*
The hall cleared. He was alone with Laurent. The sand tray was between them, the march on Karthas laid out in granular detail. The acidulous blue of Laurent’s gaze on him had nothing to do with the meeting.
‘Nothing happened,’ said Damen.
‘Something happened,’ said Laurent.
‘You were drunk,’ said Damen. ‘I took you back to your rooms. You asked me to attend you.’
‘What else?’ said Laurent.
‘I did attend you,’ said Damen.
‘What else?’ said Laurent.
He had thought having the upper hand over a hungover Laurent would be a rather enjoyable experience, except that Laurent was beginning to look like he was going to vomit. And not from the hangover.
‘Oh, stand down. You were too drunk to know your own name, let alone who you were with or what you were doing. Do you really think I’d take advantage of you in that condition?’
Laurent was staring at him. ‘No,’ he said awkwardly, as if, only now giving the question his full attention, he was coming to realise the answer. ‘I don’t think you would.’
His face was still white, his body in tension. Damen waited.
‘Did I,’ Laurent said. It took him a long time to push the words out. ‘Say anything.’
Laurent held himself taut, as if for flight. He lifted his eyes to meet Damen’s.
‘You said you missed me,’ said Damen.
Laurent flushed, hard, the change in colour startling.
‘I see. Thank you for—’ He could see Laurent taste the edges of the statement. ‘—resisting my advances.’
In the silence, he could hear voices beyond the door that had nothing to do with the two of them, or the honesty of the moment that almost hurt, as if they stood again in Laurent’s chambers by the bed.
‘I miss you too,’ he said. ‘I’m jealous of Isander.’
‘Isander’s a slave.’
‘I was a slave.’
The moment ached. Laurent met his gaze, his eyes too clear.
‘You were never a slave, Damianos. You were born to rule, as I was.’