So because I like Dying and Being Dead, I was talking to @lathori about how every universe needs more time loop AU’s (like Groundhog Day but with more murder, given the kind of things I like), and that sort of led into her being like “Well, come up with a few then, be the content you want to see in the world,” and naturally the first thing I came up with since I’m rereading The Captive Prince was an AU where Laurent’s life resets every time he or Damen dies. Soooo…this is the first loop.
Laurent is drunk when the doors open and the slave is marched through. It is possible that this does dangerous things to his judgement.
He looks at the slave, dressed in the brief silks of his barbarian homeland with his face ornamented with gold paint. The collar and chain are anything but decorative, and the slave’s carefully blank expression does not hide the revulsion in his eyes.
The slave is broad through his shoulders and trim through the waist, with the muscles of a soldier and a handsome face under the black curls. Sharp jaw, full mouth, dark eyes that gleam under a strong brow. A scar, ragged and bold even in comparison to the others littering the slave’s body, rests at his shoulder.
Laurent feels something strike his chest, like being slammed with an open palm and pinned to the ground, and the room seems to vanish from around him. All he hears is a ringing in his ears, and all he sees is the man in front of him, being pushed to his knees with a look of raw, hot hatred flashing over his face. Laurent sympathizes.
He stands and walks forward, stops just paces from the Akeilon, and savors the words on his tongue.
“I knew the King of Akeilos had sent me a gift,” Laurent says, almost a purr, the most seductive voice he can put on. He tilts his head, lets his hair fall away from his face and throat, summons every scrap of his brother’s proud nobility that he can touch. “But I didn’t think even the barbarian king would send me his own brother, shackled and painted like a common whore.”
There’s a beat of silence, shock radiating palpably from the courtiers and guards. Laurent and Prince Damianos stare each other down.
Damianos surges to his feet, shrugging off the guards, and Laurent moves.
His hand closes around a blade hidden in the stiff material of his collar, draws, and thrusts it unerringly into Damianos’ exposed throat. Skin parts like silk, flesh like water. Blood gushes out in a fountain over Laurent’s hands, the gleaming dark eyes wide as the Akeilon’s bound hands make an aborted grab for his throat. Laurent drops to the floor with him, kneeling over Damianos as blood pools and stains their clothing. Damianos jerks and shudders under Laurent’s hands, gasping, blood bursting red over his lips and tongue as if he’s been eating berries, or pomegranates.
The triumph that burns in Laurent’s chest is as hot and sick-making as the grief that floored him when they brought Auguste’s body back. He revels in it.
He feels the moment Damianos dies, the sudden shivering loss of tension, and Laurent—
Laurent is drunk when the doors open.
