“Damen watched as alone, unattended, Laurent had left his own banquet to find him, to follow him here, up the worn steps out onto the battlements. Laurent fitted himself next to him, a comfortable, unobtrusive presence that took up room in Damen's chest. They stood on the edge of the fort they had won together.”

“Damen pushed himself up on an elbow, and propped his head on his hand, his fingers in his hair. He saw that Laurent was looking at him. Not watching him, as he did sometimes, but looking at him, as a man might look at a carving that has caught his attention.”

“I should make you watch, said Laurent, while he's stripped down for every man in the troop to have him."Damen stepped forward. "You don't mean this. You need him as a hostage.""I don't need him continent," said Laurent.”

“He's the captive Kastor sent you to train?' said Torveld, curiously. 'He's--safe?''He looks combative, but he's really very docile and adoring,' said Laurent, 'like a puppy.''A puppy,' said Torveld.To demonstrate, Laurent picked up a confection of crushed nuts and honey and held it out to Damen as he had at the ring, between thumb and forefinger.'Sweetmeat?' said Laurent.In the stretched-out moment that followed, Damen thought explicitly about killing him.”

“I want you," said Damen."You've had me," said Laurent. "Twice.I can still feel the . . . sensation of it."Laurent shifted, just so. Damen buriedhis face in Laurent's neck and groaned,and there was laughter too, andsomething akin to happiness that hurt asit pushed at the inside of his chest."Stop it. You will not be able to walk,"said Damen."I'd welcome the chance to walk," saidLaurent. "I have to ride a horse.”

“The next night, alone in the tent, Laurent said: 'As we draw closer to the border, I think it would be safer--more private--to hold our discussions in your language rather than mine.'He said it in carefully pronounced Akielon.Damen stared at him, feeling as though the world had just been rearranged.'What is it?' said Laurent.'Nice accent,' said Damen, because despite everything, the corner of his mouth was beginning helplessly to curve up.[...]It was of course no surprise to find that Laurent had a well-stocked armoury of elegant phrases and bitchy remarks, but could not talk in detail about anything sensible.”

“Torveld favoured Laurent with another of those long, admiring looks that were starting to come with grating frequency. Damen frowned. Laurent was a nest of scorpions in the body of one person. Torveld looked at him and saw a buttercup.”