Page 13 of Thorns and Echoes

“Tell her I’d like to see it. You may go.” She waved a hand and turned away.

Eager to leave, he almost missed a curious detail.

Aurora didn't have claws.

—

The walk to the Great Hall cooled his temper. The Shoni’i representative had purposely angered him in order to interrogate him. He should have known better than to fall for such a basic tactic.

Castien was a terrible spy.

The noise of the festivities spilled into the halls. His hands slipped into his pockets, and he smoothed his expression into cool indifference.

While no one dared leash him, stray hands brushed his ass and the backs of his legs. Many who greeted him took the opportunity to squeeze and rub his arm. Lidded eyes lingered on his chest. He ignored them. He was accustomed to the attention.

But a cold stare from the throne stabbed at every person who stepped too close. Castien lengthened his stride. He'd best join the Queen before she invented a new game: how many fingers did a noble lose when they touched her favorite pet?

Something dark in his heart warmed.

He was glad she hadn't lashed out yet. As much as he loved her ruthlessness, he needed to fight his own battles. Dodging wayward hands, he stepped lightly up to the dais and slipped into the seat beside her. Five claws clasped his arm like a hawk landing. She pressed down and scratched just hard enough to leave a mark.

Mine.

The ever-present headache he'd had for a week eased slightly. The stroke of fingers on his skin was a balm for his soul. He needed to breathe in her scent, hold her close, make love to her until they were too exhausted to move. Then he'd relax, and this inexplicable headache would vanish.

Darius pulled back the chair on his other side, propping his feet on the table. “You can make them stop, you know.”

None of the courtiers dared touch Darius. “I'm not a noble. Isn't that why they leave you be? You're one of them.”

All of the Escorts were. He alone didn’t have a title.

The baron of the Golden Gardens plucked an apple from the plates. “Hardly. We’re better than them. You, me, the clerks copying letters all day – we'll never be one of them.”

“I meant–”

“I know what you meant. That's not the reason they don't touch me. You have to make them respect you. Fear you.”

“And how did you go about that task?”

Darius cut a slice from his apple. “I broke a noble’s fingers.”

From the Queen’s other side, Vern angled his head at them. “You broke my fingers, and I didn't kill you for it. Count yourself lucky.” His dark warning glance pinned Castien.

Castien inclined his chin. He had no desire to ever cross Anais' father.

Darius smirked. “You did stab me. Hurt enough that I thought I was dead. I still have a scar, want to see?”

Disdain rolled off of Vern’s silent dismissal as he returned his attention to the courtiers.

Darius chuckled. “Just show them you have teeth. You're getting pretty good with those knives. I can think of a few nobles who would make fine target practice.”

So could Castien. His eyes drifted to the Nadraken ambassadors.

Claws grazed the back of his hand. “Not now,” Anais murmured. “How is our dear Commander?”

In front of the nobles, she normally used a cruelly amused tone with him. The question was cold.

He lowered his voice. “She only asked me to strip.”