes had turned to him for long enough to earn the Regent's unfortunate attention. “Can it be treason when an Akielon kills another over Akielon politics?”

“The slave is Rabatian property,” the lady threw in sweetly.

At her words, Damen raised his head, and Jord could see some of his expression now, determined and very angry. “I am no slave,” he said, clear and without any inflection that could give away his thoughts.

Jord swallowed. He had a bad feeling about what was to come next.

“I am Damianos of Akielos, and I am the true heir to the throne.”

Nicaise grabbed hold of the nearest support, which was naturally the bulk of Jord. The words sent the hallway into a frenzy, with only Laurent frozen at the center. Kastor had struck out, yelling and punching the slave – Damianos, the true king? - in the mouth and soldiers began to subdue both men before one could get in a kill. They both struggled, but Nicaise was distracted by the Regent stepping close to Laurent, leaning in as if to whisper sweet things in his ear. One hand curled possessively around Laurent's shoulder, the other somewhere Nicaise could not see in the chaos.

As a boy thriving on information, needing every scrap to survive, to achieve his goals, Nicaise had learned to read lips fairly well. If he had not made it out, Laurent's face would have been a fair indication of the words spoken.

“Did you let him take you, then? How does it feel to have allowed the man who killed your brother into your bed? Does it hurt, my boy?”

Nicaise did not catch Laurent's response if there was any because Jord was backing away, dragging him along once more. “Come on,” the old soldier hissed, “we can't be here or they'll put us away just as surely as those two.”

Jord had the right of it and they both turned to run, a wild chase that left Nicaise breathless. If they made it out of the palace, they could likely never go back. He would have to find shelter in the city, maybe head for the border if the Regent thought to get rid of all witnesses. Nicaise would probably send the hounds after them if he were in that position. Nothing was more dangerous than people with too much knowledge and nothing to lose.

They were in the kitchens when Nicaise suddenly slowed, his heart beating in counterpoint to his heaving breath. “We can't leave,” Nicaise said, unsure where that came from.

“Don't be a fool, lad, it's all over. We're done. We lost.”

And Nicaise could admit that things had gone a little pear-shaped for the conspirators; he could see that he'd somehow accidentally thrown his lot in with them through no fault of his own and that things seemed a little unbalanced right now, but Nicaise knew the mind of the Regent better than anyone. “He won't kill them.” He would want them to suffer.

Jord stopped poking at the lock on the heavy door that lead to the garden and the stables. “What are you saying?”

“The Regent will likely make a production of it, send word to Laurent's army that he's been caught conspiring with the enemy – Nikandros will probably have to answer for his secret plans to assault Kastor away from his own palace, like the honorless pig he is. He'll tell everyone that Laurent traded sexual favors for it, to give the whole thing credibility. Half the nobility want to fuck Laurent, even though they are either terrified of him or want to murder him.” Nicaise began to pace, a scenario unfolding in his mind. “He'll request stewardship of the country infinitely, until an heir can be found.”

Jord made a disgusted face. “If it comes to that, I'll lead the revolution myself.”

Nicaise nodded. “You may not have to, if we can get Laurent out of the dungeons before the assembly tomorrow.”

Laughing, Jord clapped him on the shoulder so hard Nicaise's knees nearly buckled under the strain. “That's the spirit, lad.”

The Regent would not make this easy on them, but that had never stopped Nicaise before. There would be nothing more satisfying than finally beating the Regent at his twisted game. Laurent, who might still hate him for all their childish differences when Nicaise had been young and volatile, would be hard to convince of his sincerity in wanting the Regent defeated, but Nicaise had nothing to lose and everything to gain. The Regent needed to be stopped. For the good of the country, sure, and for the good of Nicaise personally.

“Now we just have to sneak past dozens of vicious guards, break Laurent out, get the assembly chamber in time and come up with a convincing argument that will break the Regent's neck, publicly and without any possibility of him twisting out of it.”

Jord grinned, eyes shining with mirth. “Oh, don't you worry about that. If anyone can talk the aristocracy into turning their backs on the Regent, it's a pissed off Laurent.”

It only occurred to him on the way down the dark, damp corridors that led to the Regent's personal prisons how they had avoided mentioning the Akielon at all. True or not, former prince or not, the Akielon was an unknown quantity, and Nicaise didn't like that one bit.

Jord tried not to show how terrified he was of the things they might find in the dungeons. Whatever the Regent had done to his-

To his friends.

Whatever had been done, it could be no worse than the pale, betrayed look on Laurent's face, or the anger he knew lived under that fair skin. For all that Laurent was a devious mastermind, he was also little more than a boy who had lost too much at far too young an age and who'd been tainted by a darkness Jord could barely comprehend. From all that he had seen, Jord was sure that Laurent had put his trust and his heart in Damen's care, no matter what else they had been to each other. To have that shattered, who knew what remained of Laurent after that?

He fretted because he could do little else. Nicaise knew secret passages Jord had never suspected and they squeezed through these rabbit holes like thieves. They waited for what seemed like hours, always staying ahead of the soldiers searching for them. Jord had nothing but brute strength to contribute, if it came to a fight. He hoped it wouldn't, not until they knew what fate had befallen Laurent and Damen.

After all these months, Jord could maybe admit to himself here in the darkness that he cared, possibly too much. Laurent, for all that he was as prickly as a hedgehog, had become like a little brother-. And Damen - he should hate the Akielon for what his role had been in all their lives, should hate him for the death of best man Jord had ever met. But Jord could not forget Damen over Damianos, could not forget how hard he'd fought for them when he could have made for the border at any time. If recent events were any indication, Damen could have reached Nikandros before winter and taken back half of his own country by now.

The question remained whether Laurent could look past the death of his brother. If Jord had worshiped Auguste as the future king, Laurent had loved him as the only good man in this world. He had not been without fault, of course, but he had been kind and strong and smart enough to know his limits. Jord was afraid of what he would find in the dungeon.

And quite suddenly they were inside the torture chambers. Cramped cells formed a large circle, surrounding a paved basin with interrogation equipment and Jord tried not to imagine what the implements could do to a body. Nicaise gasped, pointing toward the shadows ahead of them. Jord tried to convince himself that the body had obviously been there too long to be Laurent, but the fair hair and skin made him check anyway.

Then he heard the tiniest murmur of whispers. He went for the nearest cell first, but the smell from it could only be decay. Occupied, then. He found them as he peered through the window of the third door and some fear inside him uncoiled.

They were lying on the floor. Damen had his back to the door, wrapped around Laurent as if to keep the cold and damp away as best he could. Jord swallowed whatever had lodged itself in his throat and tried to pry open the door with his bare hands. Nicaise came up from behind him and jammed one of the red-hot pokers into the lock. After a bit of wiggling, the door sprang open and Jord could barely hear Laurent's sarcastic not-quite-thanks over the sound of his own relief rushing in his ears.

Nicaise led them out of the palace. Damianos had taken quite the beating and Laurent needed a change of clothes if they were going to impress anyone. They needed to regroup and there wouldn't be a single safe space to do that in the palace, where the Regent knew all the secret doors and rooms and passages. He led them down into the dark little alleys that he'd once called home, the twisty turns of his oldest memories.

“There's a woman,” Nicaise said as they waited in the shadows for a group of soldiers to pass. “She used to take in strays for a while, give them some decent food and a fire to warm up. She'll take care of us.”

Laurent was quiet. He hadn't spoken much since the rescue, only the bare minimum necessary to make it known that they would have found a way out of the dungeon themselves, thank you ever so much. Nicaise had ignored him and the petulant face he made when no one would rise to the bait. It was near impossible to tell what Laurent could be thinking on a good day; with him like this they were only waiting for the explosion. If they were lucky, whatever had begun to brew in Laurent's head would direct itself at the Regent and not any of them.

The woman still looked the same as ever, paper-thin crinkled skin over protruding bones. She smiled at Nicaise and would only let him pass into her small home if he paid for it in hugs. He wrapped her into his arms, struck by the smell of fresh bread on her skin.

“Welcome,” she said. “It has been too long.”

And her eyes went to Laurent.

Jord kept himself away from the woman. She unsettled him with the way her eyes seemed to pierce right into a man's soul. He had heard of witches, women with arcane power that no one could quite explain, and if they existed, this was certainly one of them. She had taken possession of Laurent wholly, and Damen seemed to be fascinated by every word.

Nicaise extracted himself from the conversation and came to him, looking a little unsettled himself. “She knows,” Nicaise said under his breath, “about everything. She knew who Damen was the moment he walked into the door.” He sounded awed more than scared, and Jord could understand the fascination. How could she possibly be aware of so much from down here in her little hut?

She appeared to have a stock of unlikely resources, clothes that could only come from the palace and the knowledge they needed to get back to the assembly chamber. Jord realized over dinner, which had been prepared hours before and was just enough for all of them, that she had expected them. The thought sent a chill down his spine.

“Oh,” she said when he asked after the fine clothes, “my granddaughter, she had a friend who stayed with us for a time. More than a friend, I think they wished to get married. Perhaps they did, perhaps they did not. I cannot say.”

Jord tilted his head, trying to see the picture behind all this obfuscation. “A friend from the palace. I can see why they would keep it a secret.”

The old woman laughed, raspy and warm. “It was love and they were very young. They both died, you know. Years ago, long after they knew each other. Perhaps they died of a broken heart, for he returned to the palace and she could not go with him.”

Laurent made a sharp sound like a gasp, but when Jord looked at him he was as composed as he had ever seen him. They left an hour or two after dawn, just enough time for the city to settle into its morning rhythm, for the first riders to return from the army resting outside Arles. The Regent would have everyone at the assembly – who were they to ignore the invitation?

Nicaise said goodbye to the woman and wondered if he would ever see her again. Whatever happened after this, nothing would be the same. Perhaps he could find a life down here, again. It would not be so bad to become a tailor or a carpenter, work with his hands instead of the pallor of his skin and the agility of his mind. He could be a working man.

“You,” she said as he closed the door. “Be careful and do not let them tell you who and what you are. That's for you to decide.”

It was as cryptic a statement as he had come to expect from her, but the warmth and sadness in her eyes seemed to be both new and terribly old. He hugged her despite his earlier reluctance and promised her to be careful.

They did not storm the chamber, had no great dramatic entrance. The side door led them to the floor where pets fought real and pretend battles, ringed by a gaggle of lower ranking spectators. No one paid them any attention, and perhaps no one expected them here, of all places. They had escaped and should have found shelter with Laurent's army; it would have been the sensible thing to do. Jord wondered if Laurent had ever truly been sensible in any of his schemes.

The Regent weaved a mournful lament about Laurent's betrayal and subsequent incarceration pending a trial for treason, asked the council to consider giving him hold of the country once more, for stability, of course. The nobility nodded along, gasped in all the right places. This farce had to end, and Jord wanted badly to smash his fist into the man's face to do it.

“Calm yourself,” Laurent said, and for a second Jord thought it was directed at him. Damen, though, trembled with barely concealed rage.

“I will kill them all.”

Laurent cocked his head. “You may yet get the chance, but trust me for now.”

Damen visibly reined himself in. “I do. You know I do.”

“Good,” Laurent said, satisfied, and stepped into the ring.

The architecture of the hall allowed for everyone to see the center of the ring with relative ease. Nicaise knew from experience that it also provided the pet on display a good look at the people surrounding him. Or her. He'd seen women fight here, a real fight that left both of them scarred after.

“Dearest Uncle,” Laurent said as he moved toward the center with a swing to his hips. He played the part well, better than some pets Nicaise had seen. “I appear to have found myself in one of your, shall I say less comfortable chambers?”

“Laurent?” That was real confusion in the Regent's voice. He had not heard of their escape, then. He hadn't bothered to have guards check on the prisoners. How very amateurish of him. He'd already begun to celebrate his victory, flush with the finality of it. Hah!

“Indeed,” Laurent said to a smattering of raised voices. The rabble had been roused. “And I do not come alone.”

Damianos suddenly straightened and walked into the ring, coming to a halt next to Laurent with none of the bearings of a slave. In fact, the collar and cuffs were gone, a detail Nicaise had not noticed before and could not trace back to any point in this whole misadventure. Had he had them when he and Laurent were arrested?

“Ah,” the Regent said, “and what is that slave to me?”

“Nothing,” Laurent said, “but he is not a slave. He comes to assert his rights in front of his peers. This is the true King of Akielos.”

Noise erupted from the entire room, every gossip suddenly ablaze with this new and exciting knowledge. The assembly had just gone from tedious to the best entertainment they were likely to get in ages. Nicaise rolled his eyes and settled against the wall, waiting for this to play out. His part was done now and good riddance to all that responsibility. Doing the right thing should come with a warning.

“He's going to eviscerate him,” Jord said quietly next to him. “But there will be a price.”

Nicaise nodded. “There always is.”

As the voices died down, Laurent turned slowly in a circle, making sure that all eyes were on him. “This is Damianos,” Laurent said, “and he will be king. Kastor is an usurper and will answer for his crimes.”

The Regent laughed, a little shrilly. “And what of your crimes, Laurent? Have you forgotten who killed your beloved brother simply because he fucked it out of you? Is he that good? There was always something wrong with you, and even Auguste knew it.”

It was Damianos who answered, much to the surprise of the spectators. “If we are going to talk about fucking,” he said, his voice deep and true. He did not waver or let anger taint his argument. Nicaise was grudgingly impressed with the barbarian's control. “Perhaps we should talk of your preferences, old man. You're no more than a sick bastard who takes what can not be freely given.”

Laurent raised his hand to calm the storm of voices once more. “Uncle, have you fucked a boy last night? I hear your regular went missing.”

Nicaise straightened, tense. Why were they discussing him at all?

“Did it thrill you to know who he was?” Laurent asked, voice dripping with revulsion. “Did you enjoy his body while spitting on Auguste's memory?”

“I never-”

Laurent laughed. Nicaise had never heard a more terrible sound. “Auguste was a good man, better than any of us, but he had his flaws. He liked women too much and he was very young and very stupid, once.”

“What are you-”

“Silence,” Laurent yelled, anger now visible in every line of his body. “You have no rights here anymore. Today I am twenty-one and I am king of Rabat. Nicaise wasn't just a boy you found in the city, was he? Oh no, you knew, from the very beginning. Auguste once fell in love with a commoner. I hear they married, or maybe they didn't, and she had a child.”

Gasps of disgust and outrage rose from the audience, but Nicaise did not hear. His blood hammered in his ears, and his vision had gone gray around the edges. There was a hand on his arm, steady. Jord? Nicaise could not think past this fog.

“Even a bastard to a common whore would not deserve what you did to that boy,” Laurent said, “and Auguste loved them both. For that alone, I will make sure you suffer.”

And Nicaise could see it now, what would have happened. The Regent had kept him longer than any of the others, weaved a web of deceit in his mind. Nicaise had thought himself immune, but it had been powerful enough to make him think of Laurent as the enemy, when looking back, Laurent had always taken care of him despite his childish tantrums. Given time, the Regent would have revealed Nicaise's heritage to the nobility, pretending that he had only ever wanted to protect him. People would have believed his chastity if Nicaise swore to it, and perhaps he even would have, trying to make the best of a situation out of his control.

“Lies, all of it.” The Regent was standing now and Nicaise could see the soldiers waiting at his back. They were Laurent's troops, probably those dispatched when the news of his imprisonment had arrived at the camp. “I will not listen to this from a traitor and a dog.”

“I should think,” said the Vaskian princess, “that this could be settled the traditional way, could it not? The sword is the fairest maker of kings.”

Jord offered to be second, when the question was asked. He offered himself to each of them in turn, but it was Damen who accepted without hesitation. Laurent settled his gaze on the boy, perhaps to make a point. He trusted Nicaise to have his back, a reconciliation of long lost family.

The fights, sponsored by Ver-Vassel and grudgingly arbitrated by the King of Patras, were quick and dirty affairs.

Damen laid into Kastor without mercy until the man lay broken on his back. Despite everything, Damen did not go in for the kill. He had made his point and a quick death would have been kindness, perhaps. Jord took his sword and stayed by his side as Damen made his way to the dais. Lady Margaret waited there for him.

“I always knew you were resourceful,” she said. “Perhaps I should have made a different choice.” She was cool and entirely too calm when soldiers took hold of her arms to lead her away. Damen did not speak to her.

Laurent fought a short, nasty campaign that ended with a dagger in the Regent's heart. Jord felt nothing but relief over it. There could have been no end with the Regent playing his games from a prison cell or worse yet, finding allies in exile. And yet, Jord would have liked to strangle him, just a little.

Jord got lost in the chaos after and only truly resurfaced when the feast in honor of Laurent – his king! - ended well into the early hours of the morning. Damen and Laurent disappeared together, and Jord wondered what had passed between them. Had Laurent always known? Had he forgiven on the road, some time ago, when Damen stood between him and certain death? What would happen to them now that they were both recognized as the leaders they were born to be?

“You look tired,” said the boy, sidling out from the shadows. Jord did not startle, or jump two feet with a bit of a squeak, not at all.

“It's been a long,” he hesitated, unsure when exactly they had last been able to rest. “A long day.”

Nicaise nodded softly. “That it has.”

“What are you going to do now?” Jord asked idly.

Nicaise laughed. “I couldn't possibly say. Perhaps I'll be an ambassador or he'll make me a duke? I could do with an estate or two. I hear the Regent's lands have recently become available.”

Jord grinned. “Land, huh? I could do with some land. Would be quieter than this court, at least.”

They both went silent at the thought of what lay ahead. Damen had an entire campaign to worry about, had to root out every last traitor that supported his bastard brother and take back what belonged to him. And Laurent, well, who knew what plans grew in the turns of Laurent's mind?

“Maybe I'll stay,” Jord said, laughing. “Watch out for those two. They could use a friend, probably.”

Nicaise looked at him and grinned. “That's not a one man job, is it?”

Jord ruffled the boy's hair, feeling for the first time in months that the future lay ahead of him. “The more the merrier, I always say. They will need all the help they can get.”

“Then it is decided.” Nicaise frowned a little. “Still, a title would be nice?”

Laughing, Jord let the elation of the moment take hold of him. They would be all right, him and Nicaise and the two men who would be kings.