Page 11 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

Castien woke with a slight tension and sharp awareness. It took a moment to realize what was different. The courtesans' rooms had no locks, and the nobles took advantage of that as they pleased.

Then he remembered where he was. This door locked. Soft birdsong drifted through his window, floating on the morning’s pale grey sunlight. No other sounds. It was quiet in the Escorts’ halls. He inhaled deeply.

Quiet and calm enough that he could think while rummaging through the excessive amounts of elegant clothing in his new wardrobe. The sheer quantity of gold and silver thread on some of these garments could be melted into enough coin to feed a family for a year.

A pang of guilt followed the pleasure of silks underneath his fingers. What would his friends think of this silk shirt with the golden outline of a dragon weaving around his body? Showing off again, lordling? Damon would shake his head and smirk. Jerrl would threaten the pristine fabric with his grubby hands while Kevam eyed the room for the most valuable items. Probably the silver candlesticks.

He hoped they were well and not too worried about him. Another message was overdue, before Damon ignored the last one and tried to invade the Queen’s private wing.

A knock at his door startled him. He had been reminiscing too long; the sunlight shimmered bright yellow now.

"A moment," he called out, so easily falling back into his House persona. No one barged into his room unwelcomed there. For a breath, he savored the feeling of safety and privacy.

Outside his door was the Queen’s stern-faced, ever-present guardian.

"Good morning, Escort. I am Jerome, Captain of the Queen's Guard. The Queen asked me to show you around," the man said. He extended a hand, his wrist adorned with a studded leather bracer. Beneath the marking of rank was leather armor, only unusual because he always seemed to be in full plate armor. Perhaps this was the captain’s version of informal. Up close, Castien noted a few wrinkles on the corners of his eyes and mouth and a thin white scar on his neck. From the placement of that scar, Jerome was lucky to be alive.

"Good morning," Castien replied, a corner of his lips lifting in slight mockery. "The Queen’s personal captain to give me a tour? I’m honored."

A faint flicker of disdain passed in the guard’s eyes, then he turned on his heel and walked out of the Escorts’ hall. Castien smirked and followed.

Jerome spoke as they exited the hall, "The Escorts’ hall contains our personal rooms and a small bathing chamber at the end. Please do not enter a private room without permission."

That should go without saying, but Castien was getting the sense that this man didn’t trust him. Or perhaps anyone.

They approached an open area, the crisp morning air shivering pleasantly over his skin. A morning jog would be wonderful. He hadn’t had a chance to stretch his legs for a moon.

Captain Jerome tilted his chin. "In agreeable weather, breakfast may be arrayed in the courtyard."

A few tables laden with food were set up against some bushes. The guard nodded at two people Castien didn’t recognize, both wearing a single bracer. The wing must need servants and other skilled workers such as the Minister Priya. That female child, however—he hadn’t seen another child wandering around yet.

"Otherwise, there is a sitting room across the way." Jerome indicated an area past the fountain as he headed down a different hall.

Castien swiped a bread roll.

Jerome halted. "Apologies. You haven’t eaten yet."

Swallowing quickly, Castien shrugged. "This is fine. Lead on." Better than dining with the nobles. His standards were suffering.

A brusque nod and they continued. None of the halls were decorated as he’d expected of the Queen's Wing. The Great Hall’s abundance of tapestries, paintings, carvings, and trophies shouted luxury and wealth. Even the tables there were made of beautifully carved hardwood, rapidly replaced if they showed too many stains or signs of damage. In contrast, this wing resembled a fort or the castle walls—practicality, not ostentatiousness. The courtyard was so far the most aesthetic area, with plain but neatly trimmed bushes, a basic three-tiered fountain, and a few variations of flowering plants. Honestly, the courtyard in front of his House was far better arranged.

They stopped outside a hall with the records’ and tailors’ rooms, where Jerome also listed a few other functionary areas—closets, laundering, and a small library. The Escort who had bandaged his hand, Madeline, stepped out of a linen closet, holding several folded sheets. Bright curiosity lit her eyes as she approached.

"Welcome! I don’t know if you remember. I’m Madeline, the Queen’s handmaiden. How’s your hand?" She bowed her head slightly, smiling. The woman was as charming and warm as a hearth fire in midwinter; he couldn’t help smiling back.

"A pleasure, Lady Madeline." He bowed, noting the captain’s sudden stiffness beside him. Castien flexed his lightly bandaged hand. "Just fine, thank you again."

"Captain." She acknowledged his guide with a nod.

"My lady."

The woman blushed.

They walked on, the captain still a bit stiff. Castien glanced back at the handmaiden.

"She’s beautiful."

"She is." Brusque. He should probably leave that alone, but imagining this statue of a man having affection for anyone was too tempting.

"Are you and she…?"

"No."

That sounded like the last word Jerome was going to say about the topic. He’d have to keep an eye on them.

But for now, Castien said, "This wing feels very different from the rest of the palace." Refreshing. Clean and bright, like that woman. How she fit in as an Escort confused him. Perhaps the Queen made allowances for those close to her, like favored children. Even the stern guard’s edges seemed softer here.

Captain Jerome didn’t respond immediately. They approached the courtyard again, on the opposite side.

"Everyone you see is part of the Inner Circle—people we trust. The Escorts and the Queen unanimously approve every new person, including servants and guards. They would all be Escorts, but the… rest of the palace would not approve."

Disapproval was clear in that last statement.

All Escorts? He had seen at least a dozen people—the tailors, servants, guards—and she trusted them all? Were they truly loyal, or simply terrified?

More halls passed: a meeting room, guest rooms, a combat training area, and the Queen’s hall with her private garden .

Jerome paused at this last hall, a faint smile appearing on his lips. "Let's go meet the Queen."

Castien tensed. "We've met."

His guide gave him a peculiar look. "Not really. Not our Queen." He nodded to the two guards at the double doors.

This entrance was decorated. Whimsical swirls and patterns inlaid the stone around the wooden doors that displayed the outline of a tree. Beyond the door, along the stone walls, were carvings of clouds in simple shapes—dogs, cats, sheep, fish. Below the clouds to the left sprawled a beach with swirling water and dotted sand. The opposing side explored a forest of arching trees and gentle creatures—squirrels, deer, birds. It was all a bit simple, but this was more decor than any other hall so far.

High-pitched laughter bounced off the walls, accompanied by the occasional shrill, innocent shriek. Castien looked askance at the Escort, who only stared ahead as they approached a room.

Castien stopped in the doorway.

Jerome walked past him to a small group of children in a corner. He knelt as a boy ran over and threw little arms up for a hug. The captain returned the embrace and settled the child on a knee, listening to the youth chatter about nothing.

Another pair of children ran through the room, chasing each other and giggling. One of them fell and cried out, picking herself up awkwardly. A woman leaned over to examine the child, then patted the small head with a gloved hand. All the ladies’ claws were gloved here, with no whips in sight. The woman straightened and turned toward the door.

Castien blinked. The Queen. Dressed in a simple, brown frock, he would've dismissed her as a servant until he met those sharp green eyes. Nothing was servile in her expression, but as another child bumped into her, an open smile bloomed on her face.

The boy, perhaps five years old, showed her a stick he'd found in the courtyard earlier. "I'm going to be a knight!" the child proclaimed, slashing at the air.

The Queen responded fondly, "Of course, you are. A big, strapping, wonderful knight. Perhaps you’ll guard me someday." She sounded like a loving mother.

"I'm going to be a dragon!" Another child, a girl with her arms spread, roared a little high-pitched roar at the boy. The Queen grinned and played along until the children ran off. Then she stepped toward him.

As his mind spun, Castien caught a few of the adults tensing. Their suspicion slightly settled his nerves; it was the only thing that made sense right now.

She still wore a casual smile, her eyes a bright aquamarine.

"Escort Castien. Thank you for joining us."

Her warm, rich voice soothed him instinctively, which only served to raise his hackles higher. A few innocent moments with children weren't enough to erase the horrors of her court.

He bowed low, as appropriate. "My Queen. I wasn’t aware I had a choice."

A touch of sadness darkened her eyes when he straightened. "We should talk. Away from little ears, I'm afraid. Come."

Across the hall was a classroom with small tables and chairs, empty of people. There were two standard chairs near the front of the room, behind the teacher’s desk. She picked one and turned it to face the other, then sat. He followed.

Crossing her fingers together on her lap, she leaned back. "They are the children of dukes and counts, barons and knights. Hostages against their goodwill."

That sounded more like the Queen he expected .

She looked out the door, across the hall.

"In the first year of my reign, the nobles tested my resolve often. I’d proven years before that I was no child, but I couldn’t prove myself a Queen until the crown was placed on my head."

"How many did you kill?" The bitter words escaped him.

Her silence was cold. He needed to curb his tongue, gloved claws or no. Yet, that wasn’t anger in her eyes. Eventually, her lips parted.

"One," she whispered, then cleared her throat and met his eyes. "Jerak Maru’uel, the firstborn son of the Duke Renall Maru’uel and Duchess Heirasti Maru’uel. He was five years old. He liked strawberries and hated toast but loved fresh bread. He wanted to be a gardener and grow bread on trees." She glanced aside and inhaled slowly. "His father was the fourth noble to test me. For the first three, we found commoner children in their deathbeds from sickness or injury, mutilated their corpses, and tossed passable heads to the offenders. It wasn’t enough.

"Duke Renall encouraged the rumor that the children weren’t actually dead. He rallied enough supporters that they brought guards and forced their way into my halls. The insurrection was easily broken, but I couldn’t risk more or worse dissension.

"The duke and duchess were dragged out in chains in front of the entire court. I showed them their son, alive and well. I didn’t even dare drug the poor boy, only stuffed his mouth with cloth and tied him tightly to the too-small post."

Her fingers clenched, and her voice dropped. "I whipped him myself. It didn’t take long. I wasn’t gentle. Before he died, I demanded the duke recognize his child. Then I slit that tiny throat."

Child murderer. Ice chilled his veins. She was worse than her court. A hawk—more like a harpy.

"There was no more doubt afterward. Fear, disgust, perhaps awe. I was a monster to the monsters. But no one mistook me for kind-hearted or soft-handed ever again."

Her hands shook. Faint tremors ran through her whole body. At least she knew her truth. But was it real? If she could kill a child convincingly, how could he know what was the act and what was her true self?

"Was it worth it?" His tone dripped with disgust.

She flinched. "I don’t know. Not yet." A sigh and her face cleared again. "But I will not execute another child, no matter the reason. They are here to learn as I learned, as my mother taught me. They will be lords and ladies one day and teach their children the same. I do not wish to rule a court of monsters all my life."

"How… ambitious." And difficult to believe.

"Yes. The proof is in these halls, where only my Inner Circle is allowed, and in small pockets of like-minded nobles across our land. You will see. Because you are like us." Her gentle smile and warm eyes returned.

"I’m hardly one of you." He wasn’t a monster. Even if this was not a lair of horrors, he wasn’t a courtier, kind or otherwise.

She opened her palm as if to say, Just so . "I made you an Escort because you are nothing like them. You didn’t break, and you didn’t join the nobles’ games."

It was true that the court had been pushing him more and more, and he’d been tempted to lash out. Some of the other courtesans were willing to play the games, though it was often a brittle and sharp edge they walked—a lady may hand over a whip one moment then slice the hand that dared to hold a whip the next. Servants sometimes cried in hidden corners, not beaten or injured but simply overwhelmed. Any caught were whipped for laziness, anyone else caught comforting them was whipped for not reporting the laziness. The first week, he’d almost been whipped despite his relative immunity.

"But why bring me to the palace at all?" He frowned.

She smiled wryly. "Ah, well. Gossip. The court does love their gossip, and your Houses are a sweet subject. They adore you." She looked over him methodically, without any heat in her gaze. "You stood out. A dangerous thing for a commoner, even one from the Night Courts."

So his arrogance had brought him here. A year shy of his freedom and he’d grown comfortable, overconfident, perhaps even happy. Clients had been his to pick and choose from, his price so exorbitantly high that only the wealthiest made the request, yet still his waiting list was always pages long. And no one left who didn’t beg to return. Easy to fall into the illusion that he was in control. Easy to forget that he was just a whore.

He had a thousand questions, but he doubted answers in words were enough. Still.

"Why not just change things? With a single decree, you could ban all of the depravity in a day."

She laughed bitterly. "I asked my mother that when I was a child. Why don't we just do what we say we want to do?" Her lips twisted. "The courtiers would revolt, united for once in their pathetic lives. They'd cut me down and our nation would fall as they fought for my crown. If I am soft and kind and weak, I am not strong enough to hold them."

That scathing self-recrimination shocked him into believing her.

She took a deep breath and shook her head, smiling at him with curiosity and warmth.

"Will you tell me of yourself? Your House provided a thorough report on your life, from the day they adopted you. So I know you were a serious but kind child, like to be in control, and you have a low pain tolerance. But what are your dreams for when you are released from your bond?"

Heat rose in his cheeks. He'd hardly forgotten, but there had just been so much change unbalancing him. And she treated it like a curious game she'd yet to understand.

"The bond you purchased," he snapped. "I did have plans, but what do they matter now? I belong to you for five years, don’t I? My Queen." His anger made him wonder how he could have thought, even for a moment, to trust a woman who had so little regard for life.

Warmth and curiosity vanished from her face. "You should be thankful."

"For what? For taking five years from my life?"

"My Escorts are untouchable, safe from the court."

"That was the bargain then? Keep me intact until the Night Courts can claim me again."

A pause. "Essentially."

"Thank you," he said with exaggerated emphasis, "for taking only five years of my life, instead of all of them."

She sat too still, the ice in her eyes thick and hard. He didn’t care. If she wanted him in one piece, she’d get to know every piece of him—including his anger.

Anais rose to her feet. "Enough for today. Visit the children. Take lunch in the courtyard. Do as you will, so long as you stay in this wing. Someone will find you with your new schedule."

The sound of her footsteps was drowned out by the laughter and chatter of children.

Perhaps he shouldn't be angry. He was grateful to be out of court and protected from their predilections. He didn't have anywhere to go, all his plans on hold if not erased.

But it always came back to choice. If he had been asked to be an Escort. If he had been given the offer of five years in exchange for safety. The chance to say no. From the moment he had left his House, his choices had been stripped away. He just hadn't realized it.

"Hello?"

The bright voice belonged to a young girl in the doorway. She waved with a tentative smile. Behind her, as though standing guard against the wall, the steward watched them.

"Hello there," Castien replied carefully.

"I’m Silarya Kipos. What’s your name?"

"Castien FitzUmbra. Pleased to meet you, my lady."

She giggled. "That’s a funny name. Nice to meet you, Escort Castien. Escort Vern says you like gardens. Would you like to see the Queen's rose garden? It's the only one in the palace. In the whole nation!"

The steward had probably read his file. Unlike the royal courtesan’s small and impersonal rooms, his chambers at the House of Shadows were spacious, luxurious, and to his preferences. They also included an outdoor area with a patio and a small garden. His House would have noted the care and time he put into that garden.

And he couldn’t refuse a child. "I’d like that."

The girl turned to Vern. "Can I take him to the rose garden, Escort?"

The steward raised a brow. "May."

She paused. " May I show Escort Castien the rose garden?"

Vern smiled. "Yes, Lady Silarya. May I join you?"

"Ok," the girl chirped before dashing off down the hall. "Come on!" Her voice echoed as she quickly drew away.

"Best follow the lady, Escort." Vern turned a sharper smile to Castien.

There was something predatory about this man. He was cold and blunt at court, strict yet polite to children. This wing clearly was different, Castien had to admit.

They trailed behind the girl as she meandered through the halls.

Vern spoke. "We have not been properly introduced. I am Escort Vern, the steward and chancellor. How is your room in the Queen's Wing?"

Peaceful. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so resentful. Was he really protesting that they’d saved his life? He sighed. "Pleasant."

"Good. Let the servants know if you need anything."

He doubted they could sneak him out. "Whose daughter is she?"

"Silarya is the granddaughter of Satryani Kipos, Duchess of the Nerian Fields. A councilor from the old reign—Anais' grandmother’s time."

Disgust was in his voice when he said ‘old reign’.

The girl traced her fingers on the wall’s swirling waters, then waved to the guards at the door. After a glance at the Escorts, the guards waved back. They stopped to let her chat.

Normalcy felt odd. His arms itched, waiting for a bored noble to catch his wrist. He’d yet to see a whip. Castien almost laughed. Instead, he asked, "The Queen mentioned I’d have a new schedule?"

"Hm. Yes. For this first week, you will remain in the Queen's Wing. After, you will share Escort duties with Darius—or if we find a more suitable task." Vern provided a few other details when the girl started skipping away: physical training with a focus on combat, and education in any areas he might be lacking. "The first week is a familiarization period. Our Queen is never wrong—we simply like to learn more about our new members," Vern added. To evaluate him for themselves, more like. And a chance for him to do the same.

As different as this wing may appear, they all seemed to support the Queen, and by extension, the court. Niko’s warning rang in his mind. Vern—Count Vern—was a noble, and a particularly dangerous one at that.

They turned into a well-guarded hall where the Queen's bedroom lurked in the dark end. A familiar scent drifted in the air—her scent. The right side of the hall opened to a large outdoor garden.

In rounded bundles contained by short, trimmed bushes, roses of every color bloomed. Deep red lined the main walkway from the garden entrance to a raised gazebo at the far end. On each side of the main row, the colors shifted—orange to yellow, magenta to purple. A rainbow split in half. Around the edges of the garden were mottled, striped, and other patterned roses, creating an explosion of color. The blossoms beside his hand were red on the edges, softly fading to a pure white center.

Summer heat was starting to set into the day, but the girl didn’t seem to mind. She dashed a few steps onto the grass before suddenly stopping and turning. "Can— May I explore the gardens, Escort Vern?"

"Go ahead, Lady Sil. Keep in sight, please."

"Yes, Escort!" She sprinted off, waving to the bemused gardeners.

Vern turned to him. "I’m sure you have questions. Speak your mind."

"I don't know what to think." Both honest and cautious.

Vern nodded. "The first time a Queen asked me to trust her, I thought for certain it must be a joke, a test, or some new game. But I played along—what choice did I have?"

He paused as Silyara leaned a little too close to the thorny bushes. She poked a flower, earning herself a reprimand from a gardener.

Castien waited for Count Vern to whip the servant. The man didn’t move. "How are the nobles unaware of this place?"

"They've been warned from the Queen's Wing. Every once in a while, one of them becomes over-curious, over-stupid, and ends up an example for the rest. It's not impossible to sneak in, but there's little enough to see. Even they value children and wouldn't find our care of them terribly odd."

"I suppose being a ruthless Queen has its perks."

The steward’s lips thinned. "She does what needs to be done."

Castien stared hard at the steward's face. "Like letting her courtiers rip apart a slave in the middle of the dining halls?"

Vern went silent, matching the courtesan’s intensity, searching his eyes. Eventually, he said, "Do you know what saw-scaled viper venom does? Boils your blood, makes you bleed to death from the inside. It takes days to die. Imagine children writhing in pain, blood pouring out of their eyes. One of the few things our dear aristocracy finds horrifying—harm to children."

Castien paused. "She was a slave. Her hand was forced— she didn't deserve to be torn apart."

"They wanted that girl's pain. She’s a slave, but she had a choice. Did she deserve to be tortured? That's the wrong question, Escort. The question our Queen must ask is, how best could the girl serve our purposes?"

Castien blinked, unable to think in such terms.

"It satisfied the court’s bloodlust. It proved our Queen's ruthlessness. It was justice as this court knows such a thing. And it sent a message to our enemies."

A message reinforcing the court’s cruelty.

Castien narrowed his eyes. "What about you? What did you do to prove you're an equal to the court? Everyone fears you." Feared all of them .

Vern smiled a small, humorless smile. "You're right. None of our hands are clean, and mine certainly not. But fear can also be manipulated, suggested."

A court without mercy. The streets were a kinder place. Castien frowned.

"Why do the nobles hold back outside the palace? We hear rumors of the Dark Court but the nobles don't behave the same in the city." They didn’t take what they wanted and destroy everything in their way.

"They used to. Anais' mother put an end to it. When she took the throne, the military was already loyal to her. It was a close thing and the nobles still remember—they still strain against the bonds."

"I didn't know we had a civil war."

"We didn't. Barely. It was done the same day she was crowned—a few key nobles executed, the army at every estate, and every firstborn child forcefully poisoned. The families were told that their children would be cured if they were voluntarily given to the crown as hostages. They expected blood when a new ruler rises, but this was more. Their spirits were broken when they each handed over a child. Those few who weren't given up inevitably died, which only proved her ruthlessness and her right to rule."

Ruthless was too mild a description. Poisoning children? Madness, he wanted to say. And it was madness, more than a match for this court. But Castien knew the streets. Even though the people were destitute and hopeless, they were not slaughtered for walking too slowly or bowing too briefly. So he bit back the sharp words on his tongue.

In a neutral tone, he said, "Her mother must have been a formidable woman."

Vern smiled, a humorless twist that said he knew what Castien was thinking. "Anais is just like her mother. Jana would have liked you."

"Did you know her well?"

"Most of us were her Escorts. We loved her as we love Anais."

Castien nodded. "It's… difficult to believe what you're saying."

"Take some time. Silarya will become tired in less than an hour. Accompany her to the nursery if you wish. Lunch will be served in the courtyard at noon."

Castien intended to walk with the girl, but the noon bell crept up on him. He spoke with the gardeners, falling into discussions about soil variety and trimming frequency. While he had never cultivated roses, he considered himself somewhat of an expert on flowers. Carnations seemed similar. It was when he promised to bring a cutting from his garden that he remembered where he was.

The noon bell sounded.

He joined the gardeners on their way to the courtyard. It was crowded with at least a dozen people. Grabbing a sausage stuffed into a roll, he squeezed out of the crowd and found a seat at the fountain. A large shadow interrupted his attempt to identify the meat.

A tall woman stood in front of him, draped in airy, opaque violet gauze and wearing the largest hat he'd ever seen. It could be called a sunhat, but the sheer amount of feathers suggested it might also fly away.

She bobbed her head, the feathers flapping. "Laureline Comtrei, Duchess of the Western Lowlands."

Duchess? "My lady," he rose to his feet, bowing to hide his surprise. He’d accepted that a few of the Escorts were nobles, but it hadn’t occurred to him how many of the others might be as well.

She waved away his bow. "None of that. You are an Escort— Well, the Queen will get to all that. But you don’t bow to anyone, certainly not another Escort, and absolutely not in here!"

Small smiles and amused glances flicked their way, though they didn’t have the flavor of mocking cruelty he was accustomed to. The duchess insisted they sit.

"My… apologies," Castien said. "I wasn’t aware you were a noble, is all."

She gave him a perplexed look as she tossed a crumb of bread to the fish. "Darling, all the Escorts are, except you. The Queen will probably fix that soon enough."

He scanned the people in the courtyard again. "Would you be so kind as to alleviate me of further surprises?"

She followed his gaze. "Count Vern Terrastran of Castle Redrock. Countess Trishve Nyar of the Riverways. You've met Lord Jerome, second son of Baron Winters, knighted ten years before Anais' mother, Jana, invited him. In fact, Madeline, the Queen’s handmaiden, is the only one of us not born with a title, but rather granted one. Besides us, the Inner Circle has a few barons and knights as well."

His head felt strangely light and fuzzy. "I see."

She tilted her head a bit. "No one here cares that you don't have a title, dear."

"It's not that. The court—the nobles there are… different." More like how they behaved when visiting his House, wearing gloves over their claws and hiding their cruelties.

Her eyes widened and she laughed heartily. "Oh dear, no, they're not different . They're more dangerous than wild beasts and more depraved than those dark spirits Delia goes on about."

He found himself smiling, almost laughing at that comparison. The nobles did indeed share some unflattering traits with Delia’s malevolent goddess and her dark spirits. In truth, the northern nation was an apt comparison—they worshiped the old ways, the goddess’ servants that stole souls, possessed children, and generally caused havoc. Those myths held little sway in Drantar. No, the people here had little hope and little faith, something the nobles happily nurtured.

Castien didn't mind the lack of faith; Delia's used theirs to suppress all their people with fear and sadism, not just their court.

He inclined his head. "Now, that is a touch harsh. To the wild beasts—they don't kill for sport."

Her smile became speculative.

"FitzUmbra. The Master of your House… What was his name? He adopted you?"

Castien raised a brow. “The Master of the House of Shadows is Iberius Nishente. No, my lady, the House itself adopted me. Why do you ask?”

"I’m curious about our newest Escort." She turned her smile to the fish, sprinkling crumbs. "So you had no family. No siblings, no relatives."

"My family was the House. I had friends, within and without."

"But not all children of a House end up in service?"

He shrugged. "Yes, children grow up. A few of my friends stayed, but I wouldn't call them family."

"And what about your city friends?"

It was such a casual question as she sprinkled bread into the fountain. Perhaps she was actually interested in him, or it was just idle chatter.

"The House doesn’t like it, but we meet now and then." He was their precious Prince, after all. Exceptions were made .

She blinked slowly, still watching the fish. Something about her questions and demeanor felt different, like an interrogation. And she'd stopped calling him dear .

Not that he didn't have plenty of his own questions. He was stuck here regardless of his wishes; he may as well make use of his situation.

Castien glanced at her wrists again while she contemplated the fountain. Jeweled bracelets for the royal family . But he had yet to see one.

"Does the Queen have family at court?"

She turned her charming, casual smile on him again. "Distant cousins, aunts, the like. Her grandparents have passed, bless their terrible souls. She has siblings but they are forbidden from court without the Queen's invitation. The usual practice for the royal family—potential heirs and potential rivals."

"What about her father?"

She blinked slowly again, her smile growing distant.

"Queen Jana didn't have a Consort, and she never acknowledged a male. The nobles assumed he was not among them, and didn’t care."

He understood not having a family, but he had his fellow courtesans, and she had her Escorts.

Laureline tilted her head. "Do you know anything of your birth family?"

Castien shook his head. "No one ever claimed me." The Houses allowed family acknowledgments through the age of ten and the ability to purchase the child's bond at a reasonable fee. After that, the bond's price increased drastically.

"Hmm. So you could be some lost prince in truth. Have you fathered any noble girls?" Her tone was light and teasing, but he answered the question anyway.

"None that I'm aware of. We all take contraceptive herbs, of course."

"You know those aren't perfect. But no, I imagine few declare parentage from the Night Courts. And most of your clients have noble blood. Still." Her eyes wandered over him.

He raised a brow and shifted his legs. She grinned. "Darling, I'm not going to breed you! Tempting as it is. You'll excuse an older lady's fantasies."

He gave in to a smile. Escort or not, the lady was sweet. He reached out to bring her free hand to his lips. "Nothing to excuse, and your age only makes you more striking, my lady."

"Tsk. Flattery will get you in trouble, dear." She stroked his hand with a thumb, then sighed and took her hand back. "You're aware you serve at your pleasure now?"

Castien frowned. He hadn't considered it, since he hadn't been given a choice in joining the Escorts. "Don't I serve the Queen?"

"Officially and as far as the court is concerned, yes. But you're free to choose whom you bed. Most of us take that for granted; I thought you might need to be told bluntly. And Anais will never force you. I doubt she'll even ask you."

The idea should be freeing, the return of choice that he so valued, but instead it sent him adrift.

"I’m a courtesan. If she doesn’t want— What does she expect from me?"

He wasn't sure if Laureline's expression was pity or sympathy.

"Perhaps you could take this opportunity to find out who you are when you don’t need to serve. Trust her. I know those feel like a cage," she glanced at the bracers, "and everything is confusing. If you need something to do, the children could always use another guardian."

She brushed crumbs from her fingers and inclined her head at him. "I should be off. I need to do something about all this thinking. A pleasure, Castien. "

He bowed his head. "My lady."

He looked around again after she left. Nobles. But a family, not a court.