Page 3 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

The old man left empty-handed. It seemed he was the one who needed luck.

"Come on, we don’t have all day," grumbled the clerk.

Bemused, Castien finally stepped through the door.

The large room was filled with arranged haphazardly stacks of boxes - on the floor, on top of tables, even shoved into a few cabinets. Scrolls, books, and other documents appeared to be the primary occupants of the boxes. The youth from earlier was attempting to apply some organization to the chaos.

The clerk moved behind a table and shoved some papers aside.

"Name?" he asked.

"Castien—"

"Ah, yes, Castien FitzUmbra, bastard son of—"

"Do you really need that part?"

" Bastard son of the House of Shadows. Age twenty-four. Impudent." He scribbled the last word into the parchment.

Castien narrowed his eyes.

"Let’s see. The guards didn’t note down much, probably busy staring at muscles they only wish they had. Fools. Hmm," the man mumbled.

Probably true. They’d insisted he strip and display himself in multiple poses. They were clearly tempted to do more, but the House representative had been slowly increasing the volume of her complaints.

"Right. You’re assigned to the courtesan’s halls. Someone there will show you around. Take meals in the Great Hall. Go to the kitchens if your services are required. After— "

Castien interrupted, "Do you have my contract? I was told nothing except that I serve the Queen and her court."

The man sighed. "Yes, yes, everyone likes to rush things, and then someone has to clean up the mess. Here it is," he mumbled while shuffling some papers.

The contract appeared standard other than the Queen’s flowing script at the end. How she made letters on paper feel sharp was a curious art on its own. Castien scanned the document.

"...A year?" Contracts that long did not exist. He set the paper down and pointed. "There must be a mistake."

The man scowled. "The Queen signed it. Do you think she’s in the habit of making mistakes?"

"No, but—a year! I’ve never been contracted longer than a moon." And even then not since his first two years of service. A week was rare enough lately. He couldn’t imagine the price—but perhaps there was no price for the Queen. Not in gold, at least.

Then his mind caught up to the shock. "Wait. This is half a year past my bond. I didn’t agree to this." In five moons, he would be twenty-five years of age. He would be released from his House with a generous stipend set aside for his services. In five moons, he planned to be far from this city, perhaps never to return.

The clerk shrugged. "Take that up with your House. Or the Queen, if she asks for you."

"If? I was told she would summon me before any others were allowed—"

"No, no. Did that fop Marlow tell you that? Ugh. He's good at making you all look perfect, but he doesn't give a damn about the proper procedures. The Queen might request you within the first week. After that, you belong to the court."

No one else would protest that the Queen’s contract exceeded his bond by half a year. Certainly not the Night Courts, who had signed him away. They likely had no choice; the Houses depended on the crown for military protection. It was the only way to keep their expensive merchandise fit.

And since his contract exceeded his bond, the heads of his House likely had no more concern for his fitness.

Glaring at the piece of paper, Castien caught another line out of place. "No guard? Why was I not assigned a guard?"

"How would I know?" the clerk scoffed. "Alright, that’s enough. You don’t need to be quibbling over every detail. It’s a bit too late for that." He snatched away the contract and exchanged it for a smaller piece of parchment. "Your schedule. Report to the training halls at dawn. Rest at noon bell. You will—"

"What training?" Castien growled, his patience running thin. These amateurs couldn’t possibly presume to teach a House courtesan anything.

The small man frowned in irritation but ignored the interruption. "Attend the afternoon tea service for the first week. Rest when dinner is served. If you are not requested elsewhere, your nights are free."

This man would answer his questions. He didn’t know any more about the contract, fine, but this talk of training was intolerable. "I've been trained by the Night Courts, and—"

"This is not the Night Courts, boy," the clerk snapped. "This is the Queen’s palace. You will be trained in manners, if nothing else, as those are clearly lacking."

Castien's smile was slow and mocking. "I serve the Queen, not you."

The small man rubbed his nose. "Fool. You serve at the Queen's pleasure. As do I, and every person in this palace—from a scullery maid to the lords and ladies, and the generals of her armies. That means you serve everyone above your station—and a courtesan only ranks slightly higher than a scullery maid. Didn't your Masters teach you that much?"

Castien shrugged a shoulder. "Perhaps, but they don't care what the bastards learn. The fifth and sixth sons and daughters of those titled ladies often find the Houses quite instructive."

This seemed to perturb the clerk. He blinked a few times, scowled again, then flapped a hand in a shooing motion. "On your way. I'd suggest getting started on lessons, but what do I know?" he grumbled.

"Lessons?" Like a damned school child? This week was going to be tedious.

"You'll be grateful for them, boy. Maybe you'll learn to keep that fool mouth shut before it gets you killed."

"The Night Courts won't stand for that." An instinctive response that he wasn’t so certain applied anymore. Still, he could voluntarily serve his House after the contract was over, and he knew they would welcome him. If he survived a year.

"And you won't last a day with that nonsense. Here's your first lesson. Observe. Pretend you have nothing protecting you. Now, go away. I'm not here to listen to idiot fresh courtesans."

The small man shoved his papers into a stack and took them all over to the youth’s desk.

Guards and servants pointed him toward the courtesan's wing. He knew he was in the right area when the palace's cool air gained a hint of floral notes. Gilded statues of dainty women and muscular men hugged stone walls. Dried petals littered the edges of the floor. Carved into two large wooden doors were giant wildflowers, one on each side. As he drew closer, the large flowers revealed themselves to be composed of people in various suggestive, naked poses.

There was no mistaking this hall for another. But in case anyone managed to stumble here unknowingly, a young woman in a thin white gossamer dress slid off a cushioned bench to greet him. Her bright blue eyes flicked from his wrists to his face with a smile.

"You look too delicious not to be one of us. When'd you join the palace?" She sounded refreshingly innocent and curious.

Castien examined her hands. No claws, as usual with his female colleagues. Despite what he’d said to the clerk, few noblewomen served for long in the Houses. He inclined his head politely. "You are correct, my lady. My contract began today."

"Contract?" Her eyes widened, and she took a second, longer look at him. "You must be— Oh! The guards have been talking about you. Word gets around fast and they loved the look of you. I can see why."

"They examined me quite carefully, yes. Castien of the House of Shadows." He extended his hand.

"Oh my, the court's going to devour you. I want to give you a spin and trust me—very little interests me anymore." Biting her lip, she blinked and shook her head. "Mm-mn. Bad idea. Sorry, I'm Jesamin. I've been here for a few moons."

When she tentatively touched his hand, he curled her fingers in and bent at the waist, smiling into her eyes as his lips brushed against her soft skin. "A pleasure, Jesamin."

"Oh! I— thank— mm." She blushed, retrieved her hand, and clasped both arms behind her back, then rushed into the hall.

Amused at her flustered silence, Castien followed. She paused at an open doorway. "Marlow should be the one to show you around, but I don’t think he’s here right now. "

"I met a Marlow in the dining halls. A noble called me ‘one of his’. Who is he?"

"Master of Courtesans. He’s a bit strange, but he takes care of us." She hesitated. "I’ll give you the tour, then."

He hoped he hadn’t unsettled her too much. A palace courtesan ought to be more thick-skinned, though she seemed young. Still, a few moons were plenty of time to grow accustomed to a bit of flirtation, considering their profession. Perhaps the nobles liked her innocence.

There was a healer's room close to the entrance where a lone woman in blue robes dispensed contraceptives and strong calming drugs. The medicines appeared to be the same mix of herbs used by the Night Courts. When the healer began to explain their use, Castien interrupted with a rapid-fire list of the common drugs, their recommended doses, side effects and ways to counter them, and overdose remedies—lessons from his childhood. The woman looked him over and shrugged.

As they moved into the common room, soft groans accompanied wet gurgles, and the occasional, distant, sharp crack preceded a muffled shriek. The first such scream made him frown but his guide didn't react.

His gaze swept the large, curved room. "Are there no guards here?"

She laughed. "Sometimes. They're usually nicer than the nobles."

"I meant—never mind." Not having a guard felt like not wearing armor to battle, or so he imagined. His back itched.

Cushioned benches lined the walls. A large, round bed piled with pillows occupied the middle of the room. The few lone courtesans appeared to be part of the furniture—lounging, napping, idly ignoring everything around them. One couple was making use of the benches. Or rather, a noble leashing a male courtesan was thrusting hard into his mouth. A few more thrusts and the noble pushed his partner onto the rug. At the man’s pained grunt, Castien frowned and looked away.

Jesamin took the opposite direction around the couple. Whimpers faded behind them as they turned into one of the several side halls. These were the bedrooms. Most were well-decorated but with few personal effects. Apparently, anything the nobles wanted, they could take. Perhaps it was good he’d been rushed out and hadn’t had time for the details of his appearance—the adornments and gifts from clients he favored.

"Several are empty," she said, gesturing at a few rooms at the end of the hall. "Marlow will probably assign you one of them. They’re all the same— oh, um…"

Castien glided past her into a room, rubbing the bedsheets, running a finger along the nightstand—dusty, unfortunately—and testing the pillow. The room itself was the size of his closet. He was meant to sleep here? Sighing, he spoke over his shoulder, "Are these the only available rooms? Is this where the Night Court guests usually stay?"

She hesitated again. "I… I don’t know. You’d have to ask Marlow."

Hmph . "Continue."

Twisting her fingers together, she led him out of the sleeping quarters. The next hall contained bathing chambers, which thankfully appeared nice enough. A few were currently claimed by nobles. Jesamin hurried past them.

She was showing him the towels and soaps when a half-dressed courtier came out of a bathing chamber.

"Girl. Come here," the noble growled. "On your knees."

She wilted. This flower of a girl was the kindest person he'd met so far, likely hiding her fear behind a cheerful personality. The Night Courts would never allow this. Not real fear with no escape or consequence if they were hurt.

Castien stepped in front of her. "Leave her alone. "

The noble gaped. Jesamin gasped and pushed at his arm as the length of a whip unraveled to the floor.

"How dare you?" the courtier said with a mix of surprise and affront.

Jesamin managed to slip by, falling to her knees as the man raised his arm. "He's new! Please have mercy, lord! He doesn't know yet. And he's Night Court."

The noble narrowed his eyes and lowered the whip. "A spoiled whore. Apologize, boy," he snapped.

Jesamin's head turned and her eyes were pleading as she mouthed: apologize .

Her pitiful look only incensed him more. Castien glared at the noble. He stepped closer, trying to keep the man’s attention. "I apologize, lord, that you’ll never be man enough to entice a woman of her own free will."

Jesamin whimpered.

The whip snapped around her throat. A hard yank and her eyes bulged as she grabbed at the leather, gasping soundlessly for air.

"On your knees, and I might let her breathe!" the man snarled.

Cold anger twisted in Castien’s chest. He knew better than to touch a noble, but he wouldn't simply ignore blatant abuse. He shouted, "Guard! Release her at once! Guard!"

Jesamin choked as the lord laughed, "Fool. Yes, call a guard. They’ll whip you if I don’t. Kneel, peasant! Do you think I won’t kill her?"

Castien inhaled for another shout. The air stuck in his lungs as he felt a prick between his legs.

"Down," Marlow hissed behind him. His dagger slid between Castien’s ass cheeks. "Get on your knees, or I will bleed you, and to all the hells with your fancy whorehouse’s complaints."

Castien flushed red, curling his fists as he slowly lowered himself to the ground. The point of the dagger was in his face as Marlow stepped to his side.

"Apologize," Marlow spat.

Castien ground out, "He needs to let—"

The blade flicked. Grunting, Castien lifted a hand to his stinging cheek and brought back a thin line of blood. The Master grabbed his wrist and positioned the dagger at his smallest finger.

"Apologize now ." There was a tremor in his rage and the same fear as before.

Jesamin wheezed. Her eyes bulged. Castien lowered his gaze. The words did not come easy, but he said them without a hint of anger. "I beg your forgiveness, lord. Please spare her; she did nothing. I am the fool. Please."

The whip slowly loosened. Jesamin collapsed into a heap of gasping and coughing.

Castien didn't dare lift his eyes lest the noble see the anger that he was barely containing.

"You're not the first stupid slut I've dealt with. I'm not interested in paying your blood fees, but there are better ways to tame you." He grabbed the girl and half-dragged her into a bathing chamber. Glancing over his shoulder, he muttered, "One more word, boy, and I'll cut her throat."

Stomach in a tight knot, Castien moved to stand as sharp cracks and strangled cries echoed into the hall.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Marlow hissed, his dagger barring Castien’s path. "Stay. You will not stir until she comes out. If she dies, I’ll make sure the Queen knows who’s to blame."

"He wouldn’t kill her!"

"As you said—you’re a fool."