Page 37 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

Damon turned with a broad smile from laughing with his companions, the expression quickly souring. "Escort Castien. What a pleasure." That tone wasn’t one Castien had ever heard before. Not directed at himself.

"I deserve that," he began. Had to start somewhere. He’d been doing this for days but it was no easier each time. "I’ve been avoiding you—all of you—and I’ve been acting the ass since I returned. I— my time in Nadraken is a terrible excuse, but it’s all I have. I’m sorry."

Jerrl snorted. "You seem to be doing just fine."

But the hard edge in Damon’s eyes softened. He glanced at Castien’s wrists. Not at his bracers.

Castien met their eyes one at a time while removing the silken strings of a bracer. The leather fell away, making him feel strangely half-naked. They frowned at the jagged scars on his wrist while he reached for the buttons of his shirt. His eyes closed. Their pity, their horror, and shock, he could withstand. He breathed and let his shirt open.

He knew what they saw. White lines, smoother across his chest than his wrists. Most had been made with a blade, but they crossed each other so often as to make it irrelevant. While many had faded, it was still possible to trace hundreds of lines. Hundreds of screams.

"I don’t remember much of it. Octavius said I was gone for three moons. It felt like years. Damon, I owe you my life, my sanity, everything. But the way I’ve been behaving, maybe I’ve earned a few of these. "

"No one ever deserves… that ," Jerrl blurted out, his suspicion replaced by horror. The others nodded with anger, pity, discomfort, or some mixture of all three.

Kevam asked softly, "How hard did they whip you? To cause so much damage…"

Castien tensed. "Bladed whips. Claws, sometimes." Knives. The Queen of Nadraken had carved his skin, outlining his muscles. He swallowed.

Damon grunted. "Enough dramatics. Button up before someone ravishes you, lordling."

They embraced, tears wetting Castien’s cheeks when they separated. Damon’s expression seemed strange but it must have been just the tears blurring his eyes. Then his friend was smiling and pulling him into a seat.

"I don’t know how you stand to be around any noble, especially a lady." Damon grimaced.

"Briefly, for the most part." Castien smiled tightly. "And Master Octavius is a very good healer."

They nodded and Damon sighed. "Apologies, Castien. We shouldn’t pick at your wounds. But our stories are too common—the nobles taking and doing whatever they want with no consequences."

"It's why we're here, isn't it? I'm glad the Queen convinced you to join. That should be an interesting tale."

Damon scowled.

Jerrl chuckled. "Our ‘undefeated’ leader is still sore about that, actually." He mockingly dodged a glare and added, "He lost a sword fight to the Queen, was mad about it for days."

Castien raised his brow. "How did you even convince her bodyguard to let you get close with a sword?"

Damon grunted. "Jerome? He’s like any good soldier—I convinced her . It was only a whim. She was so damn serious and irritable, I thought a good fight would loosen her up. Who knew the Queen could fight so well?"

Castien stifled a laugh."Ah—just about everyone? The nobles all do, she makes sure of it."

"Those bitches are never right about anything. Anyway, it all worked out, I suppose. You’re here. We’re here."

Castien gave a lopsided grin. "Well, that certainly tells me a lot of nothing."

Jerrl laughed. "Your Queen is brave, too. We demanded she come out to see us. We were certain that was the end of that. But she showed!"

Damon grunted, narrowing his eyes at Castien. "Did you tell her to visit us in the woods?"

"No, I’m as surprised as you." And he wouldn’t have suggested it. He wouldn’t have trusted Damon’s deep-seated anti-royal rhetoric, fervent even as a youth, and now compounded with a hardened outlook on life. An opportunity to erase one of the tyrannical rulers—he wasn’t certain he could have trusted her life in Damon’s hands. No, that wasn’t right. He definitely would not have trusted Damon.

Clearly, he would have been wrong.

"Well. A murderous Queen ought to be good with a sword," Damon mumbled through clenched teeth.

"I can’t imagine that’s what convinced you to join her army."

He shrugged. "It’s an alliance, good for all of us. They’re still my people. We made it clear we’ll leave if we don’t like the look of things."

"You know, you’re starting to sound like a lord yourself."

Damon grinned. "Then would it be lordly to ask how your Queen is in the bedchambers? "

Wouldn’t he know? "In this court? Most definitely. Haven’t you managed to seduce her yet?" He maintained his casual smile despite the tightening in his chest.

Damon snorted. "To my great sorrow, she’s remarkably resilient to my charms. It’s been very hurtful to my pride. Maybe you could put in a kind word?"

Castien blinked, then covered his reaction with a small shrug. They were not together. He cursed himself for a fool but also wanted to laugh. His heart beat faster. "Why not? Though you likely see more of her than I do these days." Because he was an absolute idiot.

"During the day, perhaps, but— ah, I won’t press." He waved a hand. "Will you be joining the council meetings? She seems to rotate all her Escorts through that room."

Castien frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "I don’t think I’d be of any use in there. She hasn’t asked me." And probably never would. She didn’t need the advice of an overreacting moron who couldn’t be bothered to look out of his own ass even once. The blasted Consort’s ring had sat beside his bed for weeks and he thought it was only out of pity ? Had he truly believed she allowed him to remain an Escort if she didn’t care for him? Or that she wore her court mask around him because she was disgusted by him, not because he’d hurt her with every day he avoided her? The lightness in his chest felt heavy again.

"Are you alright?" Damon was frowning slightly at him.

Castien scrambled for a response. "Fine. Sorry. Sometimes… I get lost, still." He winced. Using his torture as an excuse was shameful. He diverted, "Have you made much progress?"

Damon gave him a strange look. "Slowly. The nobles are completely useless. It's hilarious listening to them discuss things they have no control over, though."

"Damon," Jerrl interjected. "We should get to the gates, the new recruits will be arriving."

"Oh, yes." Damon turned to Castien. "Come with us. You can see our progress firsthand—we’re expecting a large batch of recruits today. Anais will be pleased."

It sounded like a useful thing to do, so Castien agreed. More useful than the complete fool he’d made of himself.

They turned a corner, exiting the rebels’ barracks.

And ran into the Queen. Anais.

Damon bowed, greeting her with a jaunty grin. "We’re off to greet the five hundred new soldiers, my lady."

Castien slid back a step with his bow.

She didn't spare him a glance. "Captain, go with them. I’d like you to oversee this."

Jerome frowned. "My Queen. I should stay by your side."

"I’ll be fine, Jerome. Vern and Thakris will both be with me. Go."

"Yes, my Queen."

Their words hardly had meaning to him. He stared at the ground until they were out of sight.

"Something the matter between you and the lady?" Damon asked as they walked.

"No." The word barely escaped his lips.

His friend raised an eyebrow. "That's always meant yes. Does it still?"

Castien stiffened, earning himself a sharper look.

"Are you afraid of her? Has she done something to you?"

"Leave him be, Damon," Jerome said.

"If she's hurt him—"

"She hasn't," Castien said. But he had. The spear through his heart every time he saw her was not getting easier to pull out. The longer he delayed confronting her, the deeper he cut them both .

He cleared his throat and asked, "Who’s leading the recruits today?"

Damon frowned but let it go. "Two captains from the western division, Saren and Darteius. Dar is actually the fifth son of a baron. He probably laughed himself to tears when he heard I was given a title."

It didn't take much to distract his friend. He tried to concentrate around his aching heart. "You have nobles in the rebellion now? How’s that going?"

"A few. Most barely have titles—children of knights or less-favored, late-born whelps. The highest ranking is probably the third daughter of a Count, and she was all but banished from her family two years ago. Every one of them has good reasons for their disgruntlement."

Damon continued talking with little encouragement and no expectation of their contributions. His voice was as easy to listen to as when he'd made up or embellished stories too many years ago. Eventually, his stories had turned into political talks, but with the same rhythm and weave in his words, the same fascination he evoked in his listeners. It probably hadn't taken much effort to win over the rebels.

Castien imagined he would have followed Damon if his life had been different. Or at the end of his bond, when he visited the Silver Briars, he'd be drawn into his friend's story like all the others. Perhaps he'd be a captain, guiding these ragged people of all ages and backgrounds through the gates, lazily saluting Damon on his way into the palace for the first time.

The next few moments made no sense while his thoughts followed an older man walking through the gates.

That man had been taking normal steps one second, then his entire body jerked and slowly fell to the ground, feathers sprouting from his back. Sharp whistles flew through the air. Dull thunks surrounded him.

Castien was still staring at the arrow when Jerome shouted, "Archers! Archers in the trees! Get to cover, now!" The captain took a quick step in front of Castien as he gave his commands. Another dull thump. Jerome’s shoulder jerked—an arrow sprouted from his arm. He grunted and shoved Castien toward the walls. "Move!"

Stumbling blindly, Castien almost tripped over the old man’s twisted body. He started to bend over and help the man, then his mind finally caught up, and he scrambled to the safety of the walls.

His thoughts were still catching up with his rapidly beating heart when they managed to duck inside the walls, arrows barely missing them.

Jerome snapped off the arrow in his shoulder. He drew a dagger and shoved the handle into Castien's hands. "Find the Queen, tell her we're under attack. Don't let her out of your sight." He ran toward the wall, shouting commands at confused guards as he went.

Find the Queen . He could do that. The gates were closing now and the arrows had stopped.

He took a step away from the wall, then remembered Damon. A frantic glance found his friend, unharmed, calming the new recruits. Damon chose that moment to look around as well, waving to Castien.

"I'm going to find the Queen!" Castien shouted, turning toward the palace after receiving a confirming nod.

Bells began to ring. Three quick rings for a warning but not yet urgent. The Queen would be waiting for a messenger.

When he barged through the doors of the Queen’s Wing, she was surrounded by soldiers. They cleared a path for him. Vern and a few others stood beside her .

He swallowed his regrets, breath coming too fast to waste time. "My Queen," he panted, "we're under attack. Jerome's been shot."

Her emerald ice flickered. "Steward, manage the court. Thakris, alert Trishve. Is Jerome alive?"

"Yes. I’m sorry — yes, he's fine, he sent me to find you. He was going up the wall to help." What else had he forgotten to mention?

She nodded, directing a few servants to gather healers, and commanding a contingent of the palace guard to the nobles’ apartments. Vern and Thakris had already left. By the time she was finished, only a half dozen soldiers stood at attention around her.

She glanced over her retinue. "I'm sure they won't let me out of this wing. Please see to the children, Escort Castien. I’ll be in the General's study."

"The captain commanded me not to leave your side." While he wanted to take the way out, he had no interest in irritating Jerome.

With a curt nod, she strode down the hall. Castien fell in step behind the guards. He felt like he should do more—find weapons, armor, perhaps he should help the healers. What did a courtesan know about protecting the Queen?

The room they entered had a large table with a map and various markers. Anais headed straight for a wall of weapons, buckling on leather armor, a few daggers, and a sword. She passed a sword down the line of guards to Castien. Then she marched to the table.

"How many were there?"

She was talking to him. Castien shook his head. "I don’t know. They were in the trees, archers. That’s all I saw—the arrows." And the dead man.

She nodded. "Did all the rebels make it through the gates?"

He gritted his teeth. "I don’t know."

A pause. "Did Octavius teach you strategy?"

"No."

"Come." She gestured without looking.

The guards had dispersed to the door and the window. Castien stepped stiffly to her side.

"Here." A claw pointed at a cluster of islands to the west. "Akerami lifted their blockade on our shores. Their exorbitant taxes remain, but it means they’re backing down." The claw flicked to the east. "Shoni’i is quiet. While a direct attack on the palace is their style, I’d expect an entire army cutting a straight path through the countryside first." North. "Delia, I’m not so certain, but Magdus hasn’t complained that his new fort was retaken. They like fire, though. No fire arrows, I assume?"

Castien shook his head again.

She continued, "Mm. And Nadraken. They like their games, as do my nobles. What game might they be playing here?"

Arrows whistled in his mind. "War is hardly a game."

"Everything’s a game."

"Not to me." The words slipped before he remembered that he had no idea what he was talking about.

She glanced at him sharply, then turned back to her board. "And not to the people. You’re—"

Heavy bootsteps interrupted her.

Trishve marched in. "It wasn’t any of the other nations. The damned rebels attacked us!"

Following closely behind her were two guards dragging a shouting Damon.

"No, we— Take your hands off of me! We did not!" Damon scowled as the guards sat him down across from the Queen. "We had nothing to do with this! "

Octavius, Darius, and Kevam were right behind them. Kevam, at least, was not restrained. Castien stepped back as they all crowded the table.

The burly healer stomped up. "Did you know about this? Did you plan this?"

"They are not my people, I swear. I would not attack my own people!" Damon was nearly shouting.

Octavius pressed, "But they claimed to be rebels. You were there—you heard them."

"I don’t control every faction. Most of them, but not all. There’s a small group—and hopefully, those attackers were all of them—they were angry about my takeover from the previous leader."

"You never mentioned this before," Anais said, her tone cool.

"I didn’t think it was important. They were only perhaps thirty in all."

Castien offered, "I knew about the coup. I didn’t think it was relevant either."

Anais' frown didn't lighten. "Identify the bodies and the prisoners. Tell us who hasn’t been captured or killed."

"As you wish," Damon growled as he strode out of the room.

Castien watched her. He watched and was useless because he had never belonged at the side of a Queen.

Kevam approached from the corner. "My Queen. We truly did not know about this attack. He would have told me. If I may, I have a request concerning the prisoners."

She raised her brow.

"Am I correct in assuming they will be executed?"

She inclined her head.

"Allow them to join us in the army instead. We will keep them under control. It would help convince the people that you are capable of mercy."

To Castien’s surprise, she nodded again. "Very well. We'll need to make a show of it, but I'll see what I can do. After we have the names."

"Thank you, my Queen." Kevam looked out into the hall but didn't leave. He took another breath.

"I apologize for Damon's anger. I swear we had nothing to do with this." Then he bowed and left.

The room’s mood seemed no lighter for the rebels’ absence.

"I believe him," Octavius grumbled. "That one, not Damon."

Anais agreed. "Is Jerome well?"

"Yes. He will need to rest his arm for a couple of weeks."

"Sounds like torture for him," Castien mumbled at the same time that Anais huffed a soft laugh.

They shared a brief glance. Amusement danced in her eyes. No mask. No ice. If he could extend this moment and remove everyone else from the room…

She blinked, a faint smile on her lips. "I’m sure he’ll demand at least four guards on me at all times. I'm curious if they'll try to follow me into my bathing chambers."

He gave her a weak smile.

Octavius grunted. "Castien. You can learn from the healers today. Try not to get in their way. Darius, you too, if you're not busy."

"Yes, sir." Castien shot a grateful look at the scowling Master Healer. Darius bowed.

Castien sighed once they were out of the room.

"Don't make her wait forever," Darius murmured .

He stiffened. Darius spoke again as though he hadn't said anything. "How much healing craft are you familiar with?"

"Some. Herbs for pain and calm, light bandaging, contraceptives of course."

"Good. There shouldn’t be much more than that needed today."

Idle chatter was going to make him bite his tongue off.

"Does she ask for you?" The question came out harsher than he liked.

Darius stopped walking, facing him with a look as cold as Castien had ever seen on this carefree man. "Would it make you feel better if she does? Like you owe her less of an apology?"

Castien met his eyes, accepting the well-deserved judgment. "No. That's not— never mind."

Darius grimaced. "Well, she doesn’t. I’ve offered—the day you were kidnapped, she told me to stay out of her chambers." He sighed and continued walking. "I won't pretend to know what you've been through. But she does. She personally visits every one of the returned victims, if they let her. I'm guessing it's why she's so patient with you. Just don't count on that patience forever."

"I won't." As soon as he gathered the courage to face her. And the strength to weather her pity, anger, or anything else he deserved.

Anais

She let out a sigh. Jerome would be insisting all the more that Damon could not be trusted. The other Escorts weren’t much happier.

They congregated after Damon stormed out. Thakris leaned against a wall, eyeing the door as though she might follow him. Only Madeline was absent while tending to Jerome.

Trishve was ranting, "...hiding something. That slimy piece of shit needs a leash and a bit, not free access to the Queen's Wing."

Even Thakris mumbled, "He’s too friendly with the nobles, and, as far as I can tell, it’s genuine. Either he’s a fantastic liar or he actually likes them."

"We’re all liars," the Queen responded. "The court believes your act, Thakris. And mine. They’ve seen proof of who we are. "

"They see what we let them see—" Thakris began.

Laureline interjected, "Can you say you have complete control over the court, my Queen?"

The room went quiet.

Anais smiled thinly. "Indeed. And the court is only a thousand—the rebellion far larger. I don’t believe this was Damon’s plan. Neither do I trust him. But we do need him. Agreed?"

Reluctant nods and grumbled assent. Vern gave Thakris a glance.

As the others filed out, Anais said, "Escort Thakris. Keep an eye on Duchess Kipos as well."

The woman had a slight smile as she bowed.

She didn’t believe Damon attacked his own people, but this complicated things. The nobles would be upset at the supposedly tamed rebel recruits. Perhaps it was time to wipe the board of her court. Her eyes scanned the map. There would always be chaos. Was she delaying because they were truly not ready, or because she was afraid ?

When her mother had poisoned all those children, the nobles hadn’t expected such a large-scale event. They would be prepared this time.

She was not ready.

—

The next day, Damon entered her study flanked by two guards.

A sheet of paper fluttered onto her desk.

"The list, your majesty." His voice was flat.

"Thank you, Damon." She gestured at a seat.

The rebel leader glared as she scanned the paper. This anger felt hot and bright, not like the deep-seated rage that she’d glimpsed before.

Anais looked up. "Are there any other rogue factions?"

"Several small ones. They’re on the list."

"Have the captives agreed to join?"

"They will."

Why do you hate noblewomen?

Anais set down the paper. "This will go away in a week or two. These rogue companies marching across the nation are stirring up the court far more. Have you discovered anything?"

His eyes narrowed slightly as he shook his head. "That’s it? Not going to string me up and throw me on the coals?"

"The coals are for the nobles. They seem to adore you."

He shrugged, then leaned on one elbow. "Their game is easy—cruelty in plain sight, all their whims attended to. Even Satryani doesn’t hide her intentions. She wants war. The legions are hers."

She knew that already. "Yes, she’s wanted war for longer than I’ve been alive. But what is she doing with her army?"

Damon smiled crookedly. "Darius and all your spies can’t find out?"

"They will, it’s only a matter of time. If you have nothing for me, Damon…"

He raised his chin slightly. "Patience, my lady. Allow me to savor a moment after false accusations."

She sighed. Insufferable .

"Fine, fine," he chuckled. "The ever-so-magnanimous Lady Satryani offered me a barony. She wants to go to war… with you ."

Anais went still. The two guards by the door took a step closer.

A small flick of her fingers kept them back.

Damon was far too relaxed, his grin calm as he stared at her boldly. He was ill-positioned if he intended harm.

"Go on. You clearly have more to say." Indulging him was like talking to a child.

He glanced to the side. "You trust your guards?"

"I trust everyone in this hall."

"Including me?"

"Damon…" Anais' claws tapped the desk.

He made a placating gesture, fingers spread and patting the air. "Yes, alright! Before you tear out my tongue—the duchess is telling everyone that there will be war soon, yes? War with Nadraken, we all assume. Those troops are all loyal to her. She’s been gathering—convincing, bribing, blackmailing, whatever works—as many mercenaries and soldiers as possible. Everyone knows I have influence over the thousands of new rebel soldiers. I’m offended she only offered me a barony."

Damon paused to scowl.

Perhaps if the lady had offered her claws.

Anais had considered Satryani’s desire to start the war, would have pinned her mother’s death on the duchess five years ago if the lady had acted. But why wait five years? Why wait at all ?

He continued, "Anyhow. If you will not go to war with Nadraken, she will. Through you, if she must."

Anais shook her head. "Satryani." Her great-aunt was too long entrenched in the nobility to be removed or easily accused of wrongdoing. Exposing the legions as hers meant nothing—fantastic, she was helping with the war effort.

"Is that all?"

"Well…" He frowned. "It’s probably nothing, but she seems to have converted to whatever that religion is up north. She hasn’t been open about it, just references the Goddess in private."

What did the damn Goddess have to do with this? Was Delia involved?

"Thank you for the information, Damon. I am grateful, truly. And for this," she tapped the paper, "as well. My apologies for the way you were treated yesterday. It was harsh and unfair. You are an ally, and I should not have turned on you so quickly."

He laughed. "An apology! I woke this morning believing you’d skin me alive."

She pointed at him. "Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind."

He offered an exaggerated and awkward bow from his seat. "Then I’m glad I’m of use, my lady. I do have a favor to ask."

"Go on."

"The remaining rebel factions—don’t attack them. I can persuade them to join instead."

"You haven’t yet."

"It takes time to run around the countryside. I am only one, single, poor peasant."

"Hardly. But very well. We’ll redirect the training raids to the borders." As favors went, it wasn’t a terribly onerous one to give. She’d expected him to ask for more freedoms and rights for the people, or at least for himself.

Damon inclined his head. "Wonderful. Thank you, my dear."

Easy. Too easy?

A minute after he left, Anais turned to the side. "Your thoughts?"

Thakris stepped out. "It’s true that the lady is worshiping Delia’s Goddess. Praying for longevity, victory, for you to come to your senses. She is in earnest. We don’t know why."

"And Damon?"

"Nothing. The most interesting thing he’s done is start a garden." Thakris sounded disgusted.

Anais suppressed a laugh. "Thank you, Escort."

Her warmongering great-aunt was praying to a foreign god, and the rebel leader was growing a garden in the palace. It was all ridiculous enough to be amusing—if she weren’t worried about both of their motives.