princekiller | it's not a date unless somebody dies

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it's not a date unless somebody dies

Since Erasmus's arrival, there had been little opportunity for Damen to spend time alone with Laurent. A boy raised as a slave, raised to serve to such a degree as Erasmus, could not be left alone to fend for himself in a world as strange as this. And so Damen had taken him in, taken him under his wing to an extent. Laurent, upon learning that Damen now shared a dwelling with the boy who had been raised to become his personal body slave - even if that boy was still unaware of Damen's true identity - had sworn to not set foot in Damen's apartment.

In truth, Damen did not quite understand the upset, though he knew Erasmus was likely to drop to his knees out of sheer habit should the man he knew only as the Prince of Vere were to enter his presence.

It was partially that reason, but largely that Damen had found himself longing to be near Laurent more and more with each passing week, that found him in Laurent's terrace, lounging upon the chaise with Laurent pressed against his side. Dutch had shown him quite some time ago how to operate the television and had suggested the notion of staring at with Laurent as a courting activity.

Though it had taken some time to find anything both he and Laurent could agree worth watching, Damen could now see the appeal. It was a quiet even. Relaxed. The majority of Damen's focus was centered on the press of Laurent's arm against his own, Laurent's slow and even breathing, the light brush of Laurent's hair upon Damen's shoulder. But even so, he was hardly uncomfortable.

'If I happen to fall asleep right here, will you attend me?' he asked after a long, silent moment, his lips quirked into a faint grin as he smoothed a hand down Laurent's arm.

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Sprawled on the chaise next to him, Damen's body seemed as nomadic as Laurent's was still. Without seeming to notice, he shifted his large body constantly - at times a foot perilously near to Laurent's short table, others a reclining of his curls against the back of the chaise. More often still, his head turned to regard Laurent as he regarded the television, and when Damen spoke, Laurent could not fully repress a smile.

'That word lacks its previous innocence,' he noted. 'And if you have worked yourself to exhaustion, you have only your constant fidgeting to blame.'

'Has it ever truly been innocent?' Damen countered, still watching Laurent with a soft smile. Laurent's tone was fond, Damen couldn't help but notice. Or perhaps he was only reading it in such a manner now that their relationship had shifted.

He shifted slightly, a ruse to press himself a bit more firmly against Laurent's side as he let out a breath. 'Do you really find it so easy to sit in one place for so long a time?'

Laurent exhaled slowly, the only outward sign given that Damen's remark had struck an unexpected target. 'Auguste used to ask the same of me,' he said, 'Whenever he found me at my books. It would seem I do not share either of your restless natures.'

His smile was sad, but not unbearably so. Some things between them, he expected, would always hurt. Laurent gave in to Damen's supposed critique and stretched his neck, his eyes finding the space beneath his front door as he did so. There was no reason for it. It was only a feeling, yet it was quite enough to put Laurent on alert. He had long ago learned to trust his instincts, and he had honed them well - there was nothing at all to see, and yet, something was wrong.

'You have not invited your - ' Laurent inhaled carefully, shaping his thoughts around Damen's guest without ever thinking his name, 'Friend, have you?'

It wasn't the first Laurent had spoken of his brother, but just as with every time before, Damen went still. Quiet. It felt a delicate subject, an obvious lowering of Laurent's wall, and Damen was careful to not disturb the gift offered to him.

And, not for the first time, he found himself wishing they'd had a chance at something different, a chance maybe to meet the man Laurent remembered so dearly. Befriending him. The very idea was impossible, of course. His father's opinions of Veretians alone prohibited any sort of alliance with or without the seizing of Delpha.

Still, at times, Damen couldn't help but wonder.

The topic was altered just as quickly as it had arrived, Laurent letting out a quiet breath. Damen struggled to follow for only a moment before his brow creased with curiosity. 'You mean Erasmus,' he said uselessly. Though calling him a friend felt oddly incorrect. 'No, he's... he remains under my roof for the evening. I think he's still marveling that the Prince of Vere could have befriended a lowly Akielon slave.'

They both knew quite well that despite being assigned a spacious dwelling, the boy remained beneath Damen's roof all evenings. He said, 'You do him a discredit, not telling him who you are. Ignorance is cultivated, or has an Akielon slave not had enough of that?'

Irritation rose within him, and with it, the knowledge that it was a distraction. Laurent's focus sharpened on the door. Again there was nothing, and his attention broadened, ears listening hard for any sound in the hall beyond. Turning, Laurent took in the windows, but only the black of night greeted him, as well as the distant lights of the building across. He pressed his lips together.

It wasn't their first argument regarding Erasmus and Damen sighed for its reminder, the comfortable, quiet moment long past now.

Laurent was not wrong, of course, but still Damen passed a hand over his face in irritation. 'And do you really think it wise to tell him the truth while he's sleeping in my front room? He's in an unknown world with untold freedoms, but living with the man he was trained his entire life to serve.'

'Not while he is living with you, no,' said Laurent, for he did not feel an able bodied young man with rooms of his own needed to be there at all - he was a person, not a spaniel, but again he set the thoughts aside.

Something was amiss, and Laurent paid Damen a silent apology when the best course of action came into focus. He rose abruptly. 'I will take a walk. Alone,' he added with a sharp look downward. Damen was a strong tactician in battle, but he had no head for these smaller struggles. If Laurent took him into the halls with him he would only make for a distraction. 'I will return shortly,' he said and strode immediately towards the door.

Once it was closed on Damen's surprised face, Laurent gazed down the hall in both directions, then went to the stairs. He entered the stairwell there, but he did not descend, his eyes instead on his own door.

They did not disagree on that, at least, but Damen knew the true argument was regarding Erasmus's presence in Damen's dwelling at all.

Damen sighed again and sat up straighter, preparing himself for a new review of the discussion. Only Laurent was on his feet moments later and Damen could only stare as he headed for the door, not letting Damen put up a finger of resistance before he was gone entirely. It happened so quickly that Damen was left blinking in his wake, the television still flickering brightly across from him.

It was not like Laurent to abandon an argument. Not in this manner, at least, and Damen could not say he was pleased.

He fell back into the chaise, sinking into the cushions with his arms crossed over his chest. They would either continue when Laurent returned or Laurent will press a new discussion; either option Damen would welcome.

For now, he let the sounds of the television lull his eyes to half mast.

It had taken time for the blonde one to leave. Dutch's plans had only included the tall one, the one that she'd seen before but hadn't gotten much of a chance to play with. That was all due to change today. She's not sure how much longer she'll be able to be here so the time to strike is now.

It's been far too long since she's really played and she's started to get antsy. So, when the blonde one leaves, she slips her way into the room, keeping to the shadows and watching Damen's lazy sprawl.

There's a knife in one hand, pointed at the floor, an action she's soon to correct. Stepping lightly, she comes up behind the couch, behind Damen and tilts her head, smiling down at him pleasantly.

And she waits. Waits to see his realization and to see what sort of action he'll take.

Sounds filtered from the television, filling the room with a constant chatter that Damen found oddly comforting. It wasn't so different from conversations held around a campfire, Damen picking up on the conversation here and there as he drifted in and out of consciousness and sunk deeper into the cushions of the chaise.

He tried to remain aware of the door, of the sound of Laurent's return and, though he wasn't aware of the knob turning, he did hear footsteps soon enough.

'How was your walk?' he asked, tipping his head to the side, though he kept his eyes closed. The chaise really was alarmingly comfortable.

He really was quite the oblivious one right now, wasn't he? Dutch doesn't answer immediately, choosing to admire how innocent and peaceful he looks. Whatever he and the other one had been talking about doesn't seem to have bothered him too much.

But, she's been asked a question and Dutch's manners have always been impeccable when she's chosen to use them. So, she brings the dagger up, holds it just beside his cheek when she says, "Oh, it was very pleasant."

She waits and watches for his eyes to open, for recognition to register. She wants him to know who's there before she starts in the pain.

Damen interpreted Laurent's silence as continued irritation, the time he'd spent out clearly not having much of an affect upon his mood or his upset with Damen's decisions regarding Erasmus.

And then several things occurred at once: Damen sighed and something cool pressed against his cheek and voice that most certainly did not belong to Laurent sounded through the room. Damen's eyes snapped open and he jerked, the movement enough to press the blade against his cheek cutting through skin.

'Dutch,' he breathed, his blood cold with shock.

It took only a moment longer to realize the Dutch above him was not the Dutch he considered a friend, but one from the other city. The one he'd met only a week or so previous. It wouldn't take much to disarm and overwhelm her, but Damen stayed as he was, a trickle of blood slithering down his cheek. Dread pooled hot in in his belly. 'What have you done with him?'

"Oh, is that any way to greet your friend?" Dutch smiles and presses the knife just a little more against his cheek. There's a fine laceration on his skin, a sluice of blood sliding down and painting the cool metal of the knife red. Oh, that's a good start. A very, very good start.

"I haven't done anything to him," she replies, taking out the other dagger and letting it rest against the prominent vein in his neck. She doesn't think he'll risk making a move but almost any he does will be countered and turned into a devastating injury for him.

"He's just left you behind like the uncaring person that he is," Dutch coos, smiling down at him. "He'll come back to quite the sight, won't he?"

Any thought Damen had to ducking free and disarming her evaporated at the press of another sharp blade to his throat. Muscles drawn tight, Damen hissed in a breath and pushed back against the cushions, glaring up at Dutch.

Her words had little effect; whatever Laurent's reasons for leaving, they had nothing to do with her, he was certain. And it would only be a matter of time before he returned. That notion did like to comfort, however, given that Laurent would return unarmed; as skilled as he was, he would certainly struggle against two blades.

Keeping still, Damen considered his options and refused to show any bit of weakness as he breathed carefully. 'Yes,' he said, his voice quiet and even. 'He'll return to the sight of you dead upon the floor. Is that your plan?'

Dutch laughs though the sound is anything but pleasant. It's dark, edged with a mania that is both dangerous and terrifying. It's a sound many before him have heard just before she's cut their throats from ear to ear. A red smile that marks the end of their life.

"Are you planning on killing me while you bleed out from the large open wound in your neck?" Dutch asks, sliding the knife against his neck back and forth. The blade whispers over his skin, cutting very superficially. "That's quite the ambitious aim you have there, friend. I don't think it's going to go like that but it's cute anyway. No, no. I thought I'd open up your pretty little neck and leave your friend with the stains."

In the many months Damen had known Dutch, he had never heard from her a laugh like that. It caught under his skin as surely as the knife upon his throat and he swallowed tightly, unease winding hotter in his belly.

Once again, Damen considered his options. He had no weapon within easy range, no blade or even blunt object. If this Dutch was anything like the one he considered a friend, her training was extensive. Damen would have a single chance to defend himself and strike in return, and likely not much more.

His fingers twitched at his side, head dropping back to avoid the sharp edge of the blade even as bit into his skin.

'You're dead the minute he steps through the door,' Damen said, his eyes still on hers. 'He's ruthless. He'll kill you without a thought.'

"But, he's not here, is he?" Dutch croons, glancing at the door. Maybe she should have knocked this one out and locked the door but she was well into her plans now and stopping would only make the fun stop. She doesn't have plans to make this last long, not with the blonde one returning soon but she's not about to cease her activities completely.

Dutch taps the knife against his vein thoughtfully before moving the other one up to his ear, letting the blade trace a path around his ear. She didn't press hard enough to cut but she was thinking about it.

"What if I could take this?" she asks, pressing the point of the blade against his earlobe. "As a souvenir, that is. I don't usually take things but this would look positive divine on my nightstand."

Damen's words were more promise than threat even as they felt strange on his tongue. Months ago, Laurent would not have raised a finger to help him. Months ago, Laurent might have helped, in fact. Here, Damen was of no use to Laurent, after all.

A chilling thought struck Damen in that moment: the notion that Laurent was at the heart of this attack, that Dutch's blade pressed to his skin by Laurent's bidding.

It would hardly be the first time Damen had been betrayed by a lover.

His heart seized in his chest just as Dutch trailed the tip of the knife to his ear, pressing now not hard enough to break skin, but nearly. 'Not good enough wouldn't wear about your neck like a pendant?' he replied, an attempt to ignore the fresh wave of unease clawing at his throat. 'Think I'm insulted.'

"You know, while I do love talking to you, I don't think I'm going to let you continue to stall me," she drawls, drawing the tip of the knife around his ear with the intent to cut, to bleed, to hurt. It's not deep enough to fully extract the body part but she'll get to that.

"This is much more fun," she decides, keeping the other knife right at his throat, pressing hard enough to separate skin torturously slow. "Tell me, do you prefer me to do this right handed or left handed? I'm able to do both, you know. And I'm feeling quite generous tonight."

She matched her words with action, pressing the blade hard enough against Damen's throat to break the skin. With some effort, Damen managed to not so much as flinch, though the muscles in his thighs clenched tight and his eyes remained locked on hers.

He kept his breathing as slow as he could manage, not wanting to give her any sort of warning even as blood welled and spilled over.

And then he moved, tipping his head back away from the blades as he brought up both hands to her wrists, his grip nearly tight enough to render immobile. It was the only chance he had, he knew. His only means of possibly coming out of this alive as he pushed up to his feet, twisting Dutch's wrists sharply to both dislodge the knives and hear the satisfying crack of bone.

Though he had anticipated it, the sight of a slender form letting itself into his rooms sent a spike of adrenaline through him. Laurent waited in stillness until the intruder had shut the door behind her. There was little time to make an inventory, but he had spied on her person only a hiding place for knives - this would buy both he and Damen time.

Pulling out his mobile phone, Laurent sent a message to the only other person he trusted in Darrow, and John Riley did not disappoint. He had assurances in moments and, feeling more confident than he had minutes before, Laurent returned to his door and opened it.

He had already steeled himself to a number of tableaus, and the one that greeted him did not rank among the worst scenarios. Laurent could not enjoy the blood on Damen's face and throat, but the man was upright, and the snap of bones beneath his hands was unmistakeable. Laurent's gaze found the woman's face, eager to observe the moment that she discovered how deeply she had miscalculated.

He said, 'Do you have this under control?'

The sound of the door swinging open was lost amidst the crack of bone and Dutch's sharp, pained yelp. But Laurent's voice cut through, surprising enough to make Damen's breath catch, though his grip on Dutch's wrists remained.

He looked just the same as earlier, the walk having not blown a single hair out of place or brought any semblance of a blush to his cheeks.

Dutch struggled under his hold as Damen's eyes narrowed. 'Are you speaking to her or to me?' he asked, stomach twisting with a familiar, bitter twist of betrayal. Even now his mind didn't want to believe it. It had been months since Laurent's arrival, weeks since they had fallen into one another. Had it all been another plan? Damen held no kingdom here, but his identity had not changed. Was this Laurent's attempt at finally avenging Auguste?

This question provoked a stronger reaction than had the blood, found in a brief widening of Laurent's eyes. Perhaps he could not fault Damen for his suspicion - he had not gone through all that Laurent and the Damen of home had done - but despite any expectations that Damen might have of Laurent being false, he had not been false. He had been very much the opposite, and Damen was alone among all men to appreciate what that meant.

Laurent repressed a sudden, childish urge to request that John Riley adjust his target and said, 'You, Damen. If not I have summoned reinforcements.'

There was pain but she refuses to let it show on her face. The bones are in her wrists are grinding together, making black spots dance in front of her eyes. Her pain tolerance is high but even she has a limit and she's just hoping she's able to get to the other blades hidden on her person before she reaches that limit.

She refuses to accept this as a defeat. She refuses to think she's been bested.

"Is this a lover's quarrel?" Dutch asks, tone just the slightest bit strained. She twists around in Damen's grip, trying to slip at least one arm free. That's all she needs. That's all. "How cute. I'll be sure to tell this to all my friends back home once I've finished carving you both up. And here I thought I'd only get to do the one of you. How lucky for me."

Laurent's expression shifted, his eyes dropping wide in clear surprise. It, too, could have been an act, but instinct sat heavy in Damen's gut and he let relief wash through him.

'Reinforcements?' he asked, his voice softer as he cast a glance to the space beyond Laurent's shoulder and found it empty. 'Of what kind?'

His questions were largely overshadowed by the woman struggling against his hold. Her face was still disconcerting even knowing as he did that she was not the real Dutch, not the one he knew and considered a friend. His lips twisted into a snarl then and he moved sharply, grabbing the arm she tried to dislodge and yanking it behind her, not caring for any broken bones or ripped muscles. 'You'll be lucky if he doesn't rip your head from your shoulders,' Damen said.

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