C.S. Pacat

To gain everything and lose everything in the space of a moment. That is the fate of all princes destined for the throne. Laurent had said that.

You look like a wall tapestry.’ Nikandros plucked at Damen’s sleeve, amused by red velvet, fastenings of garnet, and small, exquisitely sewn rows of ruching.

‘I miss you,’ said Laurent. ‘I miss our conversations

‘Yes, Exalted.’

Pallas turned blindly, and made for the door.

‘What is it?’ Laurent looked at Damen, who had detached himself and was sitting with the sheet pulled up to where he had clutched it to cover himself. And then, with the burgeoning delight of discovery, ‘Are you shy?’

‘In Akielos we don’t,’ said Damen, ‘in front of other people.’

‘Not even the King?’

‘Especially not the King,’ said Damen, for whom the King still partly meant his father.

‘But how does the court know if the royal marriage has been consummated?’

‘The King knows whether or not it has been consummated!’ Horrified.

‘I’ll take care of your son,’ said Laurent. ‘I’ll protect his kingdom as if it were my own. I’ll give my life for his people.’

enthusiastic bedding at night, tumbling a slave or a young fighter, thrusting about with the eagerness of youth.

Now Damen felt the bright, heady set of new desires that had had him breaking from his royal entourage in the last miles spurring his horse to gallop ahead alone as he wished—as he so giddily wished.

He tossed his reins to a servant, was told, ‘By the east fountain,’ and pushed his way past the branches of myrtle hanging low over the paths to the marble flags, to a balconied garden where a figure stood, looking out.

Damen looked too—at one thing only: the breeze playing with a strand of blond hair, at the cool, pale limbs in white cotton.

He felt his own rising happiness, the speeding of his pulse.