Page 12 of Thorns and Echoes

“Strip.”

The straightforward kind of woman. They knew what they wanted and weren't shy about it. Made his job easier.

Although, she seemed entirely immune to the casual yet sensual shrug of his shoulders as he peeled off his shirt. Was that boredom on her face as he swirled his hips? He rarely felt awkward revealing himself. But the only people who assessed him in this particular, clinical, detached way were healers. Certainly no one in the bedroom. He wasn’t sure if he should be insulted.

The metal studs on his bracers reminded him that he no longer needed to tolerate insults.

Forgoing seduction, he removed the remainder of his clothes efficiently, setting aside a dagger and his whip before stepping out of his pants. He didn't make a move to take off his underclothes. Anais had been correct. The Commander didn't want intimacy.

Silence hung heavily as the woman’s eyes roamed over his body. She may as well have been evaluating one of her soldier's posture and fitness. He clasped his hands behind his back. She shouldn't find him lacking. Between Octavius and the other Masters-at-arms, he was physically stronger than he had ever been. It showed, and he knew it.

Fully two minutes passed before the woman gifted him another single word. “Turn.”

He turned.

The commands were reminiscent of the way Anais had spoken to him on their first night alone. Curt with the expectation of obedience – but without the underlying threat. Aurora didn't set off his instincts.

Instead, he felt the urge to pose. Professional hazard.

His shoulders rolled, and he stretched his neck. She hadn't demanded he stand still. He knew how his muscles rippled as he flexed his arms. A man liked to be appreciated, even if he had no interest in the people staring.

“That's enough.”

Perhaps the Commander preferred women.

Castien adopted his practiced smile. “How may I please my lady?”

He thought he detected a faint hint of disdain in her otherwise emotionless expression.

“It's Commander. Put your clothes back on.”

Gladly. His chin dipped. “As you wish. Would your people like company? I'd be honored to–”

“We heard of your ordeal with Queen Yelena. I was determining the truth of it.”

He flinched.

She had been staring at his scars.

Her voice softened a fraction. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

He slipped on and straightened his shirt. In a formal, detached tone, he said, “My apologies if my appearance is unsatisfactory. The palace has many courtesans, and the Night Courts are always available for every taste. Shall I request someone else for you, Commander?”

She asked a question in return: “After what your Queen let happen to you, why do you serve her?”

“She is worth serving,” he snapped. “By the sounds of it, you knew Anais once. You should know she is not… the same as the Nadraken bitch.” He barely caught himself, which was precisely what she wanted. Despite her steely exterior, the woman played courtly games better than he.

She leaned onto her fist. “Worth serving. How, precisely, is she worth serving? What has she done to earn your loyalty? It is loyalty, isn’t it? You are not afraid of her.”

Tying the laces of his pants, he almost laughed at the concept. “I am an Escort, alive and whole. She saved me, she healed me, she didn’t abandon me.”

“She calls you a pet, and you act like one. But I don’t think you are. I expected an empty shell of a man, not the House courtesan with a fire my people would enjoy indulging in.”

She hadn’t asked a question. Castien closed a hand over a bracer. “If there’s nothing else, Commander.”

Her gaze went to the window. “Does she still keep a hawk?”

He nodded. “Yes, Commander.”