Chapter Text
Laurent is fully aware that his usefulness is waning. After Auguste’s death, he was favored, because he was always by the Regent’s side. The servants treated him with higher authority now that he was to become king.
Naturally, he placed more trust in his uncle than he should have, even knowing his predilections for younger men. How was he to know the extent? By this time, most in the palace were aware, or at least ventured a guess at their relationship. It was an unspoken suspicion, confirmed by years of proof, that the Regent had a preference for young male pets— and even those in his own family were not safe.
Laurent also knows that his uncle’s indifference, his refusal to touch him, means he’s too old. After his sixteenth birthday, his uncle no longer asked him to kneel for him, though he still is called into his chambers occasionally.
He thinks it’s because his face is becoming that of a young man— at least when he fucks him, he doesn’t have to see the sharpening of his jaw, or the stubble that begins to grace his smooth, pale cheeks. He sees it in the mirror, how he’s starting to look like his brother. Laurent is too old for this game, and he will be replaced soon. He knows this, and yet it still affects him.
He notices a new presence in the palace. The boy is lovely, his brunette curls framing his delicate features, blue eyes lined and long lashes enhanced with makeup. He’s no more than twelve years old, and he follows the Regent everywhere. Laurent hasn’t been summoned at night for two weeks now, and he knows he should feel relief, but a pang of jealousy sears its way across his heart. He's been used and tossed aside. Now this boy, this whore, laps up the attention of the older man, fluttering his beautiful eyes in a way that makes Laurent’s stomach turn.
It’s a blessing to be alone. It’s also a warning. The Regent has already found a new plaything, so how long will it take for him to discard Laurent? He has no use now, and is merely a threat to the Regent’s power grab. If Vere is rid of a legitimate heir, he becomes king. The days pass slowly, and Laurent can do nothing but wait for information to pass to him. He listens in on conversations, but none of the political maneuvers his uncle uses are of any importance except ones that concern his own fate.
He learns of the plan soon enough. Kastor, the newly-appointed king from Ios, whose father recently died under mysterious circumstances, visits with an entourage of slaves, and Laurent is reminded of what his life could have been. At least royal birth ensured he was not sold off and degraded by Akielon royalty, with their barbaric practices of slavery. Although it was not as if his own Veretian standards were much better for slaves, admittedly.
Laurent averts his eyes from the pets in public as they service their masters, flushed cheeks and lewd noises giving them away. He is disgusted by the court and their vile habits, though he knows he's no better, arching his back and making those same sounds for the Regent in bed. It was easier to give in to this than to be killed at thirteen, so he did what he could to satisfy the man who was supposed to be his protector.
Kastor is handsome, and the servants in the palace are eager to please the ruler of another country, perfectly meek and polite while he stays in the castle. However, for all their enchantment, rumors between servants swirl about that he is an illegitimate heir. Darker ones, too, like the possibility that he killed King Theomedes in order to gain control of the throne.
Laurent doesn’t believe many of the things he hears from the court, but this one may have some weight to it, he judges, when he sees the eyes of the alleged patricidal king. He’s seen enough men who have killed to know that their eyes have a certain darkness that cannot be replicated by an innocent soul. He sees it in his uncle’s eyes, and it haunts him.
He fears for his own future, and has considered many a time slipping into his room with the intent to seduce, and pulling a dagger from his cloak as he undresses, stabbing him and seeing the life fade out of his body. However skilled he is at fighting, he can not take the guards all at once, so it’s no more than a fantasy he indulges in, often in dreams.
Laurent stands by a white gilded-edge door, listening intently. He has learned by now to gather information, quiet footsteps and the privilege of being prince affords him some w The Regent must believe him to be less intelligent than in reality, as he never assigns security outside these meetings. All the servants and guards in the palace are trustworthy, and Laurent knows this, but it seems that the Regent fails to consider his own nephew an enemy, even as he plots for his demise.
He hears a smooth voice speaking in Akielon that he identifies as Kastor, saying, “send him to Ios as a pleasure slave for my brother. This will accomplish both of our goals.” There is no other meaning for his words that would make sense, would make this easier to digest. Laurent feels like he’s been punched in the chest, hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. He feels idiotic that he didn’t see this coming. The Regent had never been one to agree easily with others except when it benefitted him, so this sudden peace with Akielos was unexpected. However, it made sense. He knew that Laurent hated Prince Damianos, and desired undoubtedly to kill him. Laurent was also a threat to the throne, and sending him away as a slave, then faking his death, would mean that he was no longer an obstacle to his uncle’s rise to kingship. Even if he killed Damianos when he arrived, and his identity as the prince was exposed, he would surely be executed in Ios by Kastor himself. The thought makes Laurent’s body shake with fear as he drowns out the other voice coming through the shut door.
Moments later, the Regent’s new toy walks out of the room with a proud smile on his face, feigning superiority. As if being a replacement for one who abuses vulnerable young boys was an accomplishment. Laurent fields off his disgust and straightens his shoulders, giving him an impartial glance. Nicaise. He vaguely remembers the name coming from the Regent’s mouth whenever he needs a minor task completed. He doesn’t bother interacting much with the boy, as there is no need. He seems to enjoy his position, if the lascivious things he says are any indication, or the smirk in his shimmering eyes as he haughtily raises his nose above the servants.
Thankfully, Nicaise doesn’t question why Laurent is standing outside the door of an important meeting. Hopefully he thinks Laurent is still desperate to gain the attention of his uncle, as he was before Nicaise took his place. By this point, it was only to ensure his safety, but no one knew the difference. And who wouldn’t be enthralled with the affections of such a man?
Surely that is why Nicaise tolerates the Regent, even though his thin pre-pubescent figure looks far too young to be that of a typical pleasure slave. He has the chest of a boy, all long-limbed and lanky, with no real muscle to broaden his figure. The jewelry and makeup, the daring outfits, they all give an impression more akin to a goddess of lust than a damaged boy. Unsurprisingly, no one seems to comment on the youth of the Regent’s new pet. It’s not as if the years he spent sneaking into those chambers at night were completely unheard of. But this, no, it was blatant. There was no reasonable excuse of comfort by the closest family he had, not in this case. Laurent wonders if the boy was chosen specifically by his uncle, but the thought makes his stomach turn— he decides to end the consideration there.
The Regent is powerful, so close to becoming king that it is almost inescapable, unless Laurent lives to be 21. And his uncle seems damn determined to make sure he becomes the rightful ruler, instead of just a regent taking his nephew’s place, if the anonymous threats Laurent received were any indication.
As soon as the boy is gone, Laurent races to his room, and locks the door. He sits on his bed, perfectly made (as the Regent expected of him, years ago), and stares at the wall. There’s simply no escape. He could attempt to leave tonight, but the reason he can’t is the same he hasn’t already. The Regent would hunt him down, and he shudders to think of being found by his most powerful men, hiding alone somewhere with only his wits and a sword. No matter how remote the area, he is sure the Regent would find him, and the punishment for leaving would be worse than if he stayed. So he decides to use this situation to his advantage, as best as he can. He will seduce Damianos, his brother’s murderer, playing the part of the perfect subservient slave, and use this information to exact revenge— first on the Regent, then on Damianos.
After he comes up with the idea, he cries. He hasn’t cried in years, thought that the salt of tears didn’t reside in his body anymore, but now they flow freely. He’s reminded once again that Auguste is gone, has been dead for three years now, and there is no one to protect him. He will be forced to sleep with the man he hates, and must be docile and patient in order to gain some sense of control. For all that he's given over the last three years, he still must tolerate more, in silent compliance. The sobs rack his body harder when he realizes there’s no guarantee that his plan will work, and that he won’t die months from now, alone in Ios and unable to prevail.
The next morning, he is called from his studies by a servant, and appears in the same room where the Regent and Kastor discussed his fate in the afternoon before. He puts on a stoic mask, hiding the fury in his eyes that threatens to seep out of his skin when he pushes it down.
The Regent stands before him, decorated in all the attire a king might wear. His robes are luxurious, and he spares no expense, using the treasury to provide himself with small pleasures such as these. Laurent has the fleeting thought that it’s like dressing up a mangy dog. No matter how poised and elegant he may be, Laurent must always bite back the disgust that rises in his throat, endangering the calmness of his voice, when he sees the man.
He stands before his uncle's desk, almost reaching his height, and looks him in the eyes.
“My dear nephew,” the Regent starts consolingly, though Laurent has never felt comfort from a word he's said, “I believe it is time that you learn some experience in matters of the world. King Kastor, ruler of Ios, and I have arranged for you to visit his kingdom for the next few years to study the Akielon customs. He is now an ally of Vere, so please do not disappoint me.” His voice takes on a harsh quality as he ends with this phrase that would be innocuous coming from anyone else, but is clearly a threat. If Laurent chooses to disobey, he will be killed another way. This at least allowed him a chance of survival.
Laurent nods his head, then presses a knee to the floor, bowing, letting his golden locks fall in his face and praising that they block his face from showing an unmistakable rage. His expression becomes neutral as he raises his head, and the Regent dismisses him with a wave of his ring-laden hand.