Nicaise stared at Laurent. Of every shock and surprise this place had thrown at him, this one, that was not even a product of Darrow, was the biggest. He wanted to be as blunt as Laurent, to ask why the enemy Prince who had killed his brother was here to eat pheasant with them, was a friend, an equal.
Prince-killer was on the tip of Nicaise's tongue, he wanted to spit in the Akielon's face and make it count this time. But he thought of the bed of cushions Laurent had made him. Laurent, who looked shaken for some reason. The Laurent Nicaise knew back home was neither shakable nor so forgiving. Would the Laurent Nicaise knew before have invited him to his home?
Everything here was...wrong. Nicaise felt wrong. Displaced.
Nicaise looked away from Laurent and to his plate of food, overwhelmed. He hardly registered Damianos' question, not that he would have answered it either way.
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Prince-killer was on the tip of Nicaise's tongue, he wanted to spit in the Akielon's face and make it count this time. But he thought of the bed of cushions Laurent had made him. Laurent, who looked shaken for some reason. The Laurent Nicaise knew back home was neither shakable nor so forgiving. Would the Laurent Nicaise knew before have invited him to his home?
Everything here was...wrong. Nicaise felt wrong. Displaced.
Nicaise looked away from Laurent and to his plate of food, overwhelmed. He hardly registered Damianos' question, not that he would have answered it either way.