Page 20 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

Castien

The world was shaking.

No, that wasn’t right. He was on a wagon. It was moving. Steel bars surrounded him. The orange glow of a torch. The rattle of metal.

Darkness buried his consciousness.

Light, fire, laughter. Pain.

Darkness again.

He blinked.

The blurry face of a woman came into focus through the bars. The world was still. He squinted, then winced in pain.

His captors had enjoyed beating him every night of their journey, tossing him into a small cage when he fell unconscious. Without enough space to lie down fully or stand up straight, he could only curl around his bruises, trying to take shallow breaths. Broken ribs stabbed at his lungs. He tasted blood with every meager meal they allowed him.

The woman spoke in a hard, clear voice. "If any part of him cannot be healed, I'll cut the same bits from the lot of you." He flinched at the sound, groaned at the sharp pain from his movements. She turned toward five guards, likely the same men who'd beaten him. "Never injure my toys, unless you desire to be their replacement. Do you? Would any of you volunteer to take his place? "

A chorus of apologies and begging began, then abruptly stopped. She walked out of his limited view but spoke again. "You will not leave until the healer declares this toy fit," she snapped. The sound of her boots grew softer. His vision wavered and he started to fall unconscious again, barely hearing the guards’ restarted conversation.

"We should just kill him. Say he died before the healer got here."

"Are you stupid or suicidal? He dies, so do we. Didn't you hear her?"

"We're worth more than a Northern whore, she wouldn't—"

"She's a Queen. They do whatever they want. Don't you remember that blacksmith she took a liking to? Escaped somehow and she flayed the guards, unlucky bastards…"

He drifted away, wondering if he would wake.

Anais

When her mother died, there had been a plan. Anais had simply followed every single step exactly as she’d been trained to do. Take control. Force the coronation. The details of the dress, the command that she not give in to her emotions—every minute of the first few days had been scripted. Rehearsed. Memorized.

Jana had her bright, joyful moments, but she was a Queen first.

Castien was an indulgence. A Queen wasn’t allowed to indulge. Anais had forgotten, she’d wanted something for herself, and now she paid the price.

Cold wrapped the pain, because if it did not, she'd break. She ignored the guards as she strode to her room, needing a moment alone, time to refocus and—

There was someone in her room. A dagger slid into her palm.

Darius sat up on her bed and caught her expression. He stood slowly, his voice low and calm, "I thought you might like—"

"No. Stay out of my chambers, Escort."

He stepped closer. "Maybe tomorrow—"

"Stay. Out."

His eyes were wide, his open hands slowly lifting, but all she’d done was tell him to—

Her blade was pressed to his throat. She hadn’t even registered her own movement.

She sheathed it, swallowed. "Darius, I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me."

He opened his arms, holding her when she collapsed into him.

"Of course," he murmured into her hair. "I shouldn't have insisted. I won’t intrude again."

"I’m sorry. I just, I can’t stand anyone here while he’s…"

He let her go and stepped back, a small smile on his lips. "You don’t need to explain it to me. Be well, Anais. And know that I’m always here if you need me."

She was trembling after he left. She knew how much they trusted her, and she had never harmed them, but…

She could. She would never willingly hurt them, but when she lost herself, when the cold buried everything and she became a creature of necessity, what she wanted no longer mattered.

"Mother, how did you do this and not become a monster? "

Castien

The next week was a dream sprinkled with half-awareness.

A concerned old man frowning over him, his lips moving but the words incomprehensible.

A scream that pierced a beautiful sunny day on a beach.

He remembered choking on a foul liquid that he was too weak to avoid drinking. The dreams became stranger after that. They must have been dreams. There was too much blood—no one had that much blood. He screamed in those dreams.

Then the dreams stopped.

First, he became aware of the cold. He was thoroughly chilled, a light breeze making him shiver. Then a muted clanking sound—chains. Chains that rattled with his shivering, hanging from the ceiling, clamping his wrists and keeping him upright. More chains around his ankles, forcing his legs apart.

A draft brushed him fully awake and he glanced at himself. Naked. Unharmed though, he supposed that was something to be thankful for if his hazy memories could be trusted. Perhaps they were all dreams. The stones beneath his feet were cool, but not too cold. The early autumn warmth meant he probably wouldn't lose anything to frostbite. Though pissing could be a problem. Ah, there was a small drain in the corner, that was good. They hadn't healed him just so he could slowly rot.

His thoughts were a chaotic mess. That probably wasn’t good.

He blacked out again.

Warmth. A wet, soft, stroking warmth woke him, his hips thrusting instinctively. He groaned and opened his eyes, slowly focusing on a head bobbing between his legs. Stomach clenching, he pulled back but the head followed and claws dug into his ass, holding him in place. A throaty laugh sent unwelcome shivers through his body. The chains rattled and drowned out his growl.

"Get off of me," he snarled, straining against the chains, twisting as much as he could. Claws punctured his skin, digging deeper until he stopped struggling. Her mouth kept moving, licking, faster now. His eyes glazed, arms flexed, then he let out a slow, long breath and began to relax tense muscles, one at a time. The stones of his cage became etched into his mind as he captured every detail.

Participation, even fighting to escape, increased stimulation. He was a thoroughly trained and experienced whore; he could outlast most attempts. Let's see how long this bitch tries . He'd probably get bored first.

Massaging his lightly bleeding buttocks and taking a few more long, deep strokes, she leaned back and sighed contentedly. Her soft hand replaced her mouth.

"Come for me," she purred. "Come, and I'll leave you alone."

He concentrated on making out the details beyond this cell, ignoring her. This wasn't the first time he'd been raped, after all. He couldn't resist the first time, too inexperienced and hormonal to hold himself apart. He didn't give any of his other rapists the satisfaction, and he wouldn't now.

His lack of response made her pout. Her free hand drifted up his chest, caressing chilled muscles with soft warmth and sharp claws. If she was stupid enough to get close to his mouth, he'd bite off a finger.

"I'm surprised that bitch Anais hasn't broken you already. You're delicious. But don't worry, it'll be my pleasure," she purred, stroking him faster .

He slowed his breathing more, willed the room away, and focused on recreating a chess game in his mind. By the fifth internally narrated move, he was shrinking despite her ministrations. The hard slap across his face was unexpected, but he was busy trying to trap the white castle that was chasing his Queen. He barely heard her latest threat.

"Your skin is as smooth as a babe’s," she said, running claw-tips down his spine. "Almost a pity to destroy such perfection. But if you won’t play with me…"

The first sharp lash shocked him out of his mental game. He tensed, heart suddenly beating faster. Lightning stings made his back twinge. The cell came into sharp focus. He knew he should relax but it was so hard to force calm after every strike. His body was on fire, his legs shuddering at the effort to stand. That one broke skin. He flinched, wrapping his hands around the chains and groaning. The sound seemed to encourage her, three more fast, hard cracks making him jump each time.

The whip stroked his buttocks, the back of his legs, then between his ass cheeks. He couldn't calm his tense muscles anymore. The open wounds on his back stung and throbbed, the whip threatening with every soft touch, or terrible anticipation when it lifted. He glared at the bars. He was trained in pleasure, not torture.

"What do you want?" he gritted out.

"Your pleasure,” she purred. “Come for me. That’s all I want; come right now and I’ll stop." Her hand curled around the back of his neck. He shook her off with a growl.

The whip came down on his ass, slicing him open on the third lash. Across his back again, cutting deeper. He panted, gasped, hissed at the overwhelming pain. Too much. Was she going to kill him? Blood dripped down his legs as he kept twitching, twisting in desperate attempts to get away.

The lashes stopped. She moved to stand in front of him, the whip gone. He sagged, releasing the chains and breathing hard. With a satisfied smirk, she left the cell and came back with a wet towel. Gentle, cool cloth cleaned his wounds and wiped away the blood.

"There, there, now. You did good," she cooed.

"I-I’m from the Night Courts," he panted. "They’ll pay for my return. Unharmed," he added, half-dazed from the pain.

She laughed. "A bit late for that, aren’t we? Besides," she paused, tilting his chin up with a claw, "I know who you are, Escort. Do you think it’d hurt Anais more if I returned you broken or dead?"

The blood drained from his head fast enough to make him dizzy.

"I’m new to court. She barely knows me. And I’m not valuable to her, I’m just her toy.” True enough, wasn’t it? If this woman lost interest, perhaps they’d kill him quickly—or better yet, forget about him. Anything but torture.

The claw left his chin, traveled slowly down his neck and chest. "Didn’t she teach you not to lie to a Queen?" All five claws sliced across his chest. Shallow cuts, but he gasped in pain. The cool cloth dabbed at his new wounds. "She doesn’t make just anyone an Escort. You’re special, somehow. Tell me everything, my sweet shadow."

A Queen. The nine-pointed sun. The woman from the cage. Nadraken’s Queen was going to break him. And she knew who he was. He swallowed, jaws clenched. He had no illusions about his ability to resist pain. Of course, he’d fight, but fear was already whispering for him to give in, to tell her anything she wanted to hear. She wouldn’t believe him anyway.

Her hand drifted back between his legs.

He shivered .

Anais

The scouts failed.

Harsh, but true. The Nadrakenan infiltrators were always a day ahead. Once a half day past the border, the scouts hurried back.

The days passed with excruciating slowness. A fast rider might make it to the southern border in a week, then nearly as long to Coriante, the capital of Nadraken. Queen Yelena was in no hurry. Two weeks went by. At least the silence provoked her council. The snakes felt snubbed, and encouraged their Queen to move ahead with war. She wanted so badly to oblige them. The legion at the border ought to invoke a response.

One more day dripped past, each second practically scratched into her skin. Doing nothing was what she hated most. Castien was an Escort. She should act. Wouldn’t she do more if Vern had been the one taken? Or any of the others.

Anais barely stopped herself from throwing a knife into Magdus’ throat when he again commented about the fuss over a "useless whore". The others had titles. Rank.

But that wasn’t what stayed her hand. All the hells could swallow her court, but if she started a war that threw the nation into death and chaos, everything her and her mother had worked for would lay in ruins.

So she woke earlier, slept later. The combat circles were empty in the cool, grey mornings. Anais spent that time taking out her frustrations on a weathered-looking training dummy. Midway through her practice, her mind finally settled as her body almost instinctively went through the familiar motions.

Vern entered the edges of her vision with sheets of paper in hand.

"A letter from Queen Yelena, my lady."

Three weeks. It had taken the bitch three weeks to respond.

She paused. The letter must have been at least ten pages long. Raising a brow, she focused again on the wooden dummy. "Summarize."

"She has declined to acknowledge the kidnapping."

Kick.

"Is that all?"

"Nothing else substantial. Flowery nonsensical regret at your loss, a mild threat about the legion, and conceited offers of replacements."

Kick. Kick.

Paper rustled. "And a threat about shadows never seeing the light."

Kick . One of the dummy's arms snapped off, flying into a corner. He watched it bounce, then caught her gaze. She was breathing hard, cold eyes freezing him to the spot.

"You didn't think that was important?"

He sighed. "It only serves to aggravate you. We already know she has him."

She turned back to the dummy, scowled, and picked up a sword. "And our spies?"

He folded the letter one page at a time. "They confirmed he’s alive. He's being tortured." A pause. "Thakris could take care of him."

" No ," she growled, swinging her arm viciously. "We will not kill him." Her form was still perfect, though faster.

"My Queen," he said slowly. "He's just a courtesan. We've established contact with the rebels. At this point, he's expendable—"

Her sword flew straight into the dummy. His mouth snapped shut .

"He is no more expendable than you," she said quietly. She let down her mask, let him look into her eyes. He would see. Though they had to keep up the pretense as much as possible, even here, he always saw her.

It took a moment, but his eyes widened. "You care for him. Do you… love him?"

She swallowed and began to tremble, the sweat on her body suddenly so cold. Hugging herself, the mask disintegrating, her knees bent and she dropped to the ground. Love? She didn’t know. But this pain, this twisting in her stomach was unbearable.

He rushed to her side and enveloped her small form in a crushing hug. "I am so sorry. Oh, my dear. Your mother always said to never fall in love. I'm so sorry."

When her shaking stopped a few minutes later, she sighed. "She loved you, father," she said.

"And hated me for it, sometimes. I was her weakness, and she hated weakness."

"It wasn't you that she hated, it was this horrible world," she murmured, leaning into his arms.

"I know. You and your mother both, I don’t know how you exist."

"The same as you."

"I exist because of you, and her. For you. They would have broken me without your mother."

A sudden lump grew in her throat. She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. A few moments into her stillness, Vern inhaled sharply. His arms tightened around her.

"Oh, Anais. I’m so sorry."

Her breath came too quickly as though she couldn't get enough air.

Vern guided her to her bathing chambers where someone helped her undress. The bath helped.

At the end of the day, she sat heavily on her bed, barely aware of her maid letting down her hair and removing her clothes. She managed to rouse herself for a minute, recognizing and grabbing her friend’s hand.

"Madeline." Her voice was hoarse.

"My lady?"

"Maddy… You and Jerome. You have my blessing. I shouldn’t have asked you to wait."

The girl’s expression ran through several different emotions before she spoke. "I—Anais. You don’t need to—we can wait."

Anais managed a small smile. "You shouldn’t. If he breaks your heart, he’ll answer to me. He knows that. And the same for you, Maddy. Don’t hurt him. That’s all."

"Of course. I know, we both know. Thank you. Naia… thank you."

Her lips thinned. "You shouldn’t call me that."

"I know. I’m sorry."

Silence. Then, "Good night, Maddy."

"Good night, Naia."

Her friend’s joy soothed her enough to let her rest, for tonight. One small, tiny good thing she could do against a world filled with rage and pain. But perhaps not so small a thing for her companions.