dust to dust

discoursers: but how can you love it when-

A late submission for ‘Deceit’ day of @capri-month, inspired by this quote. 

Post-canon kings in love. 

——————

Laurent kept a diary, carefully hidden. Auguste had given it to him for this tenth birthday, with a handwritten note inside:

a place for your extraordinary thoughts, little brother. free your mind. fill these pages.

all my love,

auguste

Laurent had placed it inside the drawer of his bedside table, only to find it again after Auguste’s untimely death. He clutched the note to his chest, tears trailing down his cheeks, and vowed to write to his brother every day.

Sometimes entries were brief. Other times they were long, detailed. Painful.

Angry. Heartfelt.

Incriminating.

As he got older, he wrote to Auguste less, because things were happening too quickly, and it was no longer safe to divulge information. It wasn’t safe to have the diary at all, to be seen with it or let its value be known. Laurent never kept it in the same place twice. His uncle’s spies were everywhere and their fingers were sticky.

Still, Laurent did his best to do as Auguste had said: To free his mind of the thoughts trapped in his head.

The plotting and paranoia.

The awful things he endured.

His grief.

For Auguste was still the only person he had…

——————

Damen discovered the diary while searching for something else.

It was bound by leather dyed the vibrant blue of Veretian banners, and small for his hand, with crinkled papers sticking out around its edges. There was a golden clasp meant to hold everything inside, undone.

Damen could not help if it had fallen open in front of his eyes. Laurent should be more mindful of his things.

There was a twinge of guilt in his gut, overridden by extreme curiosity as he thumbed its pages. They were sturdy, but worn at the corners, used. Damen turned to a random place near the cover and skimmed a few entries.

In some ways, they were all the same, written in Laurent’s own hand, neater as time passed. Letters to Auguste…

Brother, I’m sorry I haven’t visited you. I hope you aren’t disappointed in me. I’ve only ever wanted to make you proud. It’s just too hard right now.

Brother, I miss you more today than yesterday. I’m afraid this pain will never lessen.  

Brother, I have appointed Jord to my guard. You trusted him. I’m hoping I can trust him as well.

Brother, I’m doing my best to carry out my duties as you and Father would’ve wanted, but I’m afraid the people will never love me as they loved you. The Council will never respect me as they respected you. 

Uncle doubts me. 

So do I.

Brother, I am alone. I am heartbroken. I am angry. Why did this happen? 

I can’t be King. I can’t do this without you.

Brother, I am tired. These people make me feel like I have a hole in the middle of me. The walls of this palace are suffocating. They are listening. They are watching and waiting for me to fail. I cannot trust anyone. 

Not even Uncle.

Damen’s heart clenched in his chest, aching in pain for Laurent then flaring in anger for the Regent. Damen would kill him a million times over if he could.

He would take his time. He would make it quick. It was less than the Regent deserved.

What Laurent deserved was to be loved.

To be protected.  

To be happy.

Damen knew it was wrong to continue this, sneaking glimpses into the depths of Laurent’s most private thoughts—to his brother, of all people—without his permission. He would hate it.

Damen couldn’t stop.

He had to see.

Did Laurent speak of him? Had his letters changed?

He turned the pages, searching until—

Brother, they brought me Damianos last night. I will make him suffer for what he did to you, just as I promised.

Brother, I’m in over my head. I wish I could talk with you one more time. I know I’ve said that before.

Brother, I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. It sickens me that I feel this way, but I don’t know how to stop—

“What’s that you’re reading?” Laurent asked, appearing suddenly in the entryway. His voice was deepened in secrecy, startling. There was no telling how long he had been standing there.

The diary slipped from Damen’s fingers, and Laurent laughed, amending, “What’s that you’ve dropped?”

“Nothing,” Damen lied, heart pounding, “It was on the desk, I—”

He was caught, frozen.

“Damianos, you’ve been snooping,” Laurent said with false, teasing disappointment. “I’m shocked.”

Laurent walked to him, each step deliberate, graceful, and bent to pick it up. Disbelieving, “I left it out?”

“I know that’s not a proper excuse,” Damen said, lowering his gaze in contrition. He felt his stomach sink. There was no curiosity left to mask his guilt. “I’m sorry, Laurent. I should never have betrayed your trust, I—”

“Damianos, please,” Laurent stopped him, taking Damen’s hand and squeezing it gently, holding the diary in his other. Damen looked at their joined fingers, the golden cuffs that adorned their wrists, then to Laurent.

He was smiling.

“There are no secrets between us, my King. You know that. Let’s see where you were.”

“We don’t have to—”

Laurent’s smile turned incredibly fond, knowing, as he skimmed the pages where the diary had been open when it fell.

“Of course you’ve skipped to the end. All these are about you.”

Damen’s curiosity was returning. “Are they?”

“‘Brother, I’m sorry’” Laurent read, “‘I never meant for this to happen. It sickens me that I feel this way, but I don’t know how to stop.’”

Damen recognized it as the place he left off. Laurent was letting him finish.

“‘When you were taken from me, I swore I’d never make myself vulnerable to that kind of pain again, but he has slipped beneath my skin and buried himself in my bones. I need him. I’m so sorry.’”

He turned the page, and his smile fell further.

“‘Brother, I nearly lost him today. It reminded me, briefly, painfully, of how it felt to lose you. Kastor did not deserve him. Things are even now. Brother for brother. Damianos must wake up. Paschal says he will. I don’t know how I’ll survive if he doesn’t.’”

Breathing was difficult. Laurent turned the page again. The corner of his mouth lifted.

“‘Brother, I’m on a ship to Lentos. Damianos has invited me to spend the week at his summer palace. At our summer palace, I suppose.’”

Laurent’s cheeks flushed at his own words, all this time later, and it thrilled Damen, memories stirring something deep within his chest.

It was theirs. They should go back soon.

“‘I know there are other things to be done, but I haven’t seen him in some time, and I miss him every second we’re apart. I’m both excited and very nervous. What if I’ve forgotten how to be with him?’”

“You didn’t forget,” Damen said, unable to stop himself from pulling Laurent in close, arms winding around his waist. He was warm all over, tingling with satisfaction.

“I could never forget,” Laurent said, holding the diary between them. He turned the page, and his eyes softened. “One more. I think this will be your favorite.”

He paused for the sole purpose of being dramatic.

Damen stifled the impulse to urge him on. This was a precious moment, and Damen was at its mercy.

“‘Brother, I always told you I would not warm to women, and now I think you will see that I truly meant it. Damianos and I will be married tomorrow. Not out of obligation, convenience, or alliance. A true marriage, built on love, trust, and commitment. I never dreamt I’d have one, but I love him more with every breath I take. My deepest regret is that you will not be there to see us. I hope we have your blessing. He is more than I will ever deserve.’”

When he was finished, Damen stared at him, speechless. It was, indisputably, his favorite. Laurent closed the diary and tossed it back on the desk, wrapping his arms around Damen’s neck.

He tugged him down until their foreheads touched. “You thought I’d be angry with you?”

“Yes,” Damen said. “I read your diary without your permission.”

“So you did,” Laurent said. “I’ll forgive you for a kiss.”

Damen pressed their lips together softly, sweetly—

“How was that?”

“One more, I think,” Laurent said, contemplative. “Maybe two.”

Damen kissed him again, then moved his mouth from lips to jaw, then to neck, lingering. Muffled by porcelain skin, overwhelmed by feeling, he said, “I’m so sorry, Laurent.”

Damen tightened his arms around him, wishing, impossibly, to erase the pain of Laurent’s past, to lighten all the darkness within the pages of that diary. He hoped, over time, that he had.

“Don’t be,” Laurent said. “My life began again when I met you, Damen. I’m happy because of you.”

“You were right. I liked the last one best,” Damen admitted after a moment spent holding each other in silence. Then, whispered, “I love you. More with every breath I take.”

Laurent chuckled, meeting his eyes. “First the snooping, now you’re stealing my lines. What’s next?”

“I could apologize again?” Damen suggested.

“I think you should,” Laurent said, easing closer. “I’ll decide when you’ve adequately made it up to me. It could take some time.”

“Good,” Damen said, kissing him once. “I want to earn it.”

Laurent nipped at his bottom lip, smile turning devious.

“Oh, you will.”

“I would court you with all the grace and courtesy that you deserve. There’d be no lies between us. We’d have time to be together”

And then Laurent commented briefly at the Summer Palace:

And then with Ancel in Pet: