I lack," said Laurent, "the easy mannerisms that are usually shared with," you could see him pushing the words out, "a lover."
"You lack the easy mannerisms that are usually shared with anyone," said Damen.

It was with a shock that he felt the touch of Laurent's fingers against the back of his wrist. [...] Laurent was shifting the fabric of his sleeve, sliding it back slightly to reveal the gold underneath, until the wrist cuff he had asked the blacksmith to leave on was exposed between them.
'Sentiment?' said Laurent.
'Something like that.'
Their eyes met and he could feel each beat of his heart. A few seconds of silence, a space that lengthened, until Laurent spoke.
'You should give me the other.

That isn't why. She would have chosen him even if you'd had royal blood in your veins, even if you'd had the same blood as Kastor. You don't understand the way a mind like that thinks. I do. If I were Jokaste and a king maker, I'd have chosen Kastor over you too.'

'I suppose you are going to enjoy telling me why,' said Damen. He felt his hands curl into fists, heard the bitterness in his throat.

'Because a king maker would always choose the weaker man. The weaker the man, the easier he is to control.

Nicaise had picked up a gilt three-pronged fork, but had paused before sampling the dish in order to speak. The fear he'd shown of Damen at the ring seemed to still be there. His knuckles, clenched around the fork, were white.

'It's all right,' said Damen. He spoke to the boy as gently as he could. 'I'm not going to hurt you.'

Nicaise stared back at him. His huge blue eyes were fringed like a whore's, or like a doe's. Around them, the table was a coloured wall of voices and laughter, courtiers caught up in their own amusements, paying them no attention.

'Good,' said Nicaise, and stabbed the fork viciously into Damen's thigh under the table.

Even through a layer of cloth, it was enough to make Damen start, and instinctively grab the fork, as three drops of blood welled up.

'Excuse me a moment,' Laurent said smoothly, turning from Torveld to face Nicaise.

'I made your pet jump,' said Nicaise, smugly.

Not sounding at all displeased: 'Yes, you did.'

'Whatever you're planning, it's not going to work.'

'I think it will, though. Bet you your earring.'

'If I win, you wear it,' said Nicaise.

Laurent immediately lifted his cup and inclined it toward Nicaise in a little gesture sealing the bet. Damen tried to shake the bizarre impression that they were enjoying themselves.

Nicaise waved an attendant over and asked for a new fork.

The Regency,' said Laurent, addressing the troop, 'thought to take us outnumbered. It expected us to roll over without a fight.'

Damen said: 'We will not let them cow us, subdue us or force us down. Ride hard. Don't stop to fight the front line. We are going to smash them open. We are here to fight for our Prince!'

The cry rang out, For the Prince! The men gripped their swords, slammed their visors down, and the sound they made was a roar.

When laced into his clothing, Laurent's dangerous grace lent him an almost androgynous quality. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that it was rare to associate Laurent with a physical body at all: you were always dealing with a mind.