He spoke to Jord, who had come to splash his face with some water from the nearby pump. It was his first concern: too few men.
‘It isn’t. We ride to Chastillon, and form up with the Regent’s men stationed there,’ said Jord, adding, ‘Don’t get your hopes up. It’s hardly much more than this.’
‘Not enough to make a dent in a real battle. Enough for the Regent’s men to outnumber the Prince’s several to one,’ was Damen’s guess.
‘Yes,’ said Jord, shortly.
He looked at Jord’s dripping face, the set of his shoulders. He wondered if the Prince’s Guard knew what they were facing: outright treachery at worst, and at best months on the road, subject to the rule of the Regent’s men. The thin line of Jord’s mouth suggested that they did.
He said, ‘I owe you my thanks for the other night.’
Jord gave him a steady look. ‘I was following orders. The Prince wanted you back alive, like he wants you here. I just hope he knows what he’s doing with you, and that he’s not like the Regent says, distracted by his first taste of cock.’
After a long moment, Damen said, ‘Whatever else you think, I don’t share his bed.’
It was not a new insinuation. Damen wasn’t sure why it rankled so much now. Perhaps because of the uncanny speed with which the Regent’s speculations had spread from the audience chamber to the guard. The rewording smacked of Orlant.
‘However you’ve turned his head, he sent us right to you.’
‘I won’t ask how he knew where to find me.’
‘I didn’t send them after you,’ said the cool, familiar voice. ‘I sent them after the Regent’s Guard, who were making enough racket to raise the dead, the drunk, and those without ears.’
‘Your Highness,’ said Jord, red. Damen turned.
‘If I’d sent them after you,’ said Laurent, ‘I would have told them you went out the only way you knew, through the courtyard off the northern training arena. Did you?’
‘Yes,’ said Damen.
The pre-dawn light bleached Laurent’s hair from gold to something paler and finer; the bones of his face appeared as delicate as the calamus of a feather. He was relaxed against the doorway of the stables as though he’d been there quite a while, which would explai
n the colour of Jord’s face. He must have come not indolently from the direction of the palace, but from the stables, long up, attending to some other matter. He was dressed for the day in riding leathers, the severity of which ruthlessly cancelled out any effect of the fragile light.
Damen had half expected a gaudy parade costume, but Laurent had always defined himself against the opulence of the court. And he did not need gilt to be recognised under a parade standard, only the uncovered bright of his hair.
Laurent paced forward. His eyes passed over Damen in turn, displaying jagged distaste. Seeing him in armour seemed to have drawn something unpleasant from the depths.
‘Too civilised?’
‘Hardly,’ said Laurent.
About to speak, Damen caught sight of Govart’s familiar form. Immediately, he stiffened.
‘What is he doing here?’
‘Captaining the Guard.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, it’s an interesting arrangement, isn’t it?’ said Laurent.
‘You should throw him a pet to keep him off the men,’ said Jord.
‘No,’ said Laurent, after a moment. He said it thoughtfully.
‘I’ll tell the servants to sleep with their legs closed,’ said Jord.
‘And Aimeric,’ said Laurent.