Page 32 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

Castien

The day after Damon’s visit, a wooden sword landed in the dirt beside Castien, throwing up dust next to the greenery. He turned a blank stare at the object, then a wary look at the Master-in-arms.

"I’m too weak." The truth, even if he hated it.

"The exercise will help your recovery. You won’t regain muscles without effort."

It would be good to be able to defend himself. To never feel so helpless again. His left hand closed around the wooden blade and he stood. "Alright. How do we begin?"

"You run laps. Endurance first." Octavius gestured in a wide circle around the cabin, then took the weapon from him. "Sword later."

Castien barely managed a hundred paces before slowing to a walk, panting. He hadn’t realized how weak he truly was. The bright sun highlighted thin limbs and bony, outspread fingers that belonged to a much older man. Those fingers curled into a fist, and he started jogging again.

The heat of the sun slowly warmed his body, lulling him into an old, familiar trance. How could it have been only less than a year ago that he ran in the Night Courts’ fields, among similarly tall, pale yellow grasses? Though he hadn’t been alone then, with his companions running beside him. Well, not quite beside . The others were more supportive of each other, but he’d made a competition out of everything. He’d always tried to run ahead, walk a step in front, dance a touch more gracefully.

But now he had to walk the last quarter of the trail, stumbling up to where Octavius waited.

The healer passed him a mug. "Drink some water. Rest a moment. It’ll take time, but you will get stronger," Octavius commented as he collapsed into a chair after only one short trip around the cabin.

Castien’s soft laughter drew a cautious look from his companion. His attempted elegant wave was an awkward, jerky motion that only made him grimace. "Sorry. I was just thinking how I can hardly walk straight now, much less dance. I danced beautifully—some clients only attended the performances to see me."

His eyes burned and blurred. "Did they take that from me, Octavius?" he whispered.

"No."

The healer was stern and occasionally harsh, but he never lied or embellished. The honesty was difficult sometimes, but it was precisely what he needed.

"Your body is fine. They didn’t maim or harm you irreparably. You’ll dance again, if you want to. And if I have my way, it’ll be a deadly dance with a sword in your hand."

"I’d like that."

"Then run, Escort," Octavius grumbled.

Escort. What could she possibly want with him after his ordeal? That he wanted her was without question, but his desires had never been anyone’s concern.

"Am I still? An Escort?"

The healer gave him an odd look.

"Run. Ask questions later."

The sun and tired muscles were better companions than his thoughts anyway.

Ver n

Boisterous laughter filled the Great Hall. It wasn’t uncommon, but the edge of cruelty was softer than usual. Damon had somehow redirected a whipping into mere humiliation. The servant girl crawled away with a slap on her ass and a plate on her head.

He seemed a good influence on the court, though he was careful. He didn’t avoid or disdain the darker pleasures. There were enough rumors of his heavy hand in a bedroom. As far as Vern could tell, they were only rumors, but the courtiers didn’t seem to know that.

Publicly, Damon acted like a lord—casual whipping, easy leashing, pawing at servants and courtesans. No one had yet commented that he only whipped the healthiest servants, and his strikes only landed on their least sensitive parts. The court wasn’t stupid though. While not every noble had the same predilections, Damon would need to come up with something particularly vile if he didn’t want to attract too much attention.

That was Damon’s problem. Vern strode down the dais, waving away guards as he stepped between the tables. Anais had looked better yesterday. Whatever creature bit her hadn’t yet been found. Likely an insect that long ago scurried away, the Master Healer had guessed.

As expected, a few nobles approached Vern. Their too-deep bows and overly-gracious "my lord"s made his scowl easier. The ensuing chatter and banter was mostly meaningless. Currying favor, asking for favors. Few legitimate concerns came of this walk, but he made it nonetheless.

Magdus was the last of them. Vern acknowledged him with a faint nod. "Councilor."

"Lord Chancellor. This… Lord Damon, he is a lively one," Magdus said idly.

Vern raised a brow. "I don’t know where he came from, if that’s what you are asking. The Queen’s business is her own in this." They were nearly to the doors.

The councilor nodded. "Oh, of course. I was only commenting on his strange manners. At times, he seems a peasant, if a charming one. Country ways, I suppose."

"Indeed."

"It’s just… some of the other councilors think it odd that he seems to have the Queen’s ear…?"

They’d noted Damon’s presence in the Queen's Wing. To be expected. Vern snorted. "If her ears are between her legs, yes. I've heard quite enough of his silver tongue."

Magdus chuckled. "Ah. Country ways can be novel."

"The novelty doesn’t entertain me. Good day, Councilor." If the nobles thought of Damon as the Queen’s newest toy, all the better. It would be satisfying to see him bend for her.

—

"I hate this."

Vern’s lips twitched.

Anais threw him a glare as she leaned out a window. "I’m perfectly fine, but the Master Healer doesn’t agree. He ordered me to rest for one more tedious day. Commanded me like a child!"

One of the few people who could. Vern chuckled from his seat. “Well, if you insist on behaving like one… Shall I have a word with him?”

“Don’t you dare!” She pointed a finger at him. "Between you and the healer, I’d never leave my room!"

He laughed louder. She sighed in disgust and turned back to the outdoors .

She was relaxed. Seeing her like this was too rare. Oh, there was sorrow in her eyes and worry in the tapping of her claws, but she was rested. Safe. For now.

Had it been poison, he would have ended the poisoner. Had it been a sword, he could have cut off the sword arm. This was no one’s failure. He knew that.

A few minutes later, he spoke again. "Damon is adapting quite well. I still think it was a bad idea." Thakris was keeping an eye on him now.

She made a flippant gesture. "You’re not supposed to be bothering me with court things. We need him, and he isn’t so terrible." A small frown creased her brow as she glanced back. "Unless you’ve discovered anything new?"

"Unfortunately, no. His captains were easier to assess, but any trace of his family has vanished. His sister could be anywhere—here in the court, even."

"Or long dead," she mumbled. "Let me know if you find anything. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear it again."

Fair enough. Damon was necessary. But the way he looked at her… Perhaps a few extra darts were called for. Sleep-tipped. Nothing too damaging.

Yet.

—

A week later, Vern approached the Queen’s study, a leather cylinder tapping his palm. Her door was open. He exchanged a brief nod with Jerome.

His eyes ran over her on habit. She was fully healed, had been all week, but he would never stop inspecting her.

When he handed over the cylinder, she glanced up. "Yelena lives. No losses." The assassination failed. He hadn’t agreed with that decision to begin with, but the outcome could be worse. Their unit was undiscovered. Stirring more chaos in that already chaotic nation could have tipped the scales to outright war.

Anais nodded absently. Perhaps she regretted her hasty choice.

The second bit of news would be of more interest.

"Castien is recovering."

The scrolls slid from his hands, unraveling swiftly as she scanned the smaller one. The tiny hints of her relief were so clear to him—her eyes softening, the slight lift at the corners of her lips, her fingers gently holding the paper as though it were precious. She looked up, the joy in her face unhidden.

"He’s well," she breathed, the words almost a question.

He hated taking any spark of joy from her. "For Octavius’ question—we should insist he stay at the cabin for the summer. It doesn’t sound like he is ready, and the court will not help his condition."

The spark vanished. Were it anyone else, he thought she might have agreed.

She carefully rolled up the small scroll and set it aside. "It is his choice."

"Anais—"

"Steward. I said, it is his choice."

He wasn’t certain the Queen had spoken, but his chin dipped. "Yes, my Queen."