Page 16 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

Summer market. The Night Courts let their children run errands and wander freely most days. His House was situated farthest from the market square, but still within walking distance.

It wasn’t the markets he was riding towards. One summer, when he was eight years old, he'd wandered down a poorly kept side street. He remembered the buildings looking small and empty, with much of the area overgrown. He'd imagined they were ancient ruins, but pushing through the tall grass only revealed abandoned cottages. Disappointed, he started heading back to the market when he heard excited voices chattering in one of the homes. They sounded like children.

They were—eight youths about the same age as himself. Five boys and three girls wandered around the cottage, some talking, some chasing insects in the grass.

He crept through the grass as stealthily as he could, listening to their conversation.

'I want to live in the forests, where no one will find us and we can hunt and fish for food.'

'I've never seen a forest.'

'I have! The Silver Briars! I was there with my papa on a hunt, it's huge! There are so many trees and they're so tall! You could get lost in there forever!'

'Hey! Who're you?! Are you spyin'?'

One of the girls smacking a stick at the grass spotted him. They shoved him into the open.

He sulked. 'No! I mean, I wasn't trying to. It's just, I've never been to a forest.'

A serious-faced brown-haired boy frowned at him.

'You look like a little lord. What're ya doin’ in our streets?'

'I'm not a lord and I didn't know these streets belonged to anyone.'

Another boy grinned. 'Yeah! You gotta pay if ya wanna be on our streets. Those buttons look nice.' He pointed at the cufflinks on Castien's sleeves, silver pins inset with tiny garnets. Castien shrugged and took them off; he had plenty and they weren't his favorite anyways. The children eagerly grabbed them, then the first boy nodded.

'Ok, you can stay. My name's Damon.'

Kevam was the youngest boy, and Jerrl, who suggested the pins, his brother. Darcy and Relyana were sisters. Olive, Fren, and Marcus were orphans. Damon appeared to be the ringleader. He was both quiet and stern but also had the most daring ideas.

They became close, as children easily do. Castien had friends in the House, but not quite like these, wild and free. And it was nice to have something that was his, that didn't belong to the House. Friends who didn’t see him as a courtesan.

When the House started training Castien in earnest, they gradually limited his freedom until guards followed him wherever he went. His city friends weren't the type to stay around guards. Still, he found ways to slip out for brief visits. As he gained gifts for his services—trinkets that could feed a family for a moon—he’d pass along a few now and then, unasked for and often unacknowledged. Damon joked that the lordling was still paying for his right to be on their streets.

They’d made a pact. His friends would build a home in the Silver Briars, a cottage like the one they once squatted in. When he was released from his bond, he would join them. It was a childhood fantasy that he'd let go of long ago. They hadn’t spoken of the cottage for years .

Convincing the Queen and her Escorts to let him go alone had been no easy task. Jerome said nothing and only stared at him the entire conversation; that man probably didn’t trust himself on a bad day. Between refusing to tell them the location of the meeting or any of his friends’ names, Castien was mildly surprised they didn’t lock him in a cell as a spy.

Instead, he rode with their reluctant blessing, and was now approaching the forests with no one in sight—this particular section of the treeline opened to flat plains that would make it easy to spot anyone trying to follow him. After he dismounted and began to lead his horse into the trees, an owl hooted loudly nearby. Except it was daytime and owls didn't reside within these woods.

Castien cupped his hands and blew, shifting his fingers a few times before he got it right. He was never very good at this.

Laughter burst out from behind a bush. A tall, brown-haired man stepped around and looked him over.

"Look who’s finally showing his face again. We thought you’d forgotten about us when the Queen took an interest in you," Damon said.

"I could never forget your ugly mugs. Or that distinctive perfume of, ah, what is it…" He exaggerated an inhalation. "Dirt, sweat, hard work—oh yes. Peasantry. Unforgettable."

Damon laughed. "You’re lucky you’re so damn pretty, lordling. I’d knock a few teeth out of anyone else who gave me your lip."

"Bah. You can’t afford to damage me, commoner."

Damon grinned, slapped him on the back, and pulled him into a hug. A few other rebels stepped out from the trees. He recognized two of them, Kevam with his dark, curly hair and always-severe expression, and Jerrl with a small scar on his cheek from a tussle with a chicken. The others stayed back.

"Let me get a good look at you, you pompous fool," Damon muttered. "You are truly unharmed? We received your messages, but they were unlike you. The last time you sent less than a full page of rambling nonsense, a girl broke your heart. You didn’t fall in love again, did you?"

A little too close to the truth. Castien didn’t allow himself to wince. "I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ll admit the first moon was… difficult. The palace is an entirely different world. All the worst of what you told me—and more. I never really believed you, you know?"

Damon’s eyes darkened. "Do you want out? I mean it every time I ask, Cas. Even the crown would never find you."

As a pet of the Night Courts, he’d always laughed at the suggestion. Now he hesitated before smiling. "No. Like I said, things are better now." A couple of weeks ago—perhaps. But he hadn’t asked to be rescued, wouldn’t enlighten his friends if they didn’t already know. He didn’t want to worry them.

Damon shook his head. "Your love of luxury will be the death of you. But not yet, eh? I heard you’re one of the Queen’s Escorts. Come. You can tell us everything at camp."

Following along, Castien admired the tall trees and dense undergrowth. It would be easy to hide in here. "When’d you decide to camp here? I don’t remember this one."

Damon shrugged. "It’s small and unimportant. Sorry, Cas, we never made that cottage."

Castien chuckled. They set off on a winding path through the overgrown forest until it suddenly opened into a clearing. There were a few structures set up, mainly small tents and one larger, open tent. A small fire sat in the center with some barrels, crates, and a drying rack surrounding the area. Castien counted about a dozen people, including his welcoming party.

"Cas!" A woman leaped up from the largest tent, dashing over and throwing her arms around him. Castien laughed. "Rel, my sweet, it’s good to see you too. Are we having a reunion party for me?" They settled into the tent, Jerrl passing around mugs of beer.

Relyana kissed him on the cheek and stepped back. "No, silly boy. Aphaia and Pelios are the only other captains with us today."

Too many captains in one small camp. Castien’s brow lifted. "What’s the play?"

Damon snorted. "You, lordling. We really were considering rescuing you despite your idiotic message. Then you became an Escort. Untouchable. What happened? Even you aren’t that attractive."

A smile tugged at Castien’s lips, halted by Damon’s serious tone. Castien examined his friend. Damon was… suspicious. Castien frowned. "The Queen is not what we thought."

Damon raised a brow.

"She knew about my connection to you. She knows you’re the leader of the rebellion and she still let me come to you. They want an alliance."

Damon looked him over slowly. "What did she do to you?"

"Nothing. Damon—"

One of Damon’s hands slipped beneath the table. "She’s the Queen. Nearly two moons in that palace. People have been turned in less time. Did she torture you? Or make promises for my head?"

Castien finally noticed the tension in his friends. Even Relyana seemed wary.

He glanced between his friends and a few other rebels watching him, their hands on their weapons. "Damon, you know me. All she did was show me her Inner Circle. Ask Harlen what he saw and heard in the Queen's Wing."

Damon pursed his lips. "The boy wasn’ t exactly given a tour."

"But neither was he harmed. There weren’t corpses and blood littering the halls. The servant girl he spoke with—did he mention her?"

Two more people joined them while Damon considered. Aphaia and Pelios, who had joined the movement after Damon took over. Pelios stole Jerrl’s beer and asked, "Can we trust you, Castien?"

"Yes. Always."

"Good enough for me."

Damon rolled his eyes. Pelios smirked. "He’s the better half of you, Damon. If we can’t trust him, we’re all fucked anyway."

"Fair enough," Damon sighed. The tension visibly eased. Castien wondered what they would have done if they’d decided he’d been turned. Better not to consider such things.

Damon leaned back. "Think your Queen will put up with me , lordling?" He smiled his crooked smile, a familiar expression of mischief. There was a hard edge to it now.

Castien nodded and spread his hands. "That's why I’m here. She wants the same world we do. I believe her."

"How?" Kevam interjected, a frown on his face. "How can you believe a noble, any noble, would simply give away their power? Especially the Queen?"

The others nodded. Castien knew he was trying to understand. "She’s—" He let out a helpless laugh. "I can’t simply tell you that she’s a good person. She wants to protect people, and all her Escorts are good people. Trust me enough that it’s worth taking a chance to at least talk to her."

Kevam’s frown seemed to deepen. "The facts are that she has not once used her power to help the people, she has not declared a single edict that doesn’t benefit the wealthy and powerful. She’s convinced you with words, Castien, but we can’t live on pretty speeches. "

He wasn’t wrong. "She wants to go to war with the other Queens."

Jerrl laughed. "War? And you think that’s good for the people? When has war ever helped anyone?"

"She sounds like a power-hungry bitch," Aphaia mumbled.

Castien corrected, "Not for power. The goal is to tear down their regimes and demand an end to cruelty, or destroy those who won’t bend. Isn’t that what we’re trying to do? But she can’t go to war on her own. She needs allies, and the only people who might support her are the people she wants to free."

Kevam seemed to think about it. Jerrl shook his head.

Throwing up his hands, Castien tipped his chin at Damon. "What do you want? What would you do if you were a Queen? Or… ‘king’?"

Most of them laughed softly, Damon included. ‘King’ wasn’t a word found anywhere except in old poetry.

"Enough." Damon finally spoke. "What does she offer?"

Castien sighed internally, relaxing. As long as Damon didn’t oppose the idea, it was a possibility. "She wants to hear your intentions and plans. Then she’ll send a better representative than a bed servant. I’m just a whore. You don’t need to trust me except under the sheets."

Damon gave him a familiar look—mocking judgment when he referred to Castien's pampered station in life. "Modesty isn’t becoming on you, Castien. You’re an Escort—one of her personal chosen few."

A new Escort and only for the purpose of this alliance, but pointing that out wouldn’t help this discussion.

"Fair enough. Will you oblige her request?"

"With nothing offered in return?"

Castien gestured to himself. "With your request granted first—me, here, alone."

Damon leaned back. "I am curious about that. Are you so expendable, or not actually alone?"

With a raised eyebrow and incredulity in his tone, the courtesan said, "You would have seen anyone approaching—isn’t that why you chose that side of the forest? She trusts me, and by sending me here alone, she extends that much trust to you."

"That we won’t harm you. It helps that you’re one of us."

"That was mostly how I convinced them." That, and nearly two hours of arguing.

"Ah." Damon glanced at the others. "We'll talk about it. Take a walk with Garet."

Relyana gave him a small wave while everyone else turned to each other. Castien smiled before following his keeper to the far side of the camp.

They debated for a while—longer than he was comfortable with. Pelios and Kevam, always practical, perhaps believed him. Jerrl would follow his brother. Relyana loved him like a brother. Damon would want to, but his hatred of royalty ran deeper than his sense. Aphaia preferred stabbing first and asking questions later. Four against two, but Damon could turn the others against him.

When Damon waved him back over, their expressions revealed nothing.

"One last question, my friend. Why do you trust her?" Damon asked.

He’d thought about the answer to that question since Vern had asked it, predicting the rebels’ interrogation.

"I believe she genuinely cares. Your spies only see the part she is forced to play, but in truth, she has a soft heart. She contains the nobility in the palace and limits their activities even there. There have been no wars in the last decade because she and her mother prevented them. I trust her because she is determined to change the world for the better."

And because of this odd feeling that there might be something more, this warmth and joy when he thought of her. It was ridiculous. There could never be anything more. He wasn't fit to be an Escort, to stand beside her, to do anything more than perhaps warm her bed. After this meeting, she would have no use for him.

No, it was nothing. Only trust and respect for a Queen he could be proud to serve.

Gods, how he wanted to warm her bed.

These few days were supposed to clear his mind and untangle his emotions, not make them even more difficult. He hoped none of his insanity showed on his face.

"Is that enough?" Damon asked the group. They nodded, a few reluctantly.

"We've agreed," Damon said, "to your Queen's request. We'll give you an idea of what we're after. But another meeting will need to wait. We'll send a message when we're ready."

His internal struggle would need to wait as well. Castien smiled. "If you’re sending the same boy, the Queen would really prefer he stop climbing the walls."

Damon laughed. "He's good at it, isn't he? Best climber I've seen. I'll tell him, but I let him go about his business how he likes. Now, about our movement."

Castien frowned as Damon began to summarize the last decade’s worth of plans and activities. Rebel groups had apparently sprouted all across the nation over the years, slowly merging into one movement. There were still factions that had different priorities. The previous leader had let most of them do whatever they liked.

Castien's head began to swim with the information. He was an artist, not a scholar. This politicking, he usually left to Damon.

Damon noticed his discomfort. "Too much? We'll make a politician of you someday. But for now, the basics are that we have the support of a large portion of the people—tens of thousands, at least. They’re spreading the message. No more taxes and food taken from those who don't have enough to survive. No more people taken to the palace and never seen again. Hope, survival, freedom from fear. Can you remember that?"

Castien nodded. "It's no more than what the Queen wants."

Damon shrugged. "We'll see about that. Right! Stay the night with us poor peasants for once. We can catch up on the last moon, and you can tell us what the palace is like."

Castien smiled.