You cannot cut my clothes apart. Even my — [ slave? damen? brother's killer? his uncle's cruelest scheme, to gift him auguste's murderer and their enemy kingdom's prince as a slave. he can't even begin to explain it to gideon. anyway, he hates damen, the damned brute. ] Even the most mentally deficient at the palace can undress a man.

[ her cloak, however, is warm, and he pulls it delicately around his shoulders as an inconvenient shiver passes through him. to be the smallest modicum of helpful, he loosens the laces at his wrist.

he finally sees that the photographs are labeled by levels of attraction, his eyes passing over the blonde princess with disinterest, moving down to those banished to the lower tiers. one catches his eye, dark hair, something severe in the expression. the one gideon points out is the same. the skeleton-maker.

laurent has seen corpses on the battlefield, on a flogging post, a detached head here and there, but he has never studied a proper skeleton up close. he's heard they populate the palace dungeons, but that was never any place for a prince. ]

There is a skeleton on your wall. [ the numbness in his arm is wearing off, replaced with a sort of burning sensation that is not pleasant to experience. ] I will require a drink.

[ laurent does not drink. he just imagines it will make this moment more bearable. ]