It was as if nothing had ever happened between them.
Damen held himself with silent dignity, back straight, his arm beneath Laurent's hand like iron. "I would not appreciate it," was all he had to say to that. "You are my Consort, and due every respect." Woe to the man or woman who slighted his Prince.
He'd frowned at 'docile trophy.' That...was not how he viewed Laurent. Was that what Laurent thought his new husband wanted?
Slaves prostrated themselves as they passed in the corridors, with various freeborn and nobles of both their houses bowing deeply and murmuring, Exalted, Highness. News of their emergence quickly spread throughout the palace, and breakfast in the Akielon style was spread out in the feast hall.
Well-wishers were everywhere. Damen, who had no talent for the sort of play-acting that this role seemed to endlessly require of him, focused on the things he'd felt when he'd held Laurent in his arms that morning, still open and warm to him. It seemed to be enough for their courts, who viewed them with a sort of collective set of rose-colored glasses. He was thankful they were so eager to believe him truly joyed, besotted with his Prince.
At intervals throughout the morning, after breakfast and while plans for the day were set in motion, he turned to speak in Laurent's ear. No doubt those watching (and everyone was) assumed he was murmuring sweet nothings there. They were somethings, though, practical somethings: repetitions of various Akielon words and their meanings, explanations behind various customs that this day held, questions about the Veretian expectations. They knew so little of each other, and he had promised Laurent to help him with his Akielon, and this seemed much safer to Damen than any other sort of conversation they might hold after...all that had happened.
no subject
Damen held himself with silent dignity, back straight, his arm beneath Laurent's hand like iron. "I would not appreciate it," was all he had to say to that. "You are my Consort, and due every respect." Woe to the man or woman who slighted his Prince.
He'd frowned at 'docile trophy.' That...was not how he viewed Laurent. Was that what Laurent thought his new husband wanted?
Slaves prostrated themselves as they passed in the corridors, with various freeborn and nobles of both their houses bowing deeply and murmuring, Exalted, Highness. News of their emergence quickly spread throughout the palace, and breakfast in the Akielon style was spread out in the feast hall.
Well-wishers were everywhere. Damen, who had no talent for the sort of play-acting that this role seemed to endlessly require of him, focused on the things he'd felt when he'd held Laurent in his arms that morning, still open and warm to him. It seemed to be enough for their courts, who viewed them with a sort of collective set of rose-colored glasses. He was thankful they were so eager to believe him truly joyed, besotted with his Prince.
At intervals throughout the morning, after breakfast and while plans for the day were set in motion, he turned to speak in Laurent's ear. No doubt those watching (and everyone was) assumed he was murmuring sweet nothings there. They were somethings, though, practical somethings: repetitions of various Akielon words and their meanings, explanations behind various customs that this day held, questions about the Veretian expectations. They knew so little of each other, and he had promised Laurent to help him with his Akielon, and this seemed much safer to Damen than any other sort of conversation they might hold after...all that had happened.