Welcome to the closest thing I've ever written to a crack fic! Don't let that fool you, I'm not THAT cracky. All I was doing was falling in love with the Captive Prince series, rereading it after a long while and realizing just how nuanced the relationship between Damen and Laurent is. I wanted to write a fic back when I first read it years ago, but the story was literally so delicately structured and perfect that I physically couldn't find anything to change! Like you know a book is good when a fanfic writer can't figure out any way to improve or spinoff the story. Perfect to me, anyway, I'm glad all the other fanfic writers of this story do what they do.

But here I am, returning to the trilogy and enjoying in even more than before! I was never planning to post this story, but then one thing led to another and it…it's fun to read? It's entertaining? I had way too much fun writing it? I FINISHED A BOOK'S WORTH OF IT?!

So yeah, I literally have the entire second book done (I skipped the first book because no offense, it is the worst because it's just there to set up the rest of the series. It's good for what it is, but dang, it wouldn't have hooked me if I'd read it without the sequels being readily available to continue the narrative), and now I'm struggling for inspiration on the next part following the third book, so I'm posting to force the creative juices to flow.

I swear, I don't usually write like this. I'm not usually one to write characters who are actually 21st century, real-world relatable people being plopped into a world they don't understand. Usually, it's an OC that is fully integrated into the world. What I'm saying is that I just discovered how much I enjoy isekai and there's no going back now, please tell my family I love them -

Waking up cold wasn't enough to set off any alarm bells. Not at first. I'm rather slow at panicking — a product of some undiagnosed ADD, in my opinion. I often found myself waking up in the middle of the night and realizing I didn't have my weighted blanket since I fell asleep hot but then the night finally cooled me down enough to freeze.

It was the feeling of dirt that finally got my dazed attention. I didn't sleep in a garden. I slept on a futon in my parent's house with what amounted to my own apartment. It was a great deal in this economy, okay?! Me and my parents were lucky enough to get along, and they respected my privacy most of the time. As I grew up, got a job, learned to slowly ease into independence, we became closer to roommates — my dad pays utility bills, my mother pays for groceries, I pay for fast food and dog food and other personal stuff. I contribute to big bills like replacing our washer and dryer, give my mother loans when she wants to buy something on sale but won't get her check for another week, etc.

What was I talking about? Oh, yeah, so I woke up to the feeling of dirt on my bare arms and legs. I could tell I wasn't on my futon since I recognized the feeling of a hard floor. Part of me thought I was still dreaming. I read a lot of fantasy books, play a lot of fantasy games (Final Fantasy being my favorite series of games, thank you Square Enix for all you do), and I dabble in writing my own stories. I'm not that good, but hey I hyperfocus on some things for a while…until I lose inspiration, move to something else, eventually come back to it months later, and fall in love all over again.

So there I am, realizing my entire body was actually feeling what I thought it was feeling and I was not having some vivid hallucination where I lucid-dreamt I could control everything about what I was seeing and doing yet also struggling to do anything without a few tries. Most of my dreams are lucid, though sometimes they don't like to play along until I urge something to happen a couple times. Dreams about executing a plan and having things go wrong always gave me anxiety. Driving in particular always gives me reasons to panic. I'm sure everyone has dreams about their breaks not working.

I'm still in my pajamas, if you can call them that. I have four pairs of the same shorts meant for middle-school boys and an oversized GeorgeNotFound T-shirt with nothing but a little red stamp on the chest. My metal chain necklace and my string necklace have gotten tangled in my sleep as always, my rings and watch and hairbands are all in place. Maybe if I'd woken up in some unfamiliar fabrics or rags, I'd have thought something was up, but my brain couldn't quite figure anything out from that.

Okay, surroundings. I was in some kind of medieval dungeon. It was about as pretty as the dungeons from the TV dramas — a simple cell made of stone with a wooden door probably locked three times over. Nothing much around me, though there were unused chains and shackles behind me. Charming. Torches lit the dim area, and were doing a poor job of it. Luckily, I was a hermit. I had curtains that blocked out most of the sunlight, would have slept all day and stayed up all night, and dressed in a mostly black or dark-colored wardrobe. If I feared garlic, I could have called myself a modern-day vampire.

I moved towards the door, trying to see out of the little window grating.

This was real. Shit this was real. Where the fuck am I? What was I locked up for?! Was I about to be executed? I wasn't a threat! I was barely 100 lbs of young-adult-woman who still had panic attacks making a phone call!

I didn't think calling out for anyone was going to be a good idea. I didn't want other prisoners knowing I was ignorant about what I was here for, and I didn't want guards knowing I was awake to do some interrogation or torture or something. Did they even speak English here? I spoke fucking American English from the year of our lord 2020. I wasn't all that hip with the kids, but I had started to unironically use the word yeet, which meant I was already too far gone to be saved.

I tugged on the door lightly, expecting to feel a heavy lock holding it closed, but to my surprise, the door rattled only a little before pulling open an inch. It was unlocked!

Okay, okay, that meant I wasn't supposed to be in here? Or it was a mistake. They didn't know I was here or someone had stupidly forgotten to pull the very hefty slide-lock thing into place…and forgot to close the padlock in addition to that.

I carefully closed the door back into place, moving behind it and beneath the open grate so no one would know I was there. Someone would come down here eventually, right? This must've just been an unused cell. Great.

That would only buy me so much time. I would be hidden in here until someone came in with a prisoner…or just to prepare the room for one. Then I might be the one shackled to the wall, trying to answer questions that I didn't know, possibly in a language I didn't understand.

I didn't know the layout of buildings like this. Whenever I wrote about old, vaguely medieval stories, I just said "Followed the hall" or "Went up the stairs" or "Was guided by someone", rather than give any directions or research the real layout of castles and homes of stone.

What to do, what to do? I was screwed. I could make a run for it, get caught the minute anyone saw me, be locked up again. Or I could stay in here, wait for someone to find me, or just fucking starve to death. I was already thirsty.

Nowhere to hide in the room except behind the door. There was barely enough room from the hinges to the wall for someone to hide, but nothing to prevent the tiny triangle from nearly crushing me to death. If I could put something heavy like a rock to be a door-stopper, maybe I could manage it, but all anyone would have to do was turn around to see me in the very crack I needed to not be flattened.

I spotted a hefty chunk of rock broken off from the wall across the room. It wasn't as big as I'd have preferred, but it was all I had. The dust and dirt in the room was from years of the stones breaking off every now and then, and with scuffling prisoners needing to be held down or making escapes, it seemed the structure was falling apart at the seams. Still strong enough to hold any prisoner, but not looking very pretty.

I still wasn't convinced of the plan, but I did it anyway. I had nothing better to do, no other ideas. If it worked, it would buy me time. No matter how hopeless I knew it was, I suppose I just had survival instincts. It was like going to college. Everyone knew it would barely give you anything at the cost of debt that would destroy you, but everyone was also encouraging it and saying you wouldn't get anywhere without a degree, so meh just do it. I had gone to community college and damn it had barely been worth it, but at least I had paid for it all with my own and my dad's contributions.

I took a deep breath before slowly opening the door while behind it, pulling it all the way open at an ominous pace. If anyone else was seeing this, it would look like the door was haunted. I pressed my back against the wall, my shoulder into the corner behind the hinge, and pulled the end of the door with my extended arm into the rock doorstop. The wood pressed against my chest, against my ribcage, but it came to a stop. There was about two, three inches, maybe a little more. Too much room. Like five inches. Six. That was half of a foot.

It was as wide as my head, since my skull wasn't something that could be compressed like my chest by straightening up or holding my breath. It wouldn't be enough if someone slammed the door open. That rock could easily shatter thanks to physics of the door's lever and a man's average strength. My head would be bruised at best with a concussion, cracked and crushed at worst.

The voices were the only thing that stopped me from moving out of the door from my failed experiment. There were two or three men, all speaking a language I definitely couldn't understand. They were coming down the hall. Closer, closer…

I nearly jumped at a shout. Too close. They were right outside my door. They were passing my door. They were walking into the cell! I saw movement out of the corner of my eye from light shifting through the grate.

I was shaking, barely breathing. I would have been holding my breath if I wasn't worried that I'd pass out from lack of oxygen. My feet were straining, bare since I obviously hadn't worn shoes or socks in my pajamas attire, and I had crawled back here on the balls of my feet to further compress my form. I hadn't thought about it until I was stuck like that.

The voices and the shouting were all men, obviously. I heard the clanking of metal that suggested they were wearing armor, and then the clink of the shackles at the back of the room behind used. I could catch a glimpse of movement from the crack of the door. If that guard turned back towards the door, he would see me.

He turned to the left instead of the right, the first one out of the door without even a glance at it, and the rest of his buddies out of my line of sight came after him with even less risk of seeing me.

They slammed the door closed behind them, revealing me to only one witness: the prisoner. The heavy clang of the locks being…well, locked, accompanied our shocked stares as our eyes met.

He was a big guy. Like one of those body-builders that was minimum twice my weight and could lift twice his own in the gym. He had tan skin, but he didn't quite look African-American — not that I would know because I wasn't an expert. He was shirtless, had the tattered remains of pants that were dirty from mud and possibly fighting and days without being able to change.

I would call him handsome, if he didn't look like he could kill me in a dozen ways with his bare hands.

I gave him my instinctive customer-service smile that bordered a painful imitation of an animal baring their teeth while we waited for the sounds from the guards to disappear down the hall. When I finally thought it safe, I quietly and carefully moved my feet to lower them back to my normal flat state. While I didn't relax, I didn't need to be flattened behind a door anymore, so that was great.

I awkwardly waved my hand. He kept staring.

There was probably a guard or two remaining on guard in front of or near the door, so I didn't say anything. He didn't immediately shout for anyone, so either he was too shocked, or he had some level of sympathy for a hiding prisoner. If it weren't for my slightly raised chest, I'd resemble a prepubescent boy. At least I regularly slept in a sports bra, or I'd just give myself up to the guards then and there.

He finally said something. It sounded like Latin. But then everything sounded like Latin to someone who only knew English. I had taken like 3 years of required Spanish, sung choir songs in French, German, Japanese, Russian, and even Samoan. I'd sung Latin and Italian as well. But singing was much easier than speaking.

It sounded like a question, so it was likely, 'Who are you?' or maybe 'What the fuck are you doing in here?'

"I don't know…!" I whispered urgently, hoping he could read my demeanor.

I approached him carefully, but stayed far enough that the chains he was bound by wouldn't let him reach me. Having worked in a grocery store for years during college, I had helped people who didn't speak good English before. You had to isolate your words to the most important ones and use physical gestures that were universal.

I pointed at myself, deciding to use a false name, but one familiar enough that I would quickly be able to react if someone started referring to me with it. My YouTube alias name that I made when I was like nine. "Leon."

It took him a moment to process what I was doing, but he seemed smart enough to have figured it out. The chains rattled as he slowly repeated the motion to point at himself. "Damen."

I nodded. "Hi Damen."

He carefully bobbed his head more than nodded. "Hello."

"You speak my language?" I barely resisted the urge to raise my voice in surprise.

"It would seem I do. You speak mine?"

"No. I speak only this language."

"This is my language."

"This is mine."

We frowned at one another. He clearly thought I was crazy, the way his brow fell and his mouth almost twisted into a frown.

"Akielon," Damen said. "You speak Akielon."

"Akielon?" I repeated.

"Akielon," he corrected my pronunciation.

"Akielon," I tried again. I had been saying each of the individual vowels a little too flat, so I switched to more Latin and Japanese stressing with the mostly single pronunciation of the vowel, along with stressing the 'Ah' more than the 'ki'. The 'lon' almost resembled the way I pronounced Leon.

I'd heard of that before. Akielon. I had recently been reading all about it. The deep, meaningful, dark story of Captive Prince by C. S. Pact. But that was impossible. Absurd. Of all the stories to be pulled into, this was one of the most absurd. More than absurd. Foolish. Dare I say, stupid.

Not the idea of being pulled into a story — I could believe anything if it was before my very eyes, and this dungeon was real. Even if it were some elaborate Ren Faire prank, I didn't have enough friends to have pulled this off, and the friends I did have know I didn't react to pranks or surprises very well. I either felt rage enough to destroy something or hurt someone, or I became so unamused that I ruined the mood without a hint of a smile at it being 'just a prank bro'. This would be on the levels of a kidnapping if it were a prank.

"You are Damianos of Akielos?" I knew I probably still had my poor accent, mispronounced Akielos in the same way I had the first time, but he was too distracted by me knowing his full name to notice.

"You…know of him? Were you…?"

I moved closer slowly, getting a glance at his back. There was one way to be sure. He had the look of what Damen in the book was described as, as well as matching some of the best fanart I'd ever seen. His back was lined with the dozens of scars signifying Damen's painful, near-death experience from the first book. When Laurent of Vere was angry, being driven to his limits by his uncle, having the man he hated most in the entire world trapped in his possession. His hatred for Damen being used as a weapon to strip him of most of his claim to the throne.

His wounds hadn't completely healed yet, but he wasn't in an incapacitated state by any means. Again, not that I was an expert. I'd received one true scar in my entire life, a beautiful little line along my shoulder barely an inch long, from an incident in Theater where I'd run in the dark right at a sharp metal latch meant to hook some stairs into another set piece.

"I know it's you," I admitted, moving in front of him again. "This is gonna sound crazy, but I know a lot of things I shouldn't know. I don't…I'm not from here, and I need…to find a way home. I think you're going to be the key to it — since I woke up in the cell you were to be put in. Something had us meet."

Something had me meeting the protagonist of this story. Damen's back had mostly healed, to the point that I could tell he was ready for the second book to have begun. He still had his collar and both of his cuffs, to that meant he definitely hadn't made it to the end of the second book, let alone the third. He was wearing the tattered remains of Veretian clothing — aka pants — but something a slave wouldn't be wearing in the capital, I assumed. I wouldn't actually know.

Damen clearly had many questions. I was ready to answer most of them with "Dunno." I wondered how that translated in Akielon. I wondered how the fuck I was speaking Akielon. Whatever the reason was, I wasn't complaining. Communication was an enormous barrier in an unfamiliar world. I wondered if I could speak English if I somehow concentrated.

"Do you know where we are?" he asked first, which wasn't what I anticipated, but something I could still answer in the same way.

"No. I woke up here. Don't know how I got here, who put me here."

His eyes slid up and down my body as more of a gesture than actually taking in information. "Your clothes are…like nothing I've ever seen."

"I am from lands…impossibly far away. Where I am from, you are a story — one I know…well enough."

"Your people know of my plight, the truth of what Kastor has done?"

"Yes…you could say that. I know many secret truths, ones that might cause many problems should they be told. And I can't really handle torture, so if someone finds out, I'm kinda screwed."

Damen's brow raised slightly at my wording, but he still seemed to at least understand. "And you would risk telling me of your plight?"

"I know enough of your story to know where your loyalties lie. How did you come to be here? Do you know? Where was the last place you were?"

Damen turned over the risks and rewards of answering honestly in his head. He was certainly a king, this guy. He had the build to be intimidating, sure, but I also knew — thanks to the POV of the books — how he thought. Damen didn't think five steps ahead of any given situation like Laurent did, but he could still think three steps ahead while barely even trying or noticing. When he really wanted to, Damen could keep up with Laurent if he had the right information.

"Chastillon," he finally admitted. "The prince is riding south to Acquitart, but we began our journey from Arles to Chastillon first. I slept after consulting the prince with tactical information on our route. Then, I was woken to be brought here. Not without a fight," Damen felt the need to tell me, as if I couldn't see that plainly.

"Acquitart?" I repeated.

"Yes. On the board to Akielos —"

"No, I know where it is. Acquitart?" I had been reading the book too fast. Multiple times. I had always pronounced it 'Acquiart', without the first T. An Acquitart sounded like an off-brand pop tart. "Nevermind. Chastillon is right next to Arles, isn't it?"

He nodded. "We were to ride out on the morrow. I have perhaps missed the departure."

"Okay, so…someone wanted to make you look like you deserted the first chance you got," I guessed.

Damen seemed pleased that I understood the weight of his current predicament. I didn't want to make this all about me, but I felt the urge to compete with him on the severity of our problems.

Ignoring my petty instincts wasn't hard normally, but I coped with stress by pretending to be petty and sarcastic and more bothered than I had any right to be. Complaining rarely made me feel better, but sometimes it helped. Sometimes.

"So where could we be? Still in Chastillon?"

"Unlikely. If someone wanted to hide my presence from Laurent, the dungeons of a tower he's staying in would be utter idiocy."

"The Regent's men are unorganized, unprofessional, and borderline mercenaries, aren't they?"

"If they were responsible, someone higher up would have to order them. They are not so foolish as to attempt something like this when I am still the prince's…pet."

He struggled with the word. Damen was, by no means, a pet. He was barely a slave. But he was putting himself in the minds of the aforementioned mercenaries, the dullards that the Regent hid in Chastillon to conceal their poor quality. Even if I remembered little about the books, I remembered that part. These men were here to cause trouble, to join Laurent's already-unstable following and make things worse. It was only thanks to Damen and his consultation that Laurent managed to wrangle something of a real, loyal army out of them. Especially in such a short amount of time and the many tensions driving them apart.

"You think Laurent would look for you? Do you think he would believe you ran?"

His gaze met mine, hardened with suspicion and curiosity once again. "The Prince has every reason to be convinced of my desertion…but no. He knows I would not flee. Not until we were closer to the border."

I winced at the realization of my mistake. It was just natural to think of Laurent as Laurent. Laurent, a character from the book. Damen never wasted time referring to Laurent as 'His Highness' in his POV, and it was just natural when Damen used titles in dialog but just referred to him as Laurent in the narration. Laurent was Laurent.

I would have to get used to it. There weren't many instances of princes and princesses in the real world. My world. Earth. Did they call this place Earth? C. S. Pacat, give me your worldbuilding wisdom!

Highness and Majesty were used on Vere, I remembered that much. Damen and the Akielon people referred to their royal family as Exalted.

"Then we won't have much time before his position forces him to leave without you. Or maybe he could say losing you would be irresponsible and get away with prioritizing the search. If whoever did this didn't predict Laurent's actions, they'd panic and try to move you, or deliberately abandon you. I'm not good at this, sorry. What are the odds, you think?"

Damen made his thinking face again. "The prince is difficult to predict," he confessed.

"Obviously." I couldn't help thinking of Laurent's many strategies across the books. Everything was calculated. Even when it looked like he had blundered, he often had a backup plan to weather the blow even if he knew he had to take it.

Even with my knowledge of what happened, any given individual encounter with Laurent wouldn't be anything I looked forward to. I could say for certain that the events of the book would play out, but individual encounters would depend solely on my own words and his counters.

But the thing about Laurent's carefully conceived plans and conversations was that they were written by an author. A good author. Someone better than me. It was implied that Laurent simply knew a great deal of information about whoever he spoke to, secrets and mannerisms that he studied extensively before taking any real action. For whatever reason, I was in a world that was not my own, and therefore I had no history Laurent would know of. He didn't have any illicit affairs to use against me, no knowledge of my strengths and weaknesses.

Then again, he was observant. In the midst of a single conversation, how I reacted to any given question, scenario, and body language, he could write a quick tale of who I was. That was just the sort of person he had been made to be. Even I had written characters like that — or tried to. Every second I was within his presence was another piece of the puzzle he could use to predict me.

Unfortunately, I wasn't quite the type of girl that belonged in a world like this. I wasn't overwhelmingly beautiful and cunning like Jokaste would be — aka the female version of Laurent himself, narratively speaking. I could rant in riddles with information from my life that none of these people would understand. That would probably be my best weapon. I lifted heavy things for my job, but it wasn't like I exerted myself, so I doubt I could do much more than lift armor and weapons as a squier.

What were we talking about?

"Want me to help you get out of those shackles," I asked, "or do you want to wait and gather more information?"

Damen weighed the options quickly. It was rather simple to predict the benefits and consequences of both ideas. "I think…we don't have time to waste. If you can free me, we will have to take the chance escape is possible. Chasteillon was the most organized location with the resources necessary to imprison someone that I know of. We are either there, or in a lesser hold that we can force through."

"You will take me with you?"

"You thought I would not?"

I shook my head. "I figured you might. Just wanted to make sure."

I tugged on one of my necklaces. I had three in total, two made of metal chains, one of string. The string had simply a colorful rainbow Chakra crystal — cheap, plastic, delicate, but sleek and big enough to get me compliments at work. I had always had a rainbow crystal of some kind on since I was a child — first a heart, then an oval pendant like those Victorian era necklaces, and then the Chakra crystal. The second was a thin chain with another rainbow. It was a basic rectangular shape, with six panels of the six colors leading down the line, and on the back was the carved message, 'Somewhere Only We Know'. It was one of a pair; the other sat in its packaging on the vanity back in my bedroom.

The third was a thick chain, shorter than the other two and hidden beneath my shirt. It had a clip on it with a pair of small objects. One was a simple box-cutter, rectangular that sharpened to a point at the end. Tiny, basic, and cheap off Amazon. The other was a thick ring that I had to take off too often since my fingers are tiny as noodles. The rings I did wear were far smaller, but less fancy since the best rings were made for men and the smallest size they came in were six. Ugh.

I used the clip's joint to release the box-cutter and then moved to Damen's left arm. His shackles were a bit tight, having to accommodate his golden slave cuffs and therefore being pushed further up his thick forearm. To my relief, the lock looked familiar enough.

"At least they weren't stupid enough to put you in small handcuffs," I murmured.

Locks hadn't changed much over the centuries. Watching dozens of lockpicking YouTube shorts had taught me the inner mechanisms of most locks. The key to picking a lock wasn't the tumblers or the pins and drivers and precision. It was about bypassing the lock entirely. Small but sturdy pieces of metal could be used as a lockpick easily.

It wasn't as simple as using a pair of Bobby pins. I had tried with them, and they're way too delicate — at least for any given amateur to use. You needed something made out of proper metal. Like, say, Titanium.

I shoved my box-cutter into the lock, searching around for the hitch that was holding the lock in place…is that it? Okay, so I poke it first, then I try levering up and down, then do both at the same time —

Click. The shackle popped open, falling away almost like it was getting tired trying to hold Damen's wrist for so long. I'd picked modern-day handcuffs before, and those were even simpler; with long enough nails you could press down on the ratchet serrated bit, shove it out of alignment, and pull the things open. These heavy things had a lot more metal to work with, but these were a lot heavier than the ones I'd seen in Ren Faire examples. Probably because Damen was so intimidating that the heavy shackles seemed necessary.

I sighed, seeing the chipped metal of my box-cutter. It had held up, but it wouldn't last long if I was gonna be picking heavy locks like this on the reg. I wondered if they had such small, straight bits of metal in these times.

Well, even if it broke, it would work for now. I managed to get Damen's other cuff off without snapping it, but the sharp end was rather dull. It wouldn't be stabbing anyone anytime soon, but I could clip it back to my necklace rather than discarding it, so that was good.

"We won't be getting past the sliding lock on the door," I assumed. To get past one of those, the main recommendation in the modern day was to kick the door open and rip the lock from the puny screws that held it. These things were a bit heftier. Not to mention we were on the inside of the push door — meaning we'd have to pull it, rather than being able to naturally kick it so the hinges did the rest. "That means we'll have to wait until someone opens it for us…"

"Well, having an unexpected visitor might attract some attention, no?"

My stomach turned at the natural anxiety of getting into a confrontation, not knowing whether I'd be able to do anything. If there was one thing I knew about Damen, it was that he could hit like a truck. I wasn't worried about him being overpowered by a few men, especially if he had the ambush. These guys were likely unprofessional as well. The question was how bad it could get on our way. Get a weapon in his hands though…

"Okay then. Whenever you're ready. I can't promise I'll be useful."

"I don't expect you to fight hard. Just don't make it easy for them."

"That, I can do." I'd seen plenty of self-defense videos and diagrams, being a tiny woman in a modern world. I could tell you the weak points of a man, how to rip off their junk, strike right beneath the ear, the eyes and neck, etc. I just hadn't ever had to use that sort of stuff in real life yet.

He glanced around the cell, debating the best location for his ambush. He looked back at the shackles, debating whether to pretend he was still restrained. I wondered if I could swing around the shackle and use it as a weapon. Damen had apparently knocked out Govart using only the golden cuff on his wrist. I don't think the book ever mentioned the gold getting bent out of shape, despite gold being a rather soft metal. At least that meant he was technically always armed.

"Well, here goes nothing."

Damen moved beside the door, where he could easily ambush someone the moment they walked through it. He nodded towards the grating, and I stepped up to it, having to rise up on my toes. "Hello?! Yo! Anyone out there?!"

It took a minute of shouting for someone to finally get curious. The soldiers were dressed in less armor than I had thought they would be — just breastplates, pauldrons, and the shin/knee armor. The rest was thick hide and leathers.

"You there! How did — where is the slave?"

"Slave? I woke up here alone, good sir! Quite an affront to lock up a little lady like me, now isn't it?"

The soldier called over a second buddy, and a third beside. I held up fingers so Damen would see, without taking my eyes off them. He had crouched down, making sure to stay out of sight even as the guard pressed his face up to the grating to look for Damen behind me.

"He's escaped! Find him!"

They might just end up abandoning me here to search for him, I realized. Two of the men had already dashed down both ends of the hall, splitting up. "Um, excuse me! You can't just leave me here! I am expected by the Crown Prince Laurant of Vere, and when he finds me, you will be shown no mercy!"

I wasn't sure I had pronounced Vere correctly — the American in me would have pronounced it 'veer', but even I wasn't that American. The singer in me who knew baby bits of French pronunciation would have me pronounce it like 'very' but without the y. Vere was based off of old fashioned France, after all, while Akielon was based off of Greek/Roman mythology — hence all the chitons and slaves.

I swapped my hand to one finger as I pounded on the wooden door with the other.

"What would the Crown Prince be doing with a wench?" he asked. I decided that it could be nothing but magic allowing us to communicate, because I instinctively knew he had used some derogatory term for a woman that simply translated in my mind like that. Linguistics were fun.

"I have valuable information that will help him win his wars. I know the truth of the Regent, Govart's secret, and information that will ensure Prince Laurent ascends to his rightful place on the throne!"

It was just barely enough to get the man's attention. I knew I couldn't risk revealing information too early in the narrative; the last thing I wanted was to change the delicate course of the story that relied so heavily upon Laurent and Damen's relationship as partners, friends, and lovers. It was a very, very careful set of events that brought them together — filled with betrayals and lies and utter truths.

Right now, the only thing Damen knew was that I knew things others couldn't possibly know. The truth about what happened to Damianos of Akielon. That was more than enough to get his attention. For better or worse, Damen considered me an asset. One he was going to have to kill to keep his secrets or preserve to learn more of my knowledge, that would be determined when he could consult with Laurent. And Laurant would look at me with pragmatic coldness, deciding on something, then probably making a kinder decision than he projected outwardly. Mercy was not something he could share frivolously.

I was gonna need all the mercy I could get from him if I wanted to stay alive.

"What do you know?" the soldier demanded.

"Get me out of here and I might just tell you. I want to speak to your leader. Or are you just acting on your own, little boys playing with toys you know nothing about?"

He shifted, drawing a sword and making sure I knew he had it. "You want out? Tell me where the slave went."

"There is no slave in here. I woke up after being kidnapped. Alone. Not even a blanket. Not very accommodating of you."

"You lie. I put him in there myself."

"Well then he disappeared. Probably an act of the gods. Do you have gods where you're from? Because I wanna know who put me in here, and if it was none of you, it must be an act of the divine."

This probably wasn't going well, was it? Dang. My first chance to prove myself in front of Damen and I was about to make a fool of myself.

"You worried about me being dangerous? Want me to chain myself to the wall?"

I turned back and grabbed the shackle, locking it around my watch to make sure that it stayed in place. The thing was big enough to hold Damen's wrist, after all, and meanwhile my hand was so tiny and flexible that I could flex them to be the same radius as my wrists. In essence, I could slide this thing right off.

"Tada! Feel better about yourself, scardy cat?"

Whatever was translating between us must've turned my mild insult into something scathing, because the man immediately unlocked the door and marched in, weapon ready to stab me even if it was in a non-fatal area.

Damen acted quickly. He snatched the man's sword arm, tucked it under his elbow so he could compress the poor dude's wrist so hard that he immediately dropped it, and he scooped it up for himself. Using the butt of the sword, he smacked the guy so hard he immediately collapsed. I wasn't quite sure Damen hadn't cracked his skull. I didn't look down to find out.

I slid my watch around, dislodging it from the cuff, then wiggling my hand, shifted my thumb out of the way, and easily got the cuff back off. "Shall we?"

Damen nodded. Now armed and dangerous, he was the most terrifying force of nature in all of Vere. For better or worse, he was going to get me out of here and bring me to Laurent. It was his only option at this point, needing Laurent's authority to get anywhere while in enemy territory, and to make sure Laurent waged a civil war against the Regent to keep them from attacking Akielos while he returned and worked things out with Kastor. As much as he could 'work things out'.

It occurred to me, as we ran down the halls, that I was still barefoot. That was a recipe for disaster, but I didn't have much choice. Maybe Damon could carry me on his back if we were desperate. I had real-world friends who weren't as big as him who could easily lift me, so it would only be a mild inconvenience. A slightly embarrassing inconvenience, but entirely possible.

Damen seemed to know where he was going. Maybe he knew the basic layout of a tower/castle/thing like this, or maybe he was just winging it. Either way, we needed to go somewhere.

The two of us made it up a spiral staircase into the light. It was midday, maybe nearing afternoon and the hottest hours. If I was remembering things right, this was the beginning of the second book, where Laurent and Damen spent almost the entire night talking. Laurent had gotten to work preparing for departure an hour before dawn, and Damen had gotten a couple hours sleep before they moved out.

If Laurent was looking for Damen, they still had time before Laurent delaying their departure became something noteworthy.

Damen immediately ran to the nearest window, looking around for the ground level. We were about a story up — a jump even I could make without breaking anything, but nothing I could professionally parkour.

He was thinking my thoughts, climbing out the open window and dropping down. He held up his arms, and I hurriedly climbed out after him. The sword in his hand dug into my side as he caught me by the waist, but the pain was worth the gentle fall into the grass.

"Think you can run?"

"For a little while, but I'm barefoot and out of shape," I confessed. Shouting from the soilders drew our attention. "Just go! I'll bear it!"

Running wasn't fun. I meant it when I was out of shape. I rarely ran, and when I did, my lungs burned from the amount of air going through my throat at any given time. Damen's greater stride length wasn't making me look much better. Stupid tall people.

I saw archers in the distance at a small watchtower. Wherever we were, it wasn't quite a fortress, but it was clearly meant for defending and battling. Damen swung his basic broadsword and sliced an arrow clean out of the air. Not that it was difficult. Arrows weren't quick as the wind or anything, especially old arrows made of wood and feathers. Now a high compound bow and advanced arrows from my world? Terrifying.

When we made it to the outer ring of defenses, the soldiers took up their swords and tried to meet him, but Damen dashed ahead at full speed (making me realize how he was staying slow for my sake) and proved his truck status by ramming through the forces and striking down a couple with the blade, drawing blood rather than just knocking them out.

I was feeling the burn in both my muscles and throat. I wasn't sure how much further I could run — especially if we were under attack and being pursued by full-grown men.

"This way!" Damen called.

He turned us to the left, back the way we'd come. I saw what he was going for and nearly jumped for joy. He stabbed his sword into the ground to untie one of the many horses, equipped with saddles and everything. He hopped up in one swift motion, grabbed his sword and tossed it to his left hand and offered his other hand to me. Though I had never ridden a horse before, I let him pull me up and tucked my arms around his waist as quickly as possible.

He spurred the horse on, and I could feel his tight core as he focused on his balance with a weapon in hand. All I needed to do was stay close and hold on, and so I locked my hands together and knew I wouldn't let go for anything. The smaller the target I was, the better.

It was terrifying and uncomfortable, but Damen was confident. He knew exactly what he was doing. If I were in a better position, I might've been staring just to watch him in action. Other riders on horseback were following behind and quickly catching up, but Damen knew how to fight while mounted. He sliced down one man who trying to attack me, slowing his horse strategically so the sword was aimed at himself instead.

The man cried out and his horse came to a stop when its rider fell off. Damen stabbed another mount on his other side, before then spurring us on faster. The rest of the riders didn't dare come closer, and soon enough they fell back and abandoned the chase entirely.

"There!" I could hear the relief in Damen's voice. We were approaching a large group of people, some mounted, wagons and banners with stars that I had only seen in the fanart.

Laurent's troops were milling about, tiny figures swarming in the distance as we got closer. The tower behind them must've been Chastillon. I had imagined it as something closer to a small castle or something, but it was rather unimpressive. They had noticed the single horse's approach, and Laurent was there to meet us along with some of the other guys beneath him. I honestly forgot what Govart and Jord looked like, but the dude with the fancy pin of the captain still had to be Govart at this point.

Laurent himself was…well, he was handsome as the fanart too. He wasn't too perfect. There was asymmetry to his face, a softness to his sharp features so he didn't look like some kind of fairy. He still looked like a real man, simple, rather than some perfection that you couldn't imagine being human. His hair was free and slightly curled from hours of sweat mixing into it, and yet he still seemed to shimmer. His uniform was smooth and crisp, his posture straight and demanding attention and authority, while still remaining handsome and beautiful in equal measure. If he were a statue, I'd keep him on display.

"The slave returns from his daring flight?" someone asked.

"Must have learned the hopelessness of his escape."

"He returns with a child?"

Laurent held up his hand, and the murmurs behind him among the troops were quieted. "You're late."

Damen nodded, meeting Laurent's gaze and immediately playing along. "It took longer than anticipated."

"There will be consequences for your failure anon. We ride hard today, to make up for lost time!"

He dismissed everyone with nothing but the flick of his hand, eyeing anyone who looked ready to protest. The unruly troops complained about the unknown circumstances that had delayed them, wondering what their prince was planning.

Govart was doing a lot of shouting, calling some crude things to get the men moving, and they at least seemed to know to obey him.

How many troops did Laurent have at this point? 200? Compared to armies that were usually in the thousands. Fuck, it was barely anything. Maybe half of them were loyal to Laurent, and the rest eager to start fights. It wouldn't be until Govart was publicly beaten that they would start to respect their prince properly. It wouldn't be until their first victory until they were truly loyal. The one with the rockslide.

Damen joined the precession of steeds as though it was the plan the entire time. He had no sheath for his sword on him, so he simply carried it at the slow trot. The blade was still wet with blood. I had a small stain on my shorts, I realized.

We were joining a pretty long group for being so small, with stragglers far behind. Govart had to send a rider from the front all the way to the back to get them going. It caused a minor ruckus with the horses, but it didn't actually seem to do anything.

When we finally stopped for the night and settled down, it took a while to make camp. Damen helped me down from the horse and didn't let go of my hand. He was practically guiding a child towards the front. As he was still Laurent's slave, Damen was in charge of pitching the prince's tent. He pointed and gave me instructions to help, and I did as he said.

"Who is the girl?" Govart didn't seem to take interest in the running of the camp, but he eagerly approached while I was holding a metal pole in place as Damen tossed over the tarp.

"None of your concern," Damen replied.

"I am the Captain; I am to be informed of any additions to the camp so that I might know how to…take care of them."

"He said it was none of your concern." Laurent's voice still sent a shiver down my spine from the demanding authority of it. Now that he wasn't shouting to put on a show, he spoke in a low tone that wasn't subtle in the slightest. "Attend to your duties. I want the camp set faster to make up for lost time. That means my Captain should be keeping his own troops in line."

Govart huffed. He wasn't much impressed by Laurent — or at least he was trying not to be. As much as the men disrespected their prince, calling him foul names for his pretty face and youth, whenever facing him down in person, no one could deny Laurent's authority. Seeing him face-to-face inspired true terror, for reasons no one could seem to explain.

If I were more poetic I would try to describe it. The aura of authority oozing from him, the steady way his voice inflected. He made you feel like he could find a dozen ways to ruin you with words alone, like he knew all of your secrets even when he didn't, the unmoving and unwavering way he kept his expression calm and yet not overbearing. While he was arrogant, it felt like he had a right to be.

If this was how Laurent was, I could hardly imagine how his uncle was. A Regent who could win over people, hide his cruelty and scheming behind a charming smile. Laurent was the opposite. He never tried to hide how cold he was towards people. Cut from the same cloth, yet two very different people.

The annoying false Captain made his retreat, murmuring some affirmation like, "If it pleases His Highness…" as he went.

"We will speak as we did the night previous," Laurent said, not looking at either of them. "I had hoped to continue information on the region. We will make this swift. Take care until then."

It occurred to me that Laurent and the others were speaking Veretian, and I could understand it just as I did Akielon. I was understanding the general message of what he said, but simplified to my own standards of language.

Laurent retreated without looking back.

Damen sighed, guiding me to hurry through their tasks. The tent was only one aspect of the night. He saw to Laurent's horse and armor, moved supplies and hauled water and wood. He sent me to the tent while he washed with the other men, and he returned with a water skin and food that was better quality than I expected. Meat was never my favorite food, but anything would do after a hard day of running, escaping, then working. Still barefoot.

Laurent's tent was bigger than I imagined. It was more than large enough for the two big guys and allowing me to try and not take up more than a single pillow in the corner. They could walk freely without having to nervously glance up at the canvas, anyway. They even bothered to decorate it with the blue and cream colors of Vere. Golden thread, swaths of silk. It seemed like such a waste of time to put it all up each night.

In the visiting area, there was enough room for chairs, a table, like a full-on war tent. I don't know why I imagined anything less. Brazier and candles kept everything lit.

I sat in Damen's slave pallet where he was supposed to sleep. I did hope Laurent was going to use all those cushions, silks, and bedding. The man needed sleep if he was going to remain at his peak, and though Laurent was terrifying, I would rather have him steady. He was waging a dangerous war against his uncle, his own troops, and eventually both Veretian and Akielon forces at the same time. And he was capable. I knew he was. He was better friend than foe, but it was very difficult to make a friend of Laurent.

I knew what he liked, at least, and what he expected. I would have to be very careful how I spoke, what I offered, and what I asked of him. It didn't help that I myself didn't know the whole of my situation.

Laurent finished speaking with a servant as Damen returned from his remaining duties. I held the plate and water skin he'd left me while I waited with the prince who seemed to pretend I didn't exist when he first got here and got to work. Well, he continued. I don't think Laurent had ever stopped working.

He did look fancy in that patterned outfit with golden accents and such. The book had introduced me to the term 'brocade'.

"To business, then," Laurent said when Damen approached and the servant he had been speaking to left.

A map of the region was being held on the table by three oranges and a cup. He took one of the oranges and began peeling it with more efficiency than I'd ever manage. Once he was done, he had a beautiful little arrangement of the slices in his hand, opened like a flower.

"What happened?" Laurent stated.

"I was taken in my rest, after you left this morning, and imprisoned." Damen was a little more eloquent about his recounting than I would have been. "She appeared behind the door, apparently having been there the whole time."

"Your turn." Laurent knelt before me, offering an orange slice. He took one for himself, sliding it between his lips in a somehow threatening way.

I took one of the slices and ate it like a mere mortal. "I woke in that cell, not knowing who took me and why. I am from lands far away, and I know important things that could cause much trouble should I be forced to talk."

"Then you seek to be silenced?"

I shrugged. "I don't know what I seek, if I am able to return home, who brought me here and why — or even how."

Laurent studied my face, my clothes, my mannerisms, as I knew he would. My stomach was tight, unconsciously nervous when in his presence, but otherwise…surprisingly calm. I didn't want to be killed, but something told me it was the least of my worries being in this world. My mind wandered to where I'd go to the bathroom. Oh what I would give for a modern toilet!

"What is this information you think worth your life?"

"Things I also shouldn't tell you, honestly. The details that would prove my case are perhaps also the things that could cause trouble."

"Trouble in what manner?"

I considered how to best explain this to him. The only thing I had thought up in the wait for this conversation was something that still sounded absurd.

I glanced past him to Damen. "Do you have Oracles in Akielon?"

"Oracles?" His brow raised in his normal intrigue and confusion. I had a feeling he'd be looking at me like that a lot. "They're mentioned in bedtime stories, yes. But they are not real."

"Call me an Oracle. I know the events that will take place, the liberation of Vere and Akielon alike, and the battles to come. Most of all, I know about you two."

Laurent's eyes moved to Damen in a deliberate and controlled turn before he rose to his full height and looked down upon me. "Oracles do not exist, and yet you decide you are one."

"You want me to prove what I know? I can. I just…have to be careful. Knowing the future is dangerous because it can change. I only know one path to your victory, Prince Laurent, and it will not be an easy one. If one thing goes differently than how I know it will happen, things may be lost."

"There is never one path to victory."

"Maybe so. Will you take that risk?"

"I have never needed an Oracle in the past, and I do not need one going forward. Your supposed knowledge is nothing but a threat to my plans."

"Understood." Well, at least he wasn't too mean about it. The fact that Laurent had nothing scathing to say about me on a personal level probably helped my case.

"If you wish to live, you will be held among my men as a pleasure slave."

I winced. Ew. Bad enough to know what it was like being a male, but being female was even worse. Then, it occurred to me that Veretians hated the potential for pregnancy. "Someone puts their dick in my mouth, they're going to lose it. I'm not afraid to bite. I would rather be executed, thank you."

Laurent finished off the orange as he returned to the map. Damen leaned in and mumbled something to him. Laurent bit back with the viper-tongue I'd been expecting from him. Laurent had been rather tame when speaking with me. Maybe because I hadn't yet pissed him off. But I also didn't offer anything beyond being a woman. A girl, in his eyes, probably.

"Alright then," he said loudly, turning back towards me. "You want to prove you know things. You will prove it to me with something more than the obvious. Something I can use."

"What I know must come from you alone. Your intelligence and decision-making will bring you victory. I am just a witness."

"Not good enough."

I eyed Damen, debating what I could admit to both of then here and now.

"Go," Laurent said without taking his eyes off me. "I will summon you when I have made my decision."

Damen noticed my reaction as well. He left without much protest beyond the subtle hesitation in his body language.

"Should I prove it with your past, your near future, or your far future?" I asked.

"What do you think would win my trust? You have one chance. Now."

"I know what your uncle did to you, after your father and brother died. You were still a boy — still to his liking. He is the only one you've ever had sex with, and since then, that is why you are cold."

Laurent kept his reaction neutral, as expected. While he didn't react dramatically, his eyes seemed to flicker. He was processing the information and debating his response.

"I also know you sex preferences, but please don't make me say those."

"I have no preferences," he dismissed.

"You will. One day, you will win, Your Highness. You will have a happy ending. It begins here, with this journey. With Damianos."

That seemed to get a reaction out of Laurent. He crushed the remaining orange peel between his fingers. "What becomes of Damianos?"

"He will have a happy ending too. The two of you will have to face one another's…issues. For you both to get your victories and your kingdoms, you must work together."

"So to defeat my uncle, I need him?"

"It's not news to you, I know. You've already seen it, what he is. In a perilous captive situation, he cared more about his ability to help others than help himself. In a snap decision, he chose to save your life, and you saved his. He needs you alive right now to defeat your uncle, and he will remain loyal."

"And yet when it is over, and he is king and I am king, we will return to what we are and always have been: Veretian and Akielon."

"The only princes I trust to be kings for the betterment of both your countries. Though I can say, you'll take back Delpha from him."

Laurent was considering all his options, his mind working considerably faster than Damen's and his expression even more controlled. He was a wonder to watch, truly. I wasn't sure if I had convinced him, but either way, it should have been an honor to be this close to the prince and have a chance to speak with him.

"Tell me something of Damianos that will crush him. Something that will tear his heart out, as the news of what he had done to my brother did mine."

"He…" I considered what would hurt Damen beyond Laurent himself.

One of the most painful revelations in the books that came between them was when the pair had slept together and then got torn apart by the politics of it all. Damen was in love, but Laurent hated him. Laurent held so much power over him, and Laurent knew it. He ruled a crowd just by being himself, bringing together both Veretian and Akielon troops while Damen was struggling to cope on the sidelines.

"I assume you already know, but Kastor killed the king — their father. Damen doesn't know. I think a part of him still believes in Kastor, in the brother he grew up with. Kastor never gave him some dramatic speech, after all. Damianos was ambushed, taken to Vere as a slave. I think he still believes he can talk his brother down. He doesn't know Kastor is working with your uncle, either. Oh, and your uncle killed your father, of course."

Laurent tensed. It was hard to tell whether he knew this information already, or simply suspected but had no proof. His demeanor hardened further as he turned over each word. "That will be the key, won't it? Proving what he did to the council?"

"Yes."

"Where is the evidence I need to prove it?"

"I can't tell you that. You know this is already overstepping my bounds. But I think you'll be able to put the pieces into place as anomalies begin to occur and mysteries have no answers. I…I can only hope I haven't already set into motion events that will prevent that truth and the proof of it from being discovered and presented. If all else fails, I will try to present the evidence myself. The only question is whether anyone will believe me."

"Say anything with enough confidence and they'll believe you. What else can you tell me about the information? Not the information itself, but the circumstances surrounding it."

"Surrounding…" I sighed. Laurent wanted proof I wasn't bluffing. I think he already knew I wasn't, but he could never be certain.

How suspicious did I look? Damen gets captured barely five minutes out from Arles, and returns with some random girl dressed in random clothes, somehow fluent in both Akielon and Veretian languages, claiming to know one of the biggest secrets that could destroy the Regent completely if it were to ever come out. It sounded exactly like a trap. Keep the girl around, have her spy on the closest secrets of Laurent's campaign, and report somehow to the Regent's men.

I had tried proving myself by revealing information the Regent could have provided me, I realized. What else did I know about Laurent that the Regent wouldn't?

Even I didn't know everything. It was borderline magic how I got here, magic how I could speak their languages. What other magics might be coming my way — into a world that wasn't fantastical at all? This world was supposed to be grounded in cold hard physics and logic. What chaos might have followed me if magic truly had been introduced?

"The man the Regent paid off to kill your father, King Aleron, I know who he is. An arrow from an archer, striking when the king learned he had lost his eldest son and removed his helm in grief. I know who his brother is, who he confessed his plans to — because he himself is dead at the behest of the Regent, of course."

"Of course," Laurent repeated, his voice lower in volume ever so slightly.

"He has physical proof too, a written confession, if that helps. When the time comes, he will speak for you. I hope."

Laurent turned away. Without access to his face, it was impossible to tell his thoughts. Even seeing his face, he never showed his thought anyway, so. But I knew I had convinced him. It was too good to be true, and yet he wanted to believe it.

"Nikandros," I realized at the last second.

"Hm?" He turned his head only a fraction back towards me.

"I know about your deal with him. That's something your uncle doesn't know about. Your deal with the Vaskians too. And the Patrans. You make friends pretty well, you know. Don't doubt yourself. The Regent is the only reason anyone in Vere doubts you. If he weren't there, you'd have the whole world in the palm of your hands. Though perhaps you might get bored, without anyone left to challenge you."

Laurent made a noise as he headed for the tent flap. "It's Vere," he said with an impossibly French accent.

So these chapters are like really long. I ramble too much, I do, but like I incidentally started following Laurent too much and now I'm connecting more with him than I am Damen - and he's the POV of the books! Again, I had absolutely no plans for this series, it just…happened. Somehow. I blacked out in front of the keyboard and woke up with a story idk. I want to see where all this goes. Like I'm curious now how it ends. Too bad I have to fucking write it first.