bakerstreet | ( bodyguard shipping. )

It shouldn't surprise him that someone feels like this - that a Veretian does, but it still makes him pause. Still makes him wonder how this happened, how things got so bad between them that they would assume such things about Akielons - about Akielon nobility.

He moves to his own horse, mounting in a swift movement, his foot firmly in the stirrups. Behind him, he hears the sounds of everyone else readying, and wheels his horse around to a few steps back and to the side of Laurent's so that both horses are aware of each other and don't startle.

"What makes you so certain he would?"

Laurent glances over. He's glad that Nikandros is a little bit behind him to the side. He doesn't like the strange, uncomfortable way that Nikandros acts around him. As though they're equals.

You are not my king.

Maybe not, but I'm about to be your Prince's Consort, you damned uppity bodyguard.

Spine straight, he keeps his posture tense, not allowing himself any softness or weakness. Not now, of all times.

"Because I find it difficult to believe that Akielons are so different from Veretians," Laurent answers, tone sharp and icy as ever, nudging his horse to step forward in hopes that the guardsman would take the hint and ride farther back. Laurent desperately didn't want to continue this train of conversation.

Unsurprisingly, Damen isn't particularly good at acting the part; good enough that he hasn't been hauled aside and questioned, though, he supposes.

Behind them, he hears the whistle as the wagons are wheeled around, falling into neat lines while they wait for their prince to lead them out and onto the main stretch of the road. He glances back for the prince's guards and while they're there, their eyes are already on the road, watching their surroundings just as Damen is. It's a point in their favor, that they are paying that much attention even here.

The two of them start off and the guards do linger back; close enough to be of help if need be but not so close as to hear every bit of conversation, most stolen away on a breeze.

"If the situation was reversed-?" Damen starts, and then stops, falling silent. It's not a question he wants to ask; he doesn't think the prince would, not with how he seems to find it just as distasteful, but he's not sure why else he would bring it up like that. Perhaps a different method of assurance. "Any harm that came to you would be met with retribution from Vere. If you won't believe my word, believe that Akielos has no thirst for another war with you."

This time, the look Laurent shoots at him is simmering with icy rage. "You overstep your place," Laurent says, drawing up his horse so that he can reprimand his new guardsman with the full fury of his temper. "I don't know if you're some cast-off bastard of the king's who fancies his brother's new plaything or if you're some spoiled nobleman's son who got this posting through nepotism and because no one with a capable head for diplomacy was available. You may function as the captain of my guards now, but you will not speak to me with such familiarity."

Turning away, as though Nikandros was some minor annoyance who was now beneath his attention, he called two of his own guards to his sides, using them as walls to keep anyone--particularly Nikandros--from speaking to him.

He has a head for diplomacy; he isn't the one accusing Akielon royalty of the potential to rape on a whim. Damen doesn't quite bristle but his hand does tighten on the reins just slightly, his jaw clenching to keep himself quiet. If this is what he has to look forward to in this marriage, he can safely say that he's not overly enthused about the prospect of it.

Unsurprisingly, Laurent uses his guards as a barrier between the two of them which suits him well enough, though he doesn't miss the way one of the guards glances back, lips tilting into what is quite clearly a lopsided smirk and then turns to face forward.

They ride in near silence for hours; Damen sweeps the trail of wagons and horses once every hour or so to ensure that everything seems to be in working order, that there is no one at their backs or to the sides that they aren't expecting. The guards work together well enough, too; they take orders well, not balking when he gives them.

By the time they are set to make camp that night, Damen is still giving him a fair berth, though he sticks as close as he dares so he can actually do his job. Once they're settled for the night, he comes to sit across from him, a bowl of thick stew held in one hand, water in the other. "I meant no disrespect earlier," Damen offers, crossing his legs in front of him, feet warmed by the fire.

Laurent notices that when it comes to command, just as to combat, Nikandros is remarkably skilled. The company is already mixed, Akielon and Veretian, and Laurent knows he isn't making things any better with his blatant displeasure toward his betrothal. And yet he sees Nikandros account for that, and compensate in how he handles the men. He takes command of their little group, and performs his duty flawlessly.

In all aspects except for the continued familiarity he shows toward Laurent, which nettles Laurent's temper immediately. "I did," he replies. He picks at his food, stomach clenching with misery and dread. "You were only defending the honor of your prince when I questioned it. I asked a question, and reprimanded you for attempting to answer it."

It wasn't an apology, since Laurent felt no remorse about his own behavior. It was simply acknowledgement. "I would assure you that I'm capable of behaving myself in an actual diplomatic or courtly situation, but you have no reason to believe me, and your good opinion of me, quite frankly, isn't worth pigshit."

Laurent poked irritably at a piece of potato in his stew. "Dismissed, Captain."

Acknowledgement is better than what he expects to get, truthfully. He half expects Laurent to be even more furious, to tell him to go to his tent like he's some sort of spoiled child to be grounded or confined to his room.

It doesn't happen, though. Instead, they're left with...this, whatever this is. "Your brother spoke highly of you, from what I was told," Damen offers, digging his spoon into the stew. It's not the best road fare he's had, but it isn't bad, either. Idly, he chews on a chunk of -- he's not sure. Rabbit, maybe. Deer? It doesn't really matter; meat is meat.

Still, he isn't fool enough to push where he's not wanted, and even less so when it's someone who he's going to have to marry once they make it to Ios. Instead, he rises, inclines his head and takes his stew to the other fire, where most of the soldiers and entourage are. It's best for him to get to know these men now, to know weak points other s could exploit, to understand how these men worked with someone as difficult as Laurent.

Surprisingly - or perhaps not, Laurent's men seem to adore him. There's no shortage of comments, of course, but nothing outright disrespectful. The remainder of his own men who didn't leave with Nikandros - who were sent ahead earlier, carefully keep their expressions hidden, following his words to a T where instructed. He can tell it prickles at some of them, watching their king-to-be do this, but the worth of it was explained to them all the same.

By the end of the night, Damen's learned most of the names of the men and triple checked the watches posted that night, certain in their solidity. The moon is barely a sliver in the sky, granting hardly any light as he picks his way back, his own tent perched next to Laurent's. He takes watch on the south end, too awake to try and sleep, relieving the man who was there. It leaves both tents in plain view, the fire nearby so Damen can feed wood into it steadily and keep the visibility behind him good without blinding himself or ruining his night vision.

[Had to think about that--also, went to sleep. So since Laurent's father and brother are still alive, in order to marry off Laurent to the south, then his uncle's schemes can't have included killing them. But he could have definitely been profiting from the war, and therefore wants the war to continue, so killing the prince while he's in Akielon custody seems like a good way to ensure that. And the uncle could be collaborating with Kastor in schemes further south as suit us, as well.]

Laurent retires early, feeling antisocial and unhappy, and goes alone into his lovely, luxurious tent. He has a single attendant, who follows him in, to assist the prince with his laces and what few needs Laurent allows to be tended by a servant, and then the attendant leaves again.

The attendant's a young man, younger than Laurent, with curly brown hair and pale skin. He casts a shy, interested smile toward 'Nikandros' as he goes by.

Later, near the middle of the night, a young man from the camp strides over toward Laurent's tent. He has the same curly hair, pale skin. He might be an inch taller, with shoulders a bit wider, but it's hard to tell in the darkness. A servant, undoubtedly, not a soldier. He is, in all likelihood, on some errand for the prince in the middle of the night, perhaps even a lover.

Without consulting Damen, the young man lifts the tent flap and enters Laurent's tent.

It's not surprising that the prince doesn't bid him a goodnight. Damen doesn't expect it, doesn't complain about it. He watches people who come and go, the fire crackling and popping at his back. For the most part, the camp is quiet. Damen stretches his legs out, doing a series of idle stretches to keep himself both awake and limber, and notes the servant the first time.

He gets a half-smile back, Damen's eyes flicking over him, lingering just a touch before the servant vanishes.

The second time, he sees him, however, makes him pause. Laurent is prickly, he's stubborn and he wouldn't allow someone in and out of his tent like that, not without announcing himself. Damen hesitates a second, digging his teeth into his bottom lip and then rises, scooping his sword up along the way.

He ducks into the tent after the servant, trying to keep quiet and not wake the prince while actually doing something, all the same. There's no sword in his grasp, but there is a dagger on his belt along with a few little pouches. Likely nothing, he supposes, but he grabs him by the arm either way, not missing the wide-eyed look of shock and the way he strains, feet scuffing the bottom of the tent.

Laurent's a light sleeper, always on edge and suspicious, and he rouses at the soft scuffling noises.

Clad in a white sleeping-shirt, still with an excessive amount of laces, hair rumpled, Laurent draws a knife, because he can't tell who's in his tent, only that they're in opposition. One of them a guard, then, and the other... "Who's there?" he calls, irritation and command in his voice to hide the note of vulnerability. Whatever is going on, the situation entered inside his tent without him waking, and Laurent can't think of any reasonable explanation.

He wants to light a candle, to identify the strangers in his tent, but doing so would require setting down his dagger, and he's not about to do that until he knows who in this tent he can trust.

The benefit to being broad shouldered and tall, Damen supposes, is that he can simply wind a hand around the other man's wrist and jerk him back and he has to go. He outweighs him by a good bit which means that when the servant thrashes, the most he does is pound uselessly against him.

It might be entertaining if this strange sense of wrongness wasn't pushing through him.

"Nikandros and a servant," Damen says, only a slight pause of hesitation between the name and the latter part. It's too dark to see much, but he hears the soft noise of a vial uncorking and jerks the servant back, dragging him out of the tent. He's not saying anything, which is unsettling and Damen's eyes are taking too long to adjust to the dim lighting.

As it turns out, it doesn't matter that he gets him out of the tent. Whatever it was in the vial is swallowed by the man and it doesn't take long before he goes limp, sagging in Damen's hold. He acts as fast as he can, grabbing the servant by the back of his neck and rather gracelessly shoving the hilt of his own dagger into his mouth, not willing to risk fingers. It works well enough; the man vomits onto the grass outside the fire and Damen maintains his hold on him while the rest of Laurent's guards circle over, swords drawn, cautious. He hopes that it's enough to salvage him from whatever sort of poison he took so they can question him, but it wouldn't surprise him if not.

Nikandros.

Laurent's surprised at the variety of emotions that go through him at that name. Dislike, distrust, and irritation are coupled with confidence (Nikandros had consistently made an effort to be diplomatic, even when Laurent hadn't), trust (he remembered how much care Nikandros had taken not to harm him, when they had sparred together), and a subdued, uncertain sort of longing.

So he's attractive. Now is not the time.

The opponents leave his tent almost as suddenly as they'd come, and Laurent follows, blade in hand, to see the vomiting. In the firelight, he can see their faces a little better.

"Etienne," Laurent identifies him, brow furrowing. A younger nobleman's son. No one of importance, but enough influence to get a place in the prince's retinue. Laurent hadn't been surprised when he had volunteered to come along, even though he had no especial rank or loyalty within Laurent's entourage. With so few attendants coming along, it gave an unimportant younger son a chance at real ambition. Except for ... this. "Why?"

The young man trembles, shaking either from fear or poison, possibly both. His stare flicks over Laurent and the others, terrified. "He said they'd rape my sister. They will. He--he--"

"Who?" Laurent demands.

The boy shakes his head, coughing and shaking in Nikandros' arms.

"Let him go," Laurent orders, certain that he can handle one poisoned young man if he tries to lunge, but when the boy is released, he crumples, and Laurent can't get any further information out of him as he shakes and spasms, and finally goes still.

Jaw tight, Laurent's gaze goes to Nikandros, wanting to know what further information his new captain of the guard can offer.

It isn't that they don't have assassinations in Akielos. They do, they have. But the problem is that they're not like this. This, of course, being so amateur that it fails rather easily. The servant - the boy, isn't an assassin. Worse still, now that they're properly in the light, he recognizes him as one of Laurent's retinue. Veretian politics are a mess.

Damen releases him, but just like that, he folds to the ground, a crumpled heap of limbs and twitches until finally falling still. Damen's hand tightens over the pommel of his sword, furious for a moment, and then he crouches, gently lifting the body up, dragging it away from the mess and laying it by the fire. The vial is picked up; hopefully enough is left that he can have someone make heads or tails of what it might be.

"Are you alright?" Damen asks, crouching next to the body, his fingers gentle as he closes Etienne's eyes, crosses his arms over his chest. There's no small amount of distaste for Veretian politics here - assassination is one thing, but holding someone's sister captive and forcing them to take the poison instead, if they were caught? Damen grimaces, glancing away. "Take the body, perform what rites you need to. Send it back to his family."

One of the men nods, and two of them step forward to carry it while the rest of camp starts to settle, but only just. Damen turns his attention back to Laurent, nodding to the tent; this isn't a conversation for out here. From the side, Jord steps in closer, too, coming with them.

Once they're inside, Damen glances around the tent. "Who would risk a sloppy attempt like that?"

"Someone who wants the war to continue." Laurent sat down on the edge of his cot, watching his two captains with sharp eyes as his mind worked.

Who benefits most from the war?

I haven't been paying enough attention to the subtleties of politics. I've been lazy. Navigating the Veretian court has been enough.

My uncle benefits from the war. Substantially so. But he wouldn't try to kill me for that. Surely not.

"If I die in your custody, it shatters the alliance between our countries. It seems very clear that someone is willing to go to great lengths to ensure that happens. This was a Veretian attempt, but Vere would never believe that, if I died in Akielon custody. We hurry south as quickly as we can, although I trust that you will not take for granted in the slightest that the increased Akielon company will many me any safer, if there's a conspiracy to see me dead."

Tense and irritable, Laurent glared at them both--his anger wasn't directed at them, but generally, at his steadily worsening situation. "Jord, do what you feel is necessary with the Veretians. Make certain that there are no more traitors lurking in my retinue. Nikandros, you'll do the same with yours, and I trust that you won't let any national loyalty blind you to dangers."

Veretians, Damen thinks bitterly and presses his lips together unhappily.

"You should have someone sleep in here at night," Damen says after a beat, glancing from Jord to Laurent. He doesn't much care who it is; it could be him, it could be whoever Laurent felt was the most loyal. Either way, he ought to have someone at the very least. Someone they could trust not to do something foolish, to risk the prince and the treaties. "Jord and I can sweep the camp and ensure this doesn't happen again. I'll send word to Ios, that they should be aware of trickery."

At the mention of traitors in his people, he raises his eyebrows. He doesn't need to say that it wasn't his people who tried to murder their prince.

Instead, he inclines his head, toying with the vial in his hand. He'll pass it off to the camp's physician, to see if he can make some sort of sense of it.

"What of Etienne's sister? His family?"

Laurent watches them both very closely, considering the information that they offer and the suggestions. "Jord will see to Etienne's family. Send word, make arrangements. Keep this quiet. Go through my brother, he can handle this adequately. We want to make sure that Etienne's family is safe without drawing any attention to this incident."

"You'll sleep in here. Arrange for a cot." Laurent's eyes lingered on Nikandros. As much as he would have preferred Jord, he needed to be attentive of how things looked to the Akielons as he was transported south. If he took Jord into his tent, it would be suspected that they were lovers, and that would threaten his ability to keep Jord in his retinue. If he took Nikandros, there could be relatively little suspicion from Akielos. Presumably they would have had the sense to send someone who knew better than to touch his prince's fiance.

"Jord, dismissed," Laurent said, eyes still on the Akielon. "You think that, whatever this is, it's not going to involve Akielons or happen in Akielos?"

For a moment, he thought that Laurent would refuse it out of sheer spite. Damen braces himself for a fight, and then settles when he realizes that there's no need; even Laurent is a decent enough man to observe any rites they may have, even for a traitor.

Damen inclines his head just so when he's instructed to fetch a cot; it wouldn't be anything, really, to simply grab his own and have it moved into Laurent's chambers. He'll have to take a different watch to make sure that he's there by the time that Laurent retires at night. Caught in his own head, he barely notices Jord leaving.

Glancing up when he's gone, he meets ice-blue eyes and moves to lean against the table set up there, shrugging one shoulder. "I think it will, to a lesser extent. Akielos has no stomach for tricks like this."

"You're naive," Laurent said, flatly, holding Nikandros' gaze. "You have no stomach for tricks like this. I believe that. You're straightforward by nature. Honest. Unsubtle."

Rising to his feet, Laurent pours himself a glass of water, considering it briefly. "How long was he in my tent?" he asks, knowing at least that when he woke, they were at the far side of the tent.

Once he feels reassured that Etienne would not have had the chance to poison the water, he sips at it, returning his attention to Nikandros. "Do you understand why I chose you, and not Jord? It's not out of either preference or trust, I can assure you of that."

"A few hours of travel - most of which you did not speak to me. You think you state full measure of me?" Damen asks, curious without being accusing, frowning faintly once more. He seems to be doing that more and more, given what's going on lately.

He's not wrong, of course; Akielons are like that, they're far more straight-forward than the Veretians. It's one thing to be proud of, he supposes.

Part of him thinks to tell him to not drink it, but no one else has been in here or left, Damen's certain of that. They've checked the tents, ensured there's no way for someone to climb under the ties. The flaps are the only way in and out.

"A good faith gesture, perhaps." Damen knows that isn't the case, but says it anyway. "Jord is one of your men; I am not. If poison of the physical kind will not work, whoever is trying to upset the treaties might try verbal poison."

Insinuating that Laurent is sleeping with one of his longest held guards, that he's sullying this potential relationship between Akielos is the sort of thing that Veretians would try. Laurent would never sleep with the Akielon attendant - no one would believe it. There's safety in that.

"Half right," Laurent said, sitting back down on his bed. "When my betrothed finds out, he would question whether I had chosen Jord for intimate reasons, and he would take steps to put space between me and my most trusted guard, which I cannot allow if there are to be attempts on my life. Your prince is far more likely to trust that you won't touch me. I trust that, and you may be assured that such trust is very rare for me."

His eyes linger on the Akielon, gaze sharp and calculating as ever. "Unless your prince is very stupid or very trusting, the attempt of verbal poison would not be necessary. Unfortunately, it has to be you."

"You're going to twist yourself in knots if you treat everything like that," Damen says gently. He heads to the flap of the tent, flagging down an attendant to bring his cot from his tent into Laurent's. The rest can stay; he'll break it down tomorrow and set it up as a part of Laurent's tent when it's all said and done. For the time being, though, he's loath to leave the prince alone.

The longer he sticks with this, though, the longer he thinks he may regret not telling him right away, who he is. Laurent isn't intending to betray the Akielon crown, or set things up for him to win in some strange fashion. He's simply surviving, doing what's necessary to keep everything moving forward. He can respect that much.

"I don't think he would fault you for seeking pleasure elsewhere," Damen says after a moment of weighing his words, of consideration. The servant bringing the cot in hefts the flap up and together, they manage to get it placed near the entrance, far enough away from Laurent's that it's unobtrusive. Blankets are piled on top of it next, and Damen sends the servant to check and make sure someone has maintained his position of watch on the south end. "Veretians have pets, Akielons have slaves. You wouldn't be the first to go elsewhere."

"I'm aware of that. And despite the rumors that I'm incapable, it wouldn't break the alliance if there were rumors that I'd taken lovers in the past. Perhaps, depending on the sort of man your prince is, I'd be allowed to take lovers. I understand that you think he's ... open-minded, on that topic." Laurent's eyes lingered on the Akielon. He'd already told him far too much. He was strangely easy to trust, and that was ... dangerous.

Although Laurent did, at least, need him informed so that he could do his job as Captain. And that meant making him understand the threats that surrounded Laurent. "In my experience, people are rather less open minded toward sharing me than they might be toward other partners. People look at me and see something they want to possess."

That's one way of putting it. Damen debates his response - he wants to make sure Laurent understands that he's not going to be forced into anything he doesn't want to do, but he doesn't want Laurent to look too hard into why he knows these things, just yet.

"From what I understand, the prince is more concerned with his partner's enjoyment," Damen starts carefully and goes to settle down onto his cot, stripping off his sandals, his sword, anything that would make it difficult to move.

It was true, of course; if Laurent found the idea so abhorrent, Damen wasn't about to force the issue. "That they want it means more than appearances." That is, fucking his soon-to-be husband as some sort of proof of consummation of the marriage. They'd figure something out.

Laurent laughed, more out of surprise than anything else, with a drop of sharp-edged teasing. "You've fucked him?" he asked, and the idea was so incredibly amusing--believable, though. Nikandros was handsome enough to catch the interest of a prince, no question.

Prince's honour or not, Nikandros couldn't possibly have that certainty unless he had personal experience with the matter--or, statistically more likely, that he had a close friend or a relative who had been the prince's lover.

Laurent couldn't resist the next question, eyes glittering with impish mirth in hopes that he could make his guardsman squirm. "Who topped?"

The question brings him pause, his eyes widening. He supposes it would look like that - or sound like that, rather, which is not what he meant at all. For a moment, he fumbles for proper response, not quite sure what the best answer is, since none of them are particularly good.

"I-- no." Not a great start. Damen recovers after a moment, sheepish. "I've heard."

The second question makes the tips of his ears warm, not quite a full blush but he does glance away, shrugging his shoulders. "I wouldn't know. He's -- I imagine it depends on preference."

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hmm do we wanna say the regent sent someone to try & kill laurent? or frame akielons for an attempt?

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sounds goooood also lmk if i need to edit this at all

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prayerhandsemojiiii and the con is finally over