‘Unlace the front,’ said Laurent.

He did. He pushed the jacket off Laurent’s shoulders, moving forward to do it. His hands slid into the garment. He felt rather than heard his voice change in the intimate space. ‘But if you would rather—’

‘Step back,’ said Laurent.

He stepped back. Laurent, in a shirt, seemed more himself; elegant, controlled, dangerous.

They gazed at one another.

‘Unless you need anything,’ he heard himself say, ‘I’ll go and bring in some more coals for the brazier.’

‘Go,’ said Laurent.

* * *

Morning. The sky was a startling shade of blue. The sun blazed and everyone was dressed in leathers for the ride. It was better than armour, which by noon would have baked them. Damen had an armful of tack and was talking to Lazar about the day’s itinerary, when he caught sight of Laurent across the camp. As he watched, Laurent swung up into the saddle and sat straight-backed, holding the reins in one gloved hand.

Last night, he had tended to the brazier and performed all his duties, and then he had gone out to the nearby stream to wash. The stream was pebbled at its banks and ran fresh and clear but was not dangerously fast-running; it deepened out in the centre. Despite the lack of light, two of the servants had still been pounding linens that in this weather would be dry by morning. The water had been bracing cold in the warm night. He had dunked his head and let it run over his chest and shoulders, then he had scrubbed down and waded out and pushed the water from his hair.

Beside him, Lazar was saying, ‘It’s a day’s ride to Acquitart, and Jord says it’s our last stop before Ravenel. Do you know if—’

Laurent was well made and capable, and Damen was a man, as other men. Half the soldiers in this camp wanted Laurent under them. The body’s reaction could be discounted, as it had been, determinedly, at the inn. Any man would have been roused by Laurent playing pet in his lap. Even knowing what was under the earring.

‘All right,’ he heard Lazar say.

He’d forgotten Lazar was there. After a long moment, he took his eyes off Laurent and looked back at Lazar, who was gazing at him with a rather dry but understanding smile quirking the side of his mouth.

‘All right what?’ said Damen.

‘All right, you’re not fucking him,’ said Lazar.

CHAPTER 10

‘Welcome to my ancestral home,’ said Laurent, dryly.

Damen glanced sideways at him, then let his gaze pass over the worn walls of Acquitart.

No troops and little strategic importance, were the words Laurent had used to describe Acquitart to the court, on the day the Regent had stripped him of all his holdings except this one.

Acquitart was small and old, and the village attached to it was a cluster of impoverished stone houses adhering to the base of the inner fort. There was no land available here for farming, and hunting might provide only a couple of chamois perched on rocks, that would disappear—leaping upward at the slightest approach of men—to a vantage where a horse could not follow.

And yet, when they approached, it was not poorly maintained. The barracks were in good repair, and so was the interior courtyard, and there were supplies of food and of weapons and materials to replace the damaged wagons. Everywhere he looked, Damen saw evidence of planning. Those stores had not come from Acquitart or its surrounds, they had been brought in from elsewhere, in preparation for the arrival of Laurent’s men.

The caretaker was named Arnoul, an old man who took command of the servants and the wagons and started directing everybody. His wrinkled face unfolded in pleasure when he saw Laurent. Then folded back in on itself when he saw Damen.

‘You once said that your uncle couldn’t take Acquitart away from you,’ Damen said to Laurent. ‘Why is that?’

‘It’s an independent governance. Which is absurd. On a map, it’s a speck. But I am Prince of Acquitart, as well as Prince of Vere, and the laws of Acquitart don’t require me to be twenty one to inherit. It’s mine. There’s nothing my uncle can do to take it,’ said Laurent. And then he said, ‘I suppose he could invade.’ And then: ‘His men could wrestle Arnoul in the stairwell.’

‘Arnoul seems to have mixed feelings about us staying here,’ said Damen.

‘We’re not staying here. Not tonight. You are going to meet me at the stables after dark, when you have finished all of your usual duties. Discreetly,’ said Laurent. He said it in Akielon.

It was dark by the time Damen had finished his duties. The men who usually looked after the supplies and the wagons and the horses had been given the night off, and the soldiers too had been given license to enjoy themselves. Barrels of wine had been cracked open and the barracks were a lively place to be that night. No sentries were posted near the stables, or towards the east.

He was turning a corner in the keep when he heard voices. Laurent’s directive to be discreet stopped him from announcing himself.

‘I’d be more comfortable sleeping in the barracks,’ Jord said.

Tags: C.S. Pacat Captive Prince Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net