Page 15 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

Vern

After Castien stormed off and Octavius went to bully another of his trainees, Vern paused and lowered his sword.

"You should bed the boy," he mumbled.

"Vern!" Anais exclaimed.

It wasn't his habit to push her into anyone's bed, but he raised a brow. "Have you seen the way he looks at you?"

She shrugged. "He knows his business. He hasn't approached me. Maybe what you're seeing is fear."

They put away their practice gear while he considered her out of the corners of his eyes. Mistaking fear for naked hunger was unlike her. The boy hid his emotions poorly. Vern opened his mouth, then tilted his head. She was double checking her belt buckle, something she only did when she was nervous. She was flustered. Anais, flustered?

As they belted on their regular weapons, he decided to test her. "It's not all fear."

She unnecessarily shifted the position of a dagger on the stand. "Then he'll come to me when he's ready. I can't just ask him, you know. Do you think he'd dare refuse me? The Queen?"

"He wouldn't want to. I didn't go to… out of obligation."

Flinging him an exasperated glance, she said, "You were never a courtesan, expected to bed whoever asked."

His lips twitched in a slight smile. "I understand, Anais. I just don't want you to wait too long." To miss even a minute of joy .

Her eyes softened. "Nothing will happen to me. Jerome would never allow it." Her captain was watching over her even now, in the safety of the Queen's Wing. After Jana’s death, the overprotective knight had vowed his life forfeit if the new Queen should lose hers. Anais hadn't accepted his vow, but they suspected that mattered little to the honor-bound man.

Vern kissed her on the head then grimaced. "Go bathe, girl. You smell."

She threw him an exasperated look. "Of roses . You smell of shit," she tossed into the air with a grin as she headed for her private bathing chambers. Jerome fell into step with her as naturally as a shadow.

Vern didn’t hide the fond smile spreading across his face. He checked his weapons' straps and walked toward the larger baths.

The old, familiar stones of the Queen's Wing held no surprises for him after these many years. Anais' mother hadn’t built the place, only commandeered it entirely for her own, as a Queen might do. He, in turn, had scoured every corner, finding every secret.

But halfway to the courtyard, a small, disheveled figure was walking in his direction. The boy hadn't noticed him, was too busy looking around.

One of the children might occasionally dash around the courtyard or through the halls at certain times of the day, and they weren’t unexpected or unwelcome. However, this ragged, dirt-smudged youth staring at everything with wide eyes was definitely not one of the palace children.

Vern drew his sword. "Who are you?"

The boy stopped and scratched his unkempt head. In an accented voice that would’ve declared him a street urchin no matter his appearance, he waved and said, "'Allo."

Vern frowned.

"Is Je-rome ‘round?" The boy spoke Jerome’s name slowly, forming his tongue around the sounds with care. Then the boy’s eyes lit up. "Or Meriana?"

How did he know a servant girl… unless he was the same rebel messenger and thief who jumped over the courtyard wall. Vern sighed. The girl was probably nearby.

Gesturing with his sword, he said, "Wait in there. Guard!" The last word was a bark that startled the boy, who shrugged and casually strolled into the room.

A guard finally appeared, jogging around the corner. "Escort." Then he paused at Vern’s drawn blade. "Sir?"

Vern sheathed his weapon. "There is a boy in that room. Make sure he stays there. Don’t hurt him, if you can."

"Yes, sir."

The servant girl was tidying up the Escorts’ bedrooms. She laughed at Vern’s description of the boy and followed to confirm his identity. The boy, Harlen, grinned when he saw her and managed a bow that might make a four-year-old proud. She giggled, bowing much more gracefully before she left.

"Alright. Welcome back to the palace, Harlen," Vern said with a touch of sarcasm that the boy probably didn’t notice.

He peered around Vern to the hall. "Is tha Queen comin’?"

"Not this time. Do you have a message for us?"

He fidgeted. "Weeeelll, I’s s’posed ta tells ya tha theys wants ta talk ta Cas."

"Cas?" Vern asked slowly. "And who is Cas?"

The boy frowned. "Theys said yer s’posed ta know. Cas. A cor-" He pursed his lips. "A whor’. One of tha rich ones, I thinks."

Sounded like their Castien.

"And who is they ?"

The boy fidgeted. "I's na s'poseta say."

"I see. Do you have a message for… Cas? "

"No. I don’ts wants ta talk to ‘im. They wants to. Cas’s s’posed to meet ‘em."

"Ah. When and where will the meeting be?"

"Cas knows, if ya tell ‘im ‘Summer Market’." He pronounced the last two words carefully.

"Hmm. I’ll see if I can do that. Anything else?"

The boy looked into the hall again, his voice a little quieter. "Um… Can I talk ta Meriana?"

With a raised brow, Vern summoned the girl again and let them speak. At his nod, the guard went to find Castien.

Several minutes of the boy’s prattling and the girl’s soft laughter left him questioning his decision. Fortunately, they both came out the door shortly. The girl bowed to Vern and went about her tasks; the boy grinned, eyeing the courtyard wall.

"Come in through the servants’ entrance next time. It’s by the—"

The boy showed crooked teeth in a wide grin and dashed off, over the walls. Vern frowned. Extra security was called for, he supposed. Though he'd never seen anyone just about fly like that boy did.

Castien

There was no showy feather hat today.

Two guards had greeted—more like accosted—him as he returned to the palace, informing him of the Queen’s summons. His curiosity became wariness when all four guards surrounded him. Protection seemed unlikely; he might be valuable to the Night Courts, but the royal court wouldn’t miss him.

The reason for his Escort status had been grating on the back of his mind. If the Queen was not lying—and he wanted to believe that—why had he been made an Escort rather than provided a single bracer? That would have been sufficient protection. So, he suspected the question actually was: why did the Queen want him to trust her?

When the guards led him into this small, windowless side room, his wariness had been proven correct. The room was sparse with only a table and two chairs. No chains, at least, though being held at all certainly wasn’t engendering trust.

The door opened while he idly ran a finger through the dust.

"Please take a seat, Castien." The Duchess Laureline’s expression wasn’t friendly, and neither was the guard standing against the closed door.

Bowing smoothly, the courtesan slid into a chair. "A pleasure to see you, my lady, though it is a strange place we find ourselves in."

Laureline didn’t play along. She watched him with an almost familiar mercurial gaze. "Tell me what you know of the rebels."

A small frown crossed his brow. "Rebels? Nothing more than rumors."

"They asked for you by name. Are the rebels working with the Night Courts?"

"Who asked for me?" Had they captured Damon? He couldn’t voice that question. "No, wait—Why would the Night Courts work with rebels?" The Night Courts was one of the wealthiest and most powerful merchant establishments. They thrived in the status quo.

"Your city friends then. How often do you speak to them?"

"Not since I was brought to the palace. "

She blinked at him slowly. That was too familiar—so she had been interrogating him before.

He stared back and took a chance. "What did they say, when they asked for me?"

The silence was odd, as though the air had sharpened and condensed. He glared. He'd done nothing wrong.

She finally spoke. "Summer market. Tell me what that means."

Nothing much. Unless he connected it with Damon. Damn him .

"Let me talk to Anais." Anais. When had he become so familiar with the Queen?

She contemplated him again, her words slow. "Are you a threat, Castien?"

"No. I swear." That would need to be enough for them. His back twinged at the possible ways they could interrogate him, but he was willing to risk it. If his suspicions were correct, they’d need his willing cooperation.

The duchess and her guard left the room. Faint murmurs on the other side of the door turned sharper, louder. Commanding. Anais, likely. She walked in a few moments later, slamming the door shut. But her irritated frown wasn’t directed at him as she leaned against it.

Although, he wasn’t sure what the look she gave him meant.

"Castien. I need to tell you something. They don’t want me to, but I will not build an alliance on lies."

He kept his expression blank.

She continued, "Two things, truthfully. First, we know that you’re friends with Damon Mieskar. Are you aware he’s the leader of the rebellion?"

He hadn’t decided on his response. Silence instead.

She took a breath and sat across from him. "This is why I brought you to court and made you an Escort. We need him to believe our offer of alliance is real. We need someone he trusts, who we both trust, to see who we truly are."

His eyes went flat. There. That was the reason he was made an Escort. "You’re using me."

Something flashed across her eyes, gone in a blink. "No. You are one of us, Castien. Insomuch as you are an Escort, then yes, I am using the people who serve me. No more, no less."

All those people had a choice , he wanted to say. They agreed to be here, they agreed to serve her. They wanted to serve her. He was hardly one of them.

But, this was also an opportunity. "Then I want my freedom. I’ll help you win over the rebels, and in exchange, you'll release me from the court, the Escorts, and the five years’ contract—all of it, with full access to my funds."

Her shoulders fell, a nearly imperceptible movement. Was that regret in her eyes?

The same regret in his chest, he realized. He could fall into those soft emeralds, melt into her slightly parted lips. She had managed to gain his trust. And the others weren't intolerable, just overprotective. He’d convince Damon not to harm her. That much, he could give her.

She nodded once. "That is the second truth. There is no contract. As for your Escort rank, I will do what I can. Escorts can have duties that may take them away from the palace. It may take a few moons…"

He wasn’t listening. No contract? She’d let him believe he was trapped here for five years. Why? He hadn’t made any plans because he thought himself tied to a House that no longer had any claim on him. Instead, the Queen’s claws caged him. Had she wanted him to blame the Night Courts?

"Castien? "

Even now, her eyes were a temptation. He stared at the door. "A few moons will suffice."

A few moons instead of five years, and all of this would be in the past. Including a woman who enticed him for the first time in years.

Lied to him, manipulated him.

"I apologize for misleading you," she said softly.

The courtesan turned back and let a polite smile settle on his lips. "Thank you for the truth. I appreciate honesty. Shall we agree on no more lies?"

This was a good thing. No contract, no complications. Once she released him from the Escorts, there’d be nothing holding him here.

Her smile seemed a brittle thing.

"Agreed." She extended her hand.

Lightning flew up his arm when their fingers met, almost stiffening his muscles. He was an absolute fool. It wasn't only his training and his body reacting—there was something about her .

She didn't seem to notice, though she did snatch her hand back uncharacteristically fast.

Then she glanced at the door. "I apologize for not telling you before. We wanted you to see us without any bias, without wondering if everything we did was only to earn your trust. And the contract—I thought you’d feel safer with some connection to the Night Courts."

He only nodded. He would have been suspicious, it was true. It had been difficult enough accepting her—accepting all of them—as other than they appeared. Still, the betrayal stung.

She seemed hesitant. It was an odd look on her.

An embarrassed smile curved her mouth. "I best leave first. Jerome didn’t like the idea of my being alone with you."

That cautious amusement in her eyes—she was trying to lighten the mood. And he found it difficult to resist her.

"What a loving family," he said with a softer smile.

"You get used to it." Her teasing smile faltered. They’d never be his family.

Jerome was glaring murderously as expected, and Vern stood too casually against a wall. Castien offered the steward a smirk, earning himself a sharpened stare.

His mockery faded when her hand brushed his arm while she explained their agreement. Vern's speculative look made him realize he was smiling fondly. Stupidly.

No one loves a whore. The first thing a courtesan learned was to guard their heart. A client might treat them kindly for an hour or two, even a few days, but they would never truly care. No one here expected him to be a courtesan, but it was simply who he was.

And, of course, Anais was the Queen. Perhaps she'd play with him, but it could never be more than that. No, he couldn't be stupid enough to consider her anything more than the Queen.

The palace was beginning to feel like home. Those potted plants he was nurturing on the windowsill, the clothes he was all too comfortable wearing, the rose scent permeating the halls. Her scent.

This trip away from the palace, from her, would clear his mind. Had to, before he found himself trapped forever in this gilded cage.