I would shorten the chapters to a more reasonable length, except they're already written all nice and neat in my original document, and it'd just be a pain to find different dramatic cutoff points each time, try to scale the chapters to still be even in their shorter forms, etc. The first few chapters rounded out to a nice 20 pages each, and I guess I just didn't want to break the pattern. It does mean that either a lot is getting done in a single chapter, separated by just a ton of breaks, or nothing is getting done in the chapter, there's just a lot of me describing stuff. As I do! Welcome to my rambling!
Laurent had ordered clothes be tailored for me. I wasn't even aware that was possible in the middle of a war campaign, but anything for a prince, I guess. I got my own pants, boots, shirt, and jacket.
Damen helped take measurements and, in addition to all his other duties, was assigned to train and protect me. It wasn't an official order, but Laurent wasn't going to deny that I was important in some capacity. Our little demonstration that we used to excuse Damen's disappearance that day and his return with me had played into a narrative that Laurent had sent Damen out to find me deliberately. It placed a target on my back, especially with the Regent's men so hostile. I trusted Damen to be prudent though, and if all else failed, I doubted Laurent would be too upset if I bit off someone's ear.
I requested a pack to hold my original clothes — my only belongings, made from fabrics and stitching that didn't exist in this world. I still wasn't quite sure if Laurent believed I was true, nor that I was anything mystical. But still, he couldn't deny I was an oddity, and also had information that couldn't get out. If we were somewhere like Arles, I might be locked up in a dungeon to keep me safe.
"Have you ever wielded a sword before?" Damen asked.
"No. Where I'm from, there is little fighting to be done. We have warriors of course, but the civilian population lives rather peacefully. The greatest beast I have faced were my studies and the books. And taxes, probably. I did lift heavy things for my job, though."
Damen tossed me a wooden sword. "We're going to have a lot of work to do, then. We'll go through all the basic forms today."
Damen was a good teacher. He didn't look down upon each of my blunders, but he also didn't say something positive with every small victory. He said, "Good," every now and then, but only when we were moving to something else. Otherwise, all he said was, "Again."
I had researched and written about swordplay all the time. It was about footwork as much as it was about your arms and grip. I was doing basic drills, but it wouldn't get much more complicated in terms of the new strategies Damen would teach me. Eventually, it became about using everything you'd learned in response to an opponent. That meant sparring with a partner. It meant learning an opponent on the fly, and I was the only one at a beginner level in the whole camp. Well, almost the only one.
"Let me," Aimeric offered.
The one who would eventually betray the prince, who would have a tragic end when he learned the truth about the Regent's feelings for him. From what I gathered, Pacat wrote Aimeric to have fallen for Jord too late, realizing the error of his ways with the pain of Laurent's harsh revelation pushing him over the edge. He had tried being loyal to his family, a fourth son waiting for attention, getting corrupted by the worst of all men — the Regent — and finally realizing how he had ruined his chances with someone who might have loved him genuinely in another life.
To go so far as to make an extra story about Jord falling for Aimeric, Pacat must've liked the idea of them. Or the idea of their tragedy. Then again, I have never understood the need to elaborate on Ancel in the extra book either. Now The Adventures of Charls, the Veretian Cloth Merchant? The story we never knew we needed so desperately.
"Care to spar?" Aimeric offered. "I'll go easy on you, promise."
He wouldn't go easy on me unless he thought I was that bad. I might just end up being that bad, so…
"Okay, sure."
I knew the whole camp was in a tiz about me — keeping an eye on Damen as well, as the prince's Akielon slave. We had a subtle (and not so subtle) audience as we lined up for a practice match.
I struck first, unsure of the protocol. Aimeric lifted his wooden blade to meet mine, shouting, "That's not how it works!"
Someone laughed from the crowd. "Losing to a little girl, your grace?"
Aimeric frowned. He pushed me back and swung his weapon hard. I backed out of the way rather than parrying and went for a stabbing motion next. This forced him to dodge, but allowed him to swing around and attack while I was recovering.
He barely brushed my arm, but if his blade had been made of metal, I'd have a nasty cut. We re-entered and began again, clashing, swinging, partying, for as many hits against one another as possible.
Aimeric, for all his falsehoods, was working hard to get better at fighting. He wanted to impress someone so badly it hurt, he just wasn't trying to impress anyone present. He was about as strong as I was, but if he pushed a little harder, I would be the first one to give out in a direct clash.
He smiled just slightly before kicking my foot and jamming his sword straight into my stomach and up to my ribs. The blow might have been fatal if his sword had been real. I hit the ground the wind knocked out of me, and heard laughter through the pounding in my ears.
Damen might have been saying something, but I barely processed it. For some reason, I was angry. I was pissed. I wanted to smack the smile right off his lying, traitorous, pretty, aristocratic face.
The next few seconds were blurry. I remember my muscles tensing with rage, pushing myself through the pain, back up to my feet and towards Aimeric. I think he might've blocked my strikes, but I felt no resistance — just heard the clunk of wood hitting wood harder than necessary.
Aimeric looked tiny. He was just a little, unknown boy trying to get attention from anyone — provoking anger or living in the delusion of love just to fill the void left from being a small, useless fourth son. He was tiny. He was pitiful, sad, and would end this story taking his own life. And right now I didn't feel any reason to interfere.
I swung my wooden sword like a bat, smacking him across the cheek before he could even think to block. He crashed into the dirt and didn't move.
"Leon." It took time for me to recognize the name I had given Damen, which had now become my name as a whole.
My heavy breaths finally started to sting. My muscles ached from the hours of practice and then a sparring match on top. I turned to Damen, handed him my sword, and went looking for the water skin he'd given me. My first new possession in this world without magic, besides the clothes from Laurent.
Damen had a match with Orlant. I had almost forgotten that Orlant was in this story. I didn't even know why I should care who he was. He was just one of the prince's men, that's all. Loyal, mistrusting of Damen. Killed by Aimeric because he learned a secret. I forgot what the secret even was, if it was the big one or just something smaller.
The knowledge of the Regent's actions didn't feel that big to me, as an outsider. Of course the Regent had his brother killed to try and become king. He had physically and mentally abused Laurent through his vulnerable childhood years after losing his brother and father. He was evil in all the most evil ways.
It was the same feeling hearing that Kastor had orchestrated his father's death too. Kastor had already taken over a kingdom, sent Damen away in chains to his enemies as a slave, proclaiming the real Damianos to be dead, and playing the part of the grieving man with Jokaste as his bride. He was already a bastard (quite literally). What did being active in his father's death change about his usurpation from Damen's rightful place on the throne?
But for Damen, the revelation had hit him hard. I hadn't lied when I said I thought Damen held out hope for Kastor. Kastor had little real time to speak in the book. His motivations were simple, Damen's plea for his brother falling on deaf ears. But he had meant something to Damen. All the little snippets about growing up together, loving his brother almost as much as Laurent had loved his. I imagined Laurent finding out somewhere that Auguste had been an asshole and could sympathize with how Damen must've felt from his brother's betrayal. Even after he was dead, even knowing his death was the only real solution, even knowing it was something of poetic justice from Laurent, he wanted to love and honor the memory of who he had thought Kastor was. Who Kastor could have been, at one point in the past, and in an unknown future.
There was no point in speculation. Kastor still had to die. Both Damen and Laurent ended up alone, their families dead. I don't remember what happened to Kastor's child with Jokaste. Just that in another life he might've been king. Not this one, though.
Laurent confronted Damen after the fight with Orlant. I debated what he was thinking, in that instance. This was where Laurent first says, "You're better than I am." For him to admit it now was something big, that I only processed the weight of on a second read.
Laurent couldn't beat Damen. He knew who Damen was, how much he wanted Damen dead, but after all his training and preparing and calculating, seeing Damen fight with a blade for the first time made him realize it was all for naught. He couldn't beat Damen right now, and it was killing him.
Poor Laurent. As much as the fandom could laugh about enemies-to-lovers, how they hate each other now, but just wait, it was a painful process here. It was what made this one of my favorite stories. C. S. Pacat wrote a deep relationship of pain and suffering and conflict, but a natural slide into their camaraderie and eventual relationship.
What would Laurent's POV look like? It would be constant thinking. Plan after plan, idea after idea, all somehow coalescing into something vaguely coherent.
And then every time Damen showed up, all his thoughts would go out the window. I can't think. His blood would boil, having known Damen's identity from the very moment they were introduced, noticing the scar that Auguste had given him during the battle that took his elder brother's life. He would think, every time he saw Damen, of all the reasons he hated him. The fire would burn him from the inside out, a flame igniting and eating away at him every time. Years of pain and suffering and planning to take his revenge, stewing in misery under the Regent's reign only making his determination grow stronger.
Then, they would be here.
Damen saved his life back in Arles, during Laurent's first real assassination attempt. It would be that attempt on his life that made Laurent realize just how his uncle truly was. Once Laurent wasn't his preference, once Laurent was just a nuisance getting in the way, he was disposable as anyone else. The Regent had to be careful with Laurent — but everyone else who outgrew the Regent's tastes? They were nothing. Nicaise, Aimeric — not only were they not special, but they were disposable. They could die and the Regent wouldn't give a damn.
But Damen saved his life. The man who killed his brother, who could have stood by and watched Laurent be killed too, he now owed a life debt to. And he repaid it.
He thought it would be over, then. He could lock Damen up on his campaign to Acquitart and leave him there to meet his fate when Laurent met his own.
And so it became a game of necessity between them. Laurent knew he needed Damen by his side — for revenge later, maybe, but for now for political reasons. He knew Damen needed him alive, and unfortunately Damen was good. He had the mind of a king, the strength of one too, and right now it was at Laurent's disposal. Until they reached the border, he had Damen as his slave. Damen's power was his to use, to take as much of Vere as he could get.
I think…Laurent wanted to charm Damen through false means. He wanted to use Damen for all he was worth, with their late-night strategy meetings and letting him see the few times he let down one or two of his many barriers. He loathed Damen's existence, but he couldn't help admiring him.
Terrifying. That was how he described it in their epilogue. He had been scared of Damen, what was happening between them. He admired Damen, once he had gotten to know the real him, and it was frustrating. In the same way Damen had to see past Laurent's cold exterior by seeing his actions during their time together, Laurent saw Damen for the kind man and brilliant king he was. It would be infuriating to see the man you hated beyond all measure actually turning out to be decent. It would be so much easier if Damen had been rude, callous, manipulating, dastardly. Like everyone else in Vere, and the aristocratic circle especially. Damen was not like everyone else in Laurent's life. He wasn't like anyone else period.
The fact of the matter was, Damen had just been there. So had Auguste. They had been embroiled in wars started by their superiors, trying to win victory for their people. Damen had just been better.
Damen fantasied, once he knew he loved Laurent, about meeting Auguste on peaceful terms if things had been different.
If things had been different.
So many things could have been different, but they weren't. I couldn't be the one to try changing things. That wasn't my right. And frankly, there was little I could do that wouldn't make their story worse — or take away their happy ending. Maybe more conflicts would happen in the future we never see. That was just how humans were. One king could rule kindly, but the one that came after might not. People wouldn't be eager to leave behind years' worth of resentment between the cultures, but they would try.
Laurent certainly wouldn't run out of complex schemes to dismantle. Sometimes he'd make mistakes, but overall he'd succeed and finally find the life he wanted and deserved with Damen. The two would be together for a long life, maybe even Damen would have heirs even though Laurent decided to never do so.
There would be no one like Laurent ever again. No one should ever have to be like him, forged through all that pain and suffering and the loss of his childhood halfway through.
He was looking at Damon now, in awe of his strength, helpless at his own weakness for both being weaker than Damianos…and for being impressed by him. I wonder if this was when Laurent first began falling in love and hating it with a whole new level of passion that overlapped with his already complex feelings.
When Kings Rising begins, and Laurent distances himself from Damen, it's heartbreaking to read, but also absolutely necessary. Laurent manages to almost single-handedly unite the Akielon and Veretian forces with his wit and careful planning to prevent dissent and an uprising. He had to take charge where Damen was still reeling from returning to King Damianos, the rightful heir, rather than Laurent's inferior. He was never Laurent's slave, and it was time for them both to cope with it. Laurent coped by focusing on the task at hand. He was good at it. And maybe part of him was also scared that Damen really would abandon him now that he was King Damianos of Akielos again. Laurent was trying to leave before he was left.
"You think I should have Lazar turned off. I've already heard it from Jord."
"Lazar's a decent swordsman, and he's one of the few of your uncle's men who buckles down to work," Damen replied. "I think you should have Aimeric turned off."
"What?"
Oh, Laurent seemed surprised by this turn of events. One of those subtle moments you wouldn't notice if you weren't looking — the way Damen gives good advice, and the way Laurent knows it.
"I heard from Paschal that he came in with a head injury from you." Laurent turned his attention on me.
He had a lazy posture about him, and that was all the more threatening. The demented part of my mind thought that he sat like a very not-straight person and almost laughed. "He wanted that fight, he got it."
"More than that. Damen told me you don't know how to fight."
"I don't."
"And yet from what I hear, he struck you down, your wrath revealed the fighting instincts of a soldier who'd seen more battles than most."
"Did I?" Something told me it wasn't hearsay that brought Laurent to this conclusion. He had been watching, of course he had. "I don't remember. I just knew I was angry, and I threw all that anger into my attacks. And suddenly it was like Aimeric was nothing. I could swat him as one does a pesky fly at any time."
Laurent's elegant features gave no indication of his thoughts, as usual. He simply turned back to Damen in his seat. "I can't turn him off. His father is Councillor Guion. The man you knew as Ambassador to Akielos."
Damen stared at him. His curiosity and thought process were just barely more clear on his face. "And which one of the border castles does his father hold?"
"Fortaine."
"You're using a boy to gain influence with his father?"
"Aimeric's not a child lured in with a honeyed treat. He's Guion's fourth son. He knows that his being here splits his father's loyalty. It's half the reason he joined me. He wants his father's attention."
The conversation then slid into the fateful confrontation with Govart. My mind wandered to how I kept misreading the name as Govert.
"Why do you give me good advice?" Laurent asked. If he were a normal man, he would have been sighing.
Laurent didn't see the smile that I couldn't help. That was his way of complaining about Damen's influence already taking hold: 'Why are you making me like you? If you don't knock it off, I'll be helpless to resist. And I really want to kill you, so liking you in the process would be torture for me alone. I've given you all the reasons to hate me, and yet here you are helping me. Genuinely. From the goodness of your heart. You're too good to hate me back, so this will only hurt me.'
"Why don't you take any of it?" Damen replied.
'Because that means I admit it: you win. I have to admit that you want to support me, and if I start trusting you, it will hurt all the more when we become enemies again. I am already not strong enough to defeat you. My broken heart is all I have left, and if you take that — if you fix it and become all that's holding me together — I will be lost. I won't know who Laurent of Vere is anymore.'
And Damen, if he knew that, would reply, 'You would be who you always are. Laurent, King of Vere, destined to rule and fully qualified. A sharp tongue and a sharp mind. You will still be you, and you will not be any lesser. Maybe, one day, you will learn that you deserve to be happy, and one day you might accept that it can only make you better.'
Laurent's duel with Govart was a sight to behold.
I knew he was a match for Damen physically. Damen hinted, when Laurent was fighting Kastor, that if Laurent were at full strength and his mind not clouded by anger, he might have been able to defeat Damen during their duel in the training rooms. It was enough to overpower Kastor, to take from Damen his brother for many reasons and to have his revenge without needing to let Damen completely off the hook. Very poetic. I'm glad Laurent got that closure.
Where Damen could sometimes keep up with Laurent's mind — mostly in the small political maneuvers and warfare tactics, Laurent's mind was still superior overall. Damen had to consciously think ahead to surprise Laurent with his new way of approaching a topic. Rather than thinking as far ahead as Laurent with conniving trickery and underhanded tactics (the Veretian way), Damen was rather straightforward and blunt about his approaches (a very Akielon way). Pacat's symbolism never ceased to amuse me.
Damen offered straightforward recommendations, straightforward solutions, and when he put his foot down, he didn't budge unless a good point had been made — he wasn't ashamed to acquiesce to a worthy suggestion. He was a good match for Laurent, who had to be in charge of everything in his life or else there was a risk of failure — being outsmarted, betrayed, belittled. If Laurent could never consult anyone on his level, he would have only his own mind to rely on. For a long time, that was all he had. But now he had Damen to bounce off new ideas that he would have never thought about. He had Damen to tell him when he was wrong, and teaching him when it was okay to acquiesce as well.
In the same way, Damen was learning about how Laurent fought.
I had to reach out and take Damen's arm before he could interfere or protest to Laurent's challenge. Of course Laurent had set up the duel, the whole conversation guided to make it seem natural and discredit Govart in a legitimate way. I couldn't wait until the ass was killed by Laurent, if accidentally. I think I read a review about the third book saying it was unrealistic for Laurent to have a dislocated shoulder, a knife wound, and still have swung the chair hard enough to be fatal. I just found it rather funny, and worthy of being Laurent's only POV across the trilogy. The man deserved it. Both of them.
Even I could admit Laurent was fabulous. The way he curved, twisted his weapon, and stepped, completely in control of the situation and only gaining more as Govart lost his temper. Layers of intent. Laurent spoke with planned ease, like a viper, and it was reflected in all his other mannerisms. Nothing happened that was not planned in advance. One telegraphed move would suddenly dissolve into something else, only slightly disjointed but completely intentional and natural from Laurent.
Damen flexed his fingers, eager to pick up a sword. How sweet, to fall in love with someone's swordwork and want to learn from them — and to maybe beat the shit out of each other in some later cathartic rage when the secrets between them were out.
Poor Laurent, who had lost so much at a young age to have been practicing long and hard to have gotten this good.
I recalled the story of how Auguste had let Damen recover his sword after being disarmed. That was the Veretian way, apparently. Or maybe just in Laurent's family. For Auguste it had been a mercy that had led to his death. For Laurent it was a taunt, a step closer to winning over the enraged Govart and showing the Regent's men who the true Laurent was beneath all the rumors and lies: he was the future King of Vere, and he worked hard to be worthy of it. He was worthy of it.
When no one would move after Govart's defeat, I stepped forward to offer Laurent a cloth. Lazar might have been the one to do it in the book, maybe. I knew it was a small enough gesture, but one I remembered enough to be prepared for.
Laurent accepted it, wiped his sword free of the blood as casually as you would clean a carving knife, and handed it back, now bright red. I handed it to Lazar as Laurent called for them to move out — another day with them behind schedule, another day riding hard to make up for lost time.
Lazar looked at Laurent with new awe. Damen looked at Lazar with a frown. Ah, right. Just because Laurent was cold didn't mean men didn't fall for him. Poor Damen to have started falling right here as well. Maybe he had fallen sooner, but there was nothing sexier than watching a man being capable in battle. Prince Laurent was impressive for many reasons, but Damen would be the first and only to see beyond the surface to the kind man Laurent was beneath all the bravado. The man who wished to rule so all the fighting could stop.
But the surface-level crush was funny and cute too.
Nesson was next, I had been informed. I don't remember Nesson being on any of the book maps, but I knew what happened there. Damen and Laurent's first date.
They would see each other in new lights. Damen would be called an animal, and Laurent would laugh for the first time in who knows how long? Damen would rip bars right out of the plaster in a brothel and Laurent would fall further in love against his will.
I forgot about everything that came before.
There were no more stragglers falling behind on the journey. Jord said Laurent's fighting was in his blood. Perhaps it was, but it was odd that he couldn't see the obvious. Laurent had been training hard to kill a very specific man. A man who defeated the best man Laurent had ever known.
I had also forgotten that Nesson was both connected to a town and well-kept enough for us to have the men sleeping in barracks and Laurent in the keep. Damen was still distracted by Laurent's fight, but he managed to guide me through the motions of chores and a light training session.
By the time Damen went off to complete the duties he could perform all on his own, I was relegated to Laurent's chambers once again. For my protection, of course, but it was still rather boring. I debated going to the bathroom. Well, I guess it wasn't really a bathroom in these times, but I wouldn't be able to call it much else. The latrines?
"Leon." Laurent approached, still in his riding clothes.
I rose to my feet and stood straight. I hadn't quite learned how to salute the prince in any way, and speaking to him was awkward on multiple levels. I just did what other servants did: pretend I saw nothing, observed nothing, tried not to take up space until I was called upon.
"My slave tells me you're good with locks."
"Damen? Hm…well I wouldn't say I'm an expert. It's mostly about the tools."
"It's also about the knowledge of the mechanism itself." He revealed that with his perfect posture, he had been concealing a small book behind his back. It was old and worn, written in the Veretian language that I didn't fully understand. Staring at it for a few seconds, the letters seemed to rearrange themselves to transform into English…sort of. It was more like I just thought I saw English for a moment and it reverted back to nonsense if I blinked.
"A forge's smithing guide on the mold of irons and locks," I realized.
"Study it well, then tell me the tools you need."
"You have a smith?"
"I have supplies and men willing to get me what I want."
"Okay then…say, do you have Nicaise's earring on you?" I asked.
He raised an eyebrow, ever so slightly. "I do, yes."
"Good. Best keep it on you, just in case."
Laurent didn't ask why I had asked. He knew better. One good thing about Laurent, when he wasn't sure about something, he shut up and observed to get more info rather than acting rashly on half information to find the other pieces by force. He let the info come naturally. Usually it was more accurate that way.
I was engrossed in trying to read with this dyslexic method of understanding the old-timey lock mechanisms. To make things like shackles and internal locks for doors (rather than those sliding latches), the forge had to make individual molds of open halves and then use nuts and bolts to lock the pieces together. The most secure of bindings used a straight up screw that bound the two halves together that could only be removed through a clamp and a long process. Those would be unpickable, but a strong man with strong fingers would be able to twist the bolts manually, which was why they weren't the preferred usage.
The locking mechanisms were far less advanced than all my YouTube lockpicker vids. But then, locks had never been too complicated. It took modern locksmiths ages to make good locks — never trust a MasterLock, but perhaps those ABUS "Get-fucked-stay-fucked key system" locks whose keys looked like weird tuning forks.
Anyway, there weren't any springs. The serrated latching system on modern handcuffs could be bypassed easily, and same with these older versions. Regular cuffs were either unlikely to be used on someone like Damen — though maybe Laurent, who actually looked like a mere mortal — but the ones with straight up bolts and clamps? You couldn't pick those. I'd be rather useless if Laurent wanted me to be his locksmith.
But it was always best to be prepared. I had always carried around tools and items for if I needed them — when going to work especially. If I had been captured in the middle of my workday, I would've had multiple multitools, gloves with hardened knuckles for punching, and my bag with pens, a notepad, a spare hunting knife, etc. I was a bit paranoid, but always prepared.
"We are all on my uncle's board and these men are all his pieces."
"Then each time you move one of them, you can congratulate yourself on how much like him you are."
Damen had stunned Laurent to silence. It occurred to me that Damen didn't find all these underhanded manipulative tactics in Vere impressive. He found them despicable. In Akielos, if you hated someone, you just stated it. If you wanted something, you announced it. If you wanted a fight, you asked for one. I had always been impressed by the careful game of deceit and disaster that came from Laurent and the Regent's fight — it felt awful when the Regent won over people and Laurent could do nothing, but it was amazing when Laurent did it. I hadn't considered that Damen found it a cultural clash that was dishonorable and rude.
No wonder Auguste had wanted to fight him on equal grounds, with honor. If Auguste had risen to the throne, perhaps the tensions between Vere and Akielos would have been dispelled in a peaceful way. Perhaps Damen and Laurent really would have been able to fall in love without all this madness. But there was nothing to be done about it now.
Even Damen could admit that there wasn't time to win over the men without some level of deception and showmanship, and so the conversation came to an end on the note that Laurent just needed to do everything perfect — and he had every intention of doing so.
"So something tiny but thick enough to be durable like this would be recommended," I said. "To have the most versatile set, I need something straight, something slightly curved, and something that can be carved into a wiggle shape if we face anything with pins and tumblers. The best bypassing tool is made like a skeleton key — a straight and narrow bit of metal with only the final teeth in place to simply turn the mechanism in the back of the lock without trouble and release the latch. It's far from perfect, and will be difficult to pull off if you don't have a way of hiding the tools to be less suspicious. I'd recommend something like a hair decoration, but I doubt those can be made so frivolously, so perhaps something that can be weaved into the cuffs of these shirts…"
Laurent listened intently without interrupting, despite how I ranted on and on as my thoughts came.
Meanwhile, Damen had his own insight to give to Laurent, laboring over their map, which Laurent requested I be present for. I did my best to keep up with the tactical information he described — and Damen even added little footnotes for my sake to simplify. It was my turn to stay quiet, simply nodding and allowing Damen to continue to get through as much as possible throughout the night.
Laurent was good at listening. It was like the man had a photographic memory — or…an echoic memory. He remembered everything I said, things I just mumbled sarcastically with pop-culture references he would never understand.
In return, I made sure to listen as well. I listened and reported little nuggets of information from servants, armorers, and soldiers who didn't think I could hear anything.
Laurent used the information to take more control. He gave a speech of the shortcomings of the troops, then threw them the classic bone — perhaps they were hindered by poor leadership, and so Laurent was going to whip them into shape, starting here at Nesson with the chance to get used to Jord's new captainship. Of course, Laurent had engineered a perfect situation to have intimidated them into complying.
The tents were actually straight for the first time since they'd ridden out. Two hours wasn't very fast to set up camp, but it was fast for these unstable troops, and hopefully they'd only get faster with practice.
I got to participate in the training that pushed everyone to their limits. Woo. On the bright side, I got a chance to do some mounted drills as well, planned out by Damen and Laurent together the night before (Jord had even joined them in the early morning to add his thoughts). Riding a horse was terrifying and exciting. It was about as difficult as driving a car — I just needed to know how to tell it to accelerate, decelerate, jump, and abruptly turn. The horses were already trained for war, so all I had to do was endure the pain in my legs from being in the saddle. Laurent himself even participated in the drills, leading the charge and setting the pace.
Truthfully, training was fun. I hated gym class, don't get me wrong, but it was simple. You repeated the same motions again and again until you got it right. Once you were tired, you kept going, seeing what you could do when you were too tired to do anything but follow orders. I wasn't strong enough to hold a shield and hold my ground, but instead Damen took me aside for the bladework. He gave me a proper metal sword today, to get me used to the weight.
"What do you think of Jord?" Laurent asked me in the privacy of his tent.
"I suppose I shouldn't say anything, but then that itself is more than enough of a message for you, so I will say this. He is loyal, he is good, and he will do his best. He is just not a king."
Laurent made a small noise, halfway between a hum of affirmation and one of disagreement. "He will have to do."
Because Damen was the real captain Laurent wanted. It occurred to me that even this early in their relationship, Laurent was willing to admit it. For the man who held many secrets close to his chest, it was odd to have missed how many walls Damen had already shattered when it came to Laurent's defenses. It was hard to hate Damen when he did so much good.
"There isn't a man here who'd accept orders from an Akielon," Damen protested when Laurent confessed, late into the night after a discussion with Jord and when he thought I had fallen asleep in Laurent's many royal blankets.
"I know that. It's one of two reasons I chose Jord. The men would have resisted you at first, you'd have had to prove yourself. Even with the extra fortnight, there wasn't enough time to play all of that out. It frustrates me that I cannot put you to best use."
"That's the last thing I expected you to say," Damen admitted wryly.
"Did you think I was too proud to see it? I can assure you, the pride I have invested in beating my uncle far outweighs the feelings I hold on any other account."
"You just surprised me. Sometimes I think I understand you, and at other times I can't make you out at all."
"Believe me, that sentiment is mutual."
"You said two reasons," Damen continued. "What was the other?"
"The men think you bend me over inside the tent," Laurent said in his same calm tone. "It would erode my authority. My carefully cultivated authority. Now I have really surprised you. Perhaps if you were not a foot taller, or quite so broad across the shoulders."
"It's considerably less than a foot."
"Is it? It feels like more when you argue with me on points of honor."
"I want you to know," Damen said carefully, "that I haven't done anything to encourage the idea that I — that you and I —"
"If I thought you had, I'd have had you tied to a post and flogged you until your front matched your back."
Ah, love. One of the reasons these two worked so well — they talked and said so much without talking. Were it only so easy to find love like that.
"You will draw against me," Laurent announced.
"You?"
Laurent had been lenient with me, I knew. Of all the many things he could do to avoid showing favoritism, he had been rather simple in my case. Probably a reflection of my own simple mindset compared to his. I had always been a fan of efficiency, trying to just follow the way to do something and be prepared for all situations.
"I'm hardly good enough to compete with you, even in practice."
"He says you are. I'm inclined to believe him." By now we both know he was referring to Damen. "I saw what you did."
"What did I do?"
"Against Aimeric. Something changed in you, and not just your emotions. You fought with precision and skill, the strength of a warrior with years of experience seeing blood and battle. You are an anomaly, and I want to know what other mysteries you brought with you."
"Okay, I agree on that front. Let's get me angry then."
Attacking Laurent was just as embarrassing as predicted. He was barely even trying, slapping me away like an insect that kept buzzing around his head. I tried to summon the anger from before. It had been a tense, deliberate activation, when I could feel myself letting go of my reservations — to ignore the consequences of lashing out and simply doing it.
He upped the difficulty slowly, going from dodging and parrying to actively attacking. It took all my focus not to get skewered, even knowing he was going for non-vital organs. One good thing about being small, it was easier to move your body out of the way and change directions on the fly. Laurent was supposedly lean and small, but like the books said, it was only in comparison to Damen.
He sliced small cuts up my arms and legs, but otherwise I was managing to at least hold my focus.
"Learn to control it," he ordered. "Anger is a trigger but an unreliable one. I need you able to command your power not on instinct but at will."
We tried again the next day, after drills. While he had again participated, he was far less winded than I. I thought about Auguste, who had been fighting for hours before facing Damen and had made only one mistake that had taken his life. The soreness of building up muscle from the last few days was brilliant (I had always loved being sore) but also it made my movements stiffer. The drills were a good warmup, though, helping me stretch and forcing me to flex past that stiffness. Being a woman helped with that part too.
This time, Laurent started saying things with that annoying insulting tongue of his. A couple of his references I didn't understand, but it was clear he was insulting me each time. I suppose he had given up on the whole focus thing and needed anger just for a trigger.
But the thing about Laurent, I knew him better than he knew himself. Or at least I knew him better than I should have. I knew he was kind, a man who wanted the fighting to stop. He would later be able to finally lean on Damen, to let his guard down and be able to trust someone to shoulder the burden instead of martyring himself as everything he had to lose. He would be happy. Just a young man with a crush on a king who he wanted to awkwardly court for the first time with flowers and stolen kisses in a garden, who got embarrassed walking around naked but who didn't care if a servant caught him after sex with Damen.
Knowing forbidden things about someone made you see them in a new light. It was impossible to get truly angry at Laurent, even if being on the receiving end of his attacks was brutal.
"Do you want me to order one of the men to rape you?"
I huffed, wiping my mouth to find that I wasn't bleeding yet even after Laurent's harsh backhand. "Was wondering how long it would take for you to try. But you won't. If I do fight back and summon some mystical strength, it would hurt your reputation with the men you just got under control. You couldn't convince Damen to do it because he doesn't believe in rape."
"The more you insist it won't happen, the more I want to make it."
"I know. But it loses a lot of effect if I see it coming, doesn't it? But that's your business, I suppose, Your Highness."
Laurent had different levels of unamused on that blank face of his. Right now he looked through closest to a sarcastic meme he had ever been — displeased, but not angry. He would think up petty revenge later when he had the energy to spare. "You truly are from another land."
"I take that as a compliment."
Laurent was so close to rolling his eyes. I took that as a compliment as well.
It occurred to me, watching Laurent during the training with all the other troops versus when he was working with me and Damen, that even though some of them knew the hard work was necessary to get better and stronger, they still held no love for Laurent. They weren't ready to stand behind their prince against the odds; right now, they just wanted to get through this campaign and leave the prince's charge as soon as they could.
But Laurent was subtle about how he got each of them to respect him. Damen needed Laurent to cause trouble with the Regent and destabilize Vere, to stay alive and have something of an ally, but Damen also respected Laurent for his own reasons.
I must've seemed just like Aimeric, already loyal to Laurent for reasons none of them could understand. I knew things about Laurent that made me trust him, and he was kind enough to treat me with respect and keep his word. No rape attempt came, and I decided I needed to work harder to prove I deserved it. I was more than just an asset who had important information. I couldn't afford to be a constant damsel if I hoped to watch these kings rise to power.
I sparred with the men with Jord's assistance. He oversaw any of my duels to make sure I wasn't mocked or permanently injured, allowing me to properly face opponents stronger than me and learn from them. I tested how strong I was compared to them — knowing I was unable to meet most clashes and having to improvise with speed in exchange.
Soon enough, I could meet blows with a better reaction speed. I could parry, move my feet to soften the blows that were too strong for me, and aim for vital points with any openings I could get. I was building my rhythm, my repertoire of reactions to any given attack that came my way. Some of the men started having fun, upping their own game as I upped mine, and I welcomed the challenge.
"Okay, I'm ready!"
Damen and I took up swords as the sun set, not long after dinner. He was immovable when he was actually trying, but with my first few quick strikes, he realized he couldn't treat me like a beginner anymore. He had to focus hard to not hit too hard but to also keep up with my technique. It was an honor to make him have to think.
With new confidence, I held my breath, clenched that tight feeling of focus, and pressed forward. I knew Damen would be able to defend against anything I could manage — even some mystical, unexplainable power up, so I gave it everything I had. I had to fall into a flow of confidence, of letting my body do what I knew it had to without even thinking. It was like listening to a song you loved and letting it overtake you, letting your mind wander to a new world of satisfaction, or singing a song you had practiced so many times that your technique and notes came to you with ease even though you were still doing the work.
Damen's attitude shift came in phases, like it was in slow motion. I saw when his expression tightened, when his own battle focus began, and the shift in his strength and hits to actually try getting past my guard. He rose to meet my new skill level, and he wasn't taking it lightly. Whatever I was doing, I think it was working!
Damen slammed his blade against mine, and we met with even strength. Rather than him being above me pressing down, we were closer to being at an even height. Was I going crazy?
His blade shifted upwards to throw me away, and I felt my concentration wane. My flow broke, like being abruptly awoken from a dream, and suddenly I didn't know where my feet were beneath me. I tripped over myself as I was tossed from Damen's overwhelming strength. He was strong enough to yeet me into the sun, so just a shove with swords nearly got me stabbing myself in the face.
"Ugh…" One of those moments I wished I had an ass just so that I had padding when I landed on it. "Well, not as bad as I thought it'd go. How'd I do?"
Damen stared at me. He was breathing harder from exertion, I realized. Had I really pushed him that far?
"I want you able to activate it at will before we leave Nesson," Laurent announced from the sidelines, the only witness to our clandestine duel. He turned and retreated on that note, leaving Damen to help me to my feet, and me to help Damen process what he had just seen. If only I had an actual answer for him.
After Laurent had me help the servants dismantle the camp (we weren't leaving Nesson yet, he just wanted to force the troops to make it again), I joined them just in time to hear Laurent utterly flaying one of the Regent's men with nothing but his words. I wasn't sure all the Veretian terms were translating properly, but I was feeling pain just from catching a curse rolled out in Laurent's cool tone.
When the men got to work on drills for the day, Laurent and Damen pulled me aside. "I will have you and Damen working in private."
"Hm? Are my…skills too obvious?"
Laurent nodded. "We need more information, and less who know you are a threat before you truly become one. I'm sure he's a better trainer than the entire troop combined."
"There's Aimeric," I reminded him. "Though he might think I was filled with simple rage at being beaten, I would be cautious of him getting curious."
"Noted. Get to work. I expect a report during our nightly meeting."
"Of course," Damen said.
"Did something visually happen when my…thing started?" I asked when Laurent had retreated to join the drills.
"Yes," he confessed, "though I couldn't quite describe what. It was like you grew in size before my eyes. Your footwork improved, your strength became abnormally stronger — this was not some feat of hysteria; you knew what you were doing and how to use what you had. Your blows were calculated, your strength matching mine even — not some desperate strike either everything you had. It was like an entirely new person was before me. But when I try to recall what she looked like, I can't. She definitely wasn't you, but…beyond that, it was like the sun blinded me. I saw you, but when you fell, it was like I was looking at a stranger that I hadn't been fighting seconds before."
"Like one of those coin tricks where I just disappeared and reappeared?"
"Something like that."
"Say, Damen. You haven't asked if…I know things about you."
"You already know who I am. And you haven't told Laurent."
"I haven't." Technically, Laurent already knew. He had known from the very beginning, the first moment he'd laid eyes on Damen. "You don't believe me about being an Oracle, do you?"
"I didn't. But I couldn't say what I did believe you were. Now, I know…whatever anomalies surrounding you, they are something I don't think I ever will be able to explain."
"Then we're the same. I know important information, but I'm not receiving visions or anything. My presence here, what I can do, what I'm supposed to do, how to return home…I don't know. Executing the future I know to come is all I can hope for."
"The liberation of Vere and Akielos, you said before."
"Laurent will one day be free of his uncle, and you will take your throne from Kastor. But…many things will try and come between you both and that future. Together, I believe the two of you will make the struggle between your kingdoms come to an end. It won't be easy, though. Laurent is not an easy man to work with, but if he were predictable, his uncle would have already won."
"Fair enough," Damen said. "He wants you to control your…powerful state before we leave. We have two weeks."
"I know. Nesson is safe. We have the advantage of being safe from ambushes, which means we have the luxury of wearing ourselves out without need for watches and guard duty. We're too far from the border for an Akielon scuffle to be brought to us or blamed on us, and we're close enough to Vask that it would be a political nightmare if we're attacked. We're so far from the path the Regent planned for us that any ambushes and traps left will be left abandoned — waiting for company that will never arrive. Like it or not, the Regent's sources are limited when we're not at the seat of his power."
A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "You've learned."
"I try to pay attention. Also, I'm an Oracle. Duh."
Damen looked mildly amused. "Don't overuse that excuse. It won't work forever — or I might start expecting more from you than you have."
"I know. If it makes you feel better, I knew Nesson was safe, I just didn't remember why. You're a good teacher. Laurent's listening too."
"Sometimes I think there won't be a thing left that he doesn't know, one day. I wonder what havoc he will wreak, unhindered as king."
"You think he will make a good king."
"Perhaps too good. Being his enemy is hard when we have a common goal. When we are at war again…"
I tapped one of Damen's big muscle arms with my knuckles. "You have time to gain his trust now. He doesn't forget his debts. Make sure he owes you enough to let you wage a fair fight. If you can compromise, both your kingdoms will thrive in peace."
"Peace…" Damen didn't seem to know what to do with the concept of peace. One day, he would.
Getting drunk had never been fun, even in the modern day with modern alcohol. I had once written a story describing mead as "wine-flavored piss". I had never done my research, but I felt that was a proper description with his old-fashioned wine.
The gap between the highborn and lowborn wasn't obvious when it came to Jord. He was an honorable man, loyal to Laurent, and I knew the little snippets of how he had wanted to serve Laurent thanks to Auguste. Laurent had been just fifteen or sixteen when Jord had begun serving him in the Prince's Guard, some of Laurent's first acts of defiance against the Regent. All it would take was one scuffle and the Prince's Guard would be disbanded, thanks to the Regent's meddling of course, and they'd endured torment and sabotage without complaint. Laurent had eventually found a way to resolve the situation, setting up a fake potential scandal with Orlant that was embarrassing, but had given him the chance to remove the threat of disbanding and turn the tides on their tormentors.
"I've never bedded anyone highborn," Jord was saying, as Damen had brought up the subject of Aimeric. Technically, Jord was the one who couldn't stop staring across the camp. "Is it different?"
It took Damen a moment to reply, after realizing what Jord was implying. "He… We don't. He doesn't. As far as I know, he doesn't with anyone."
"He does not bed the prince," I told Jord. "His Highness has no time for pleasantries."
"If he didn't have a mouth on him like a harlot in a guardsroom, I'd think he was a virgin."
"He isn't," I couldn't help blurring.
"Oh?" Jord was obviously slightly drunk in the way he tilted his head with interest. "He has divulged his secrets upon you?"
"If you're asking about his preferences, no, he does not bed women either — especially not me. But I can say for certain that something happened in his past, and he decided sex was not for pleasure ever since. Nothing but a hindrance, only for gossip and distraction he doesn't need. If I had so many whispering of my bed habits, I would remain chaste simply out of spite — let alone for any other ulterior motives."
Jord scoffed, taking another swig of the disgusting wine. "Everything is an ulterior motive with him. But I can believe he'd do a lot of things out of spite too…"
Aimeric joined us not long after, and Damen knowing little of Aimeric's treachery and more of Jord's potential prospects, invited him to stay. I dismissed myself, not really interested in being around Aimeric while slightly tipsy, lest I admit something in a moment of weakness. I brought my half-full cup of wine back to Laurent's tent before realizing he probably wouldn't want it.
"You should work on your alcohol tolerance," I said, heading past the map table towards the sleeping area.
"Speak for yourself. Are you even old enough to drink?"
"There's a drinking age in Vere?"
"Depends on the circumstances."
I frowned down at the drink, trying to force down one mouthful at a time. "I'm twenty-one. That's the official drinking age where I'm from — though plenty of teenagers drink long before then. I've been drunk before. It's not as relaxing as people make it sound. My heart just starts beating faster and I get hot, and I can't concentrate on anything, so I just end up sitting around unable to do anything that I want to. Not exactly what I'd call amusing."
"And yet you warn me to raise my own tolerance — not for pleasure, since clearly you find no amusement in drinking — so you know of a time I will make a fool of myself."
"Not a fool. You're too…dignified for that. You do this thing where you hold yourself together no matter what? Through pain, embarrassment, surprise. Yeah, you're good enough to overpower most drinks. But if someone expects you to drink and be merry for the sake of relations and whatnot, you're gonna be miserable and not used to it. It will be hilarious. I mean, you'll still be annoyingly…dignified, but you'll be slightly inhibited and that shit's cute."
"You take liberties."
"You're liberties!" I frowned. "What?"
Laurent rose from his chair and snatched my cup. "Go to bed before you say something even more foolish — like potentially something that would cause me to deviate from this course you believe will end in my victory."
"Yeah, that…that's why I came here. Came close to revealing stuff." I rubbed my eyes as I yawned. "Hey! I'm older than you! Certainly not wiser. Maybe just wiser in a different way. Goodnight, Your Highness."
Laurent exhaled in a way that might've sounded like a laugh if I didn't see the mild irritation bubbling beneath the surface. We both turned away and made it to our respective locations.
I heard Damen entering and speaking with Laurent after a few minutes, but the moment my head hit the blankets, I was paralyzed and falling into dreams.
"I didn't know you would drink the low-quality stuff," Damen was maybe saying.
"If I must drink and be merry for the sake of relations, it's best to build a tolerance…"
Paschal was the one last person of interest I had yet to meet. I hadn't remembered that he was the only medic among these 200 men. According to Damen, it was only reasonable while they were not facing battle.
"I was hoping to learn something from the physicker. The basics in staunching wounds and knowing what is fatal and what is not."
"This is not a job for the faint of heart."
"No job here is meant for those faint of heart. And yet here we are. I have seen cadavers before; there is little that will surprise me. I suppose I'm slightly empathetic, but I wouldn't panic if I knew what I was doing. You'll need all the help you can get, once we ride out of Nesson. Even a novice is better than nothing."
And so Paschal taught me what he could with simple explanations. He tapped parts of his body, mentioning lethal and non-lethal areas for stab wounds. I seemed to surprise him knowing the basics of bloodloss and organs. I've scrolled through enough YouTube doctors and watched enough scientific movie reviews to know what was dangerous and what someone could die from. John Wick had taught me well.
Paschal's tent was filled with supplies and equipment, but he only had a single patient — Damen — who was mostly on the mend from his whip injuries on his back. When they began actual battle, Paschal would begin to have real work.
"You were at Marlas, weren't you?" I recalled.
"I was."
"Do you think this campaign will be anywhere as big?"
"Do you hope for battle and glory and bloodshed?"
"No. I think Prince Laurent can win entire wars without needing to raise arms at all. But everyone else is not so inclined to agree, and sometimes even he must acquiesce. A show of force is sometimes the only way to prevent more death."
Paschal slowly began to relax through the conversation. "200 troops, half of which barely willing to follow him. It's hardly a show of force."
"They're getting better. They might even face an ambush with a chance of survival."
"There are still those who will rise against him at the first chance."
"Certainly not as many as when we began. What they need is a victory — something to unite them and convince even the most reluctant of the success possible under a properly pragmatic leader. That, and something to convince them that rebellion will only end in their defeat."
"The Prince is…he has a charisma about him, but not so natural as his brother."
"His brother did not face the death of his father and the brother meant for the throne before even his voice had deepened. Prince Laurent has been forced to tolerate much, and so he has no time for pleasantries to garner loyalty. Though his methods may be deceptive, so too are the threats he faces. He has simply had to adapt to a world that did not expect the second son to thrive as he did. He bears the weight of his brother's legacy and position, with the caveat that he is also himself."
"I think he does not have to be Prince Auguste. I fear the world does not agree," Paschal confessed.
"Do you believe in him? Though what came natural to the older is not so in the younger, do you still think he will be so great?"
"We do not know what the rule of King Auguste might have beget."
"Then imagine the rule of King Laurent, and tell me do you think Vere would be better than under the Regent? Do you think his rule would be better?"
"Whatever kingdom comes of Prince Laurent's rule…I think he will be a force to be reckoned with."
That feeling when you're reminded that chapter naming is a full-time job. If ever I don't post for a long time, despite the chapters being ready, it's probably because I was procrastinating on the chapter name alone.
Anyway so go listen to "This Side of Paradise" by Coyote Theory. Just for the heck of it.