Hurt surprise flickered briefly in Laurent's eyes, though he hid it quickly enough, drawing his arms away from Damen. It was a surprisingly sharp accusation, especially considering that Laurent had done nothing to earn it. He would have preferred being struck across the face by his new husband in front of their audience.

Whore.

Stung deeply, Laurent took a step back and turned, keeping his spine straight and his face cooly impassive to hide his reeling pride. Options and retorts spun through his head, limited by his knowledge that they were very much on display.

Pretend that we're in love. Laugh it off and make an excuse to get some air.

"Then don't fear you'll ever need to be troubled again by a whore in your bed, my king," Laurent hissed, letting the hurt rage show on his face, even though the rest of the camp wouldn't know what it was that had caused the quarrel.

His horse was only a few paces distant, ready to go, though the business of packing up after lunch was only half done. Laurent loosed the reins and mounted in two swift movements, putting heels to his horse and taking off down the road. He didn't much care where he was going, as long as he didn't have to spend the next minutes looking at Damen's face.