dreams of surrender

My sister allowed me to share this amazing custom made hardcover she did for her book. I believe she was inspired by The Fallen Angel painting as well as the book itself.

"His eyes closed to just feel. Snippets of verse floated through his mind.  

In the columned halls, we embrace

His cheek rests against mine  

Happiness like this comes once

in a thousand years"

Captive Prince by C.S.Pacat

damen love fest 2023 / day 7: foils and parallels

damen & kastor

Kastor scoffed. He reached out and dragged Nik’s arm back across the warm marble of the bench, pulled his hand into his lap. The strength of the movement wrenched at Nik’s shoulder. Just a little. Kastor had never known his own strength.

“Don’t be coy, Nikandros. She wants you.”

Sweat prickled at the back of his neck. He didn’t want to hear this. But Kastor had cornered him— no. He had been waiting, like the dog he was, for Kastor, where he always waited for Kastor in the drowsy afternoons of late summer, when Damianos had his usual standing appointment with whichever Kyrina had entranced him that week. Of course, this summer it wasn’t a Kyrina at all.

It was a Jokaste. She - splendid, glowing - was Jokaste.

“She is Damianos’ lady—“

“Who?” Kastor said incredulously. “You forget yourself, Kyros.”

But there was a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. He liked it when Nikandros forgot honorifics for Damen. He did not see it for the affection that it was meant - he saw it as a deliberate insult. And it pleased him. It made Nikandros sick to think of. And then he went and lifted his skirts for Kastor anyway, which made him feel sicker.

The smile bloomed wide on Kastor’s handsome face. He was so forthright in what he liked, when it was the two of them. He liked titles, and playing the thief, and being desired.

And Nik had always, always, desired him.

“Forgiven,” Kastor crooned, and chucked Nik under the chin.

The sickness went away. A different feeling - in a different place - took hold in its stead.

Whenever Kastor touched him, Nik was thirteen again and breathless, seeing Prince Kastor spar in the gymnasium. He could still remember how his hands had trembled, sprinting to the privacy of his best hiding place, giddy with wanting - sticky with the aftermath of that wanting. He’d been sick of babysitting the crown prince - it had always been the elder he’d admired, heard tales of his exploits, longed to meet him. And then when they had finally, finally, come to Ios, age had rendered him Damen’s companion, not Kastor’s.

He hadn’t known then, of course, that Damen was the best man in the world. The most deserving of friendship. But the passions of youth died hard. Had yet to die, in this case.

Of course, Kastor had only noticed him when he’d returned from the Kingsmeet, filled out and favoured by the white robes.

sickening, treacherous, overripe place

Tenderly, Laurent drew a fingerprint through the blood that welled from Aimeric’s split lip.

‘Pretty face,’ said Laurent. Then his fingers dropped back to brush Aimeric’s jaw, tilting it up as though for a kiss.”

“Blood had soaked into his sleeve, had pooled out over the table and the tiled floor, but it was old. He had been like this for hours, long enough for the blood to darken, for his movements to cease, for a stillness to invade the room, until it was as still as Laurent, staring at him with sightless eyes.”