I did. I was a shinobi, an agent whose purpose is to complete missions in the name of the village. I was trained in espionage, warfare, tracking and reconnaissance, surveillance... [He's still watching Laurent, perceptive enough to notice that stiffening of posture. He has no clues to tell him what it means; observation is a privilege gifted by this method of communication. Their past conversations have never been so clear or so casual. What is Laurent like when he is not throwing soap dishes, or spitting foul words, or disrobing, or lashing out?] Not every shinobi has the same abilities, or the same potential to excel. Their bloodline matters. Or in some cases just the person they learn from.

[The voice he uses is low, murmured between them with an honesty he has not allowed anyone else.]

My skills only mean that you wouldn't be able to hide from me. I'd find you. [Sasuke finally breaks away his gaze, surprising himself with what he's said. His mouth firms into a flat line.] ... Maru is overfed. I included detailed instructions on how much food you should give her to fix the problem.

[You better put her on a diet, Laurent. But then curiosity stirs, and his eyes venture back, furtively, in a glance that dares to linger.]

And you haven't? Grown into it. [Incomprehension furrows his brow — less for that confession than his own puzzle of understanding at such preferences.] Would your kingdom need an heir?