Prince Of Stone - A Captive Prince Fanfiction

II. Legacies of the Blood

"I'm telling you, Nik," Damen was saying. "The way this guy looked at me. It was like he wanted to kill me."

Across their shared dorm, Nikandros threw an arm over his face and stifled a groan. "Then why do you sound like you're into it?"

Nikandros had been an undergrad with Damen during his bachelor's in Military History at Akielos university. Nikandros was a tired sociology major with a big coffee addiction and an even bigger exasperation when it came to Damen's love interests.

But he had been there when Jokaste, Damen's gorgeous blonde ex, had left Damen for his brother Kastor, and Nikandros had somehow been crazy enough to come to Paris when he'd heard Damen was doing his masters here.

He was a good friend. Damen only wished he knew why Nik didn't seem to appreciate all the scarves Damen knit for him. Not that Nikandros didn't wear them-he was wearing one right now, in fact. But he regarded Damen's knitting projects with the same level of enthusiasm that blond man on the bus had leveled on Damen.

Damen wondered if the man on the bus would wear something that Damen knit. He doubted it, even as he began to muse on how a blue scarf would offset his eyes nicely-

"Damen."

He looked up, startled. "Yeah?"

Nikandros' voice was strained as he asked, "Did you even look at this earring? I mean, really look at it?"

"Not . . . Really. Why?" Damen was nonplussed.

Nikandros swallowed. "Because," he said, "it has the family crest of la famille de Roi. As in, Auguste le Roi. That athlete who lost his scholarship-lost everything-because of you?"

Damen, who had been laying on his stomach scrolling through his laptop, sat bolt upright. "Shit. Really?"

Nikandros' fingers were busy flying over his phone screen, no doubt digging deep into the web of social media. Nik had an inexplicable gift for finding people on the internet with minimal information on them. "And," he said, "It looks like Auguste has a little brother. Laurent le Roi."

He flipped the phone so the screen was facing Damen. It displayed an instagram model's page, handle name @laurent.theking.

"Is this him?" Nikandros asked.

Damen snatched the phone from his hand, already scrolling through Laurent's feed.

The photos were shot exclusively in black-and-white, and his page was filled with moody selfies, candids of a surly-looking younger boy that might have been a brother or cousin, expensive-looking latte art, sophisticated outfits of the day, and a fluffy white cat.

Damen stopped on a selfie, thumb hovering over the screen. Laurent's chin was tilted up, hair swept back, lips parted slightly. Even through the black-and-white filter, his pellucid blue eyes seemed to command the camera, every inch of him tailored to perfection.

Damen thought of his own Instagram account. It was with creeping embarrassment that he thought his shirtless selfies and frat group photos seemed juvenile compared to Laurent's account.

Lost in thought, Damen's thumb drifted over the screen. A white heart appeared over the photo, and Damen let out a cry of dismay. "Shit! I just liked his photo. Nikandros, I accidentally liked his photo."

Horrified, he unliked the photo. Knowing it was already too late, he tossed the phone back to Nikandros, who caught it effortlessly. He had the fastest reflexes of anyone Damen knew. The two of them had been on the wrestling team together while doing their undergrad degrees.

It had been second year, when Damen had just been made team captain, that the Akielon Lions had gone up against the Veretian Vipers. Auguste le Roi was the golden child of Vere University, where his uncle was the dean. There were rumours that he had only got the captaincy of the wrestling team because of his uncle's favouritism, but those rumours were quickly put to rout when Damen faced off against Auguste in the finals.

It had been a difficult match, the longest Damen had ever taken to defeat an opponent. Towards the end, when they were both nearing exhaustion, Auguste had pulled back. Hesitated. But Damen-fueled by the crowd, and by his own father's desire to see him succeed from his view on the tv in his hospital room-had pulled an illegal maneuver, wrenching Auguste's arm nearly out of its socket. In the aftermath of the uproar his victory had garnered, no one remembered the move he had done against the rules.

When Auguste lost his scholarship upon learning his arm would never regain its full strength, there was talk on the judge's panel about an inquiry. But the dean of L'université de Vere, more frequently called 'The Regent' by anyone who wished to refer to him, had insisted that there be no inquiry. He had convinced the school board not to disqualify Damen, and had seen to it no mark went on his record.

Even now, as a student at The Regent's university, Damen couldn't quite comprehend why a man would go to such lengths for the athlete of a rival college who injured his nephew. And to make matters even more confusing, Vere had even extended a full scholarship offer to Damen for his master's. It had been part of how Kastor had convinced Damen to accept their offer.

Auguste had recovered significantly, and after one surgery and years of physiotherapy he was in fine shape. But Damen had never forgiven himself for the incident.

And, judging by the hate in Laurent's eyes upon meeting him, neither had Auguste's little brother. His reasons to begrudge Damen were deeply entrenched, a blood debt Damen couldn't hope to repay.

Ah, well. It was with a small, secretive disappointment that Damen told himself that Laurent would likely not text him. And Damen would be left with only a sapphire earring as another reminder of the wrongs he'd done.

He flopped facedown back onto the bed.

Moments later, his phone buzzed.