‘You’re better than I am.’
Damen couldn’t help his amused breath of reaction to that, or the long, scrolling look from Laurent’s head to his toes and back again, which was probably a little insulting. But really.
Laurent flushed. The colour hit his cheeks hard, and a muscle tightened in his jaw as whatever he felt was forcibly repressed. It was not like any reaction that Damen had ever seen from him before, and he couldn’t resist pushing it a little further.
‘Why? Do you want to spar? We can keep it friendly,’ Damen said.
‘No,’ said Laurent.
Whatever might have passed between them after that was forestalled by Jord, who was approaching from behind him with Aimeric.
‘Your Highness. Apologies, if you need more time with—’
‘No,’ said Laurent. ‘I’ll speak with you instead. Follow me back to the main camp.’
The two walked off together, leaving Damen with Aimeric.
‘He hates you,’ said Aimeric, cheerfully.
At the end of the day’s ride, Jord came to find him.
He liked Jord. He liked his pragmatism and the sense of responsibility he so clearly felt towards the men. Whatever background Jord had risen from, he had the makings of a fine leader. Even with all the additional duties Jord was shouldering, he had still taken the time to do this.
‘I want you to know,’ said Jord, ‘when I asked you to join us this morning, it wasn’t to give Orlant the chance to—’
‘I know that,’ said Damen.
Jord nodded slowly. ‘Any time you want the practice, I’d be honoured to go a few rounds against you. I’m a lot better than Orlant.’
‘I know that too,’ said Damen.
He got the closest thing to a smile he’d received from Jord. ‘You weren’t that good when you fought Govart.’
‘When I fought Govart,’ said Damen, ‘I had my lungs full of chalis.’
Another slow nod.
‘I’m not sure how it is in Akielos,’ said Jord, ‘but . . . you shouldn’t take that stuff before a fight. Slows your reflexes. Saps your strength. Just some friendly advice.’
‘Thank you,’ said Damen, after a long, drawn out moment had passed.
*
When it happened, it was Lazar again, and Aimeric. It was the third night of the ride, and they were camped at Bailleux Keep, a brokendown structure with a fancy name. Lodgings inside were poor enough that the men eschewed the barracks and even Laurent remained in his confection of a tent rather than spend the night indoors, but there were a few household servants in attendance and the keep formed part of a supply line that allowed the men to restock.
However the fight started, by the time anyone else heard it, Aimeric was on the ground with Lazar standing over him. He was dusty but unblooded this time. It was bad luck that Govart was the one to intervene, which he did, dragging Aimeric up, and then backhanding him across the face for making trouble. Govart was one of the first to arrive, but by the time Aimeric was rising to his feet nursing his jaw, a respectable crowd was gathering, drawn by the noise.
It was bad luck that it was late evening, and that most of the work for the day was done, giving the men free time to gather.
Jord had to physically hold Orlant back, and Govart didn’t help by telling Jord to keep his men in line. Aimeric wasn’t here to get special treatment, Govart said, and if anyone retaliated against Lazar, they’d get the post. Violence slid across the men like oil waiting for a flame, and if Lazar had made a single move of aggression it would have ignited, but he took a step back, and had the good grace—or the smarts—to look troubled with Govart’s pronouncement rather than pleased.
Jord somehow managed to keep the peace, but when the men dispersed, he broke the chain of command completely, and made straight for Laurent’s tent.
Damen waited until he saw Jord exit. Then he took a deep breath, and sought entrance himself.
When he walked into Laurent’s tent, Laurent said, ‘You think I should have Lazar turned off. I’ve already heard it from Jord.’
Damen said, ‘Lazar’s a decent swordsman, and he’s one of the few of your uncle’s men who buckles down to work. I think you should have Aimeric turned off.’
‘What?’ said Laurent.
‘He’s too young. He’s too attractive. He starts fights. He’s not the reason I came to speak with you, but since you asked what I think: Aimeric causes problems, and one day soon he’s going to stop making eyes at you and let one of the men fuck him, and the problems will get worse.’
Laurent absorbed that. But: ‘I can’t turn him off,’ said Laurent. ‘His father is Councillor Guion. The man you knew as the Ambassador to Akielos.’
Damen stared at him. He thought of Aimeric defending Laurent in the armoury, holding a bloody nose. He said, evenly, ‘And which one of the border castles does his father hold?’
‘Fortaine,’ said Laurent, in the same voice.