Page 40 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

The military wing was full to bursting, active even this late at night. Integrating thousands of new conscripts was a constant task. Castien weaved his way through the halls until he spotted a familiar face.

"Jerrl! Or should I call you Captain?"

The man was sitting on a bench, harassing a group of trainees. He stood and put up a hand to interrupt Castien. "Wait. I'm sorry I was an ass. Kevam wasn't your fault, there was nothing you could have done—"

Castien waved it away. "It's fine. Truly. You don't need to apologize."

Jerrl sighed and crossed his arms. "I do. But thank you. You really are the best of us."

Castien glanced at the metal bracer on his friend’s wrist. He wasn’t one of them anymore, though, was he? Shelving that thought, he looked around again. "It seems Damon's hardly around anymore. Does he still come to training?"

"Yes, of course, he works with the new recruits often. They're out in the yard, trying to coordinate with the army." A slight grimace twisted Jerrl’s lips.

"Ah. Are they working together or beating each other up?"

Jerrl smirked, "What’s the difference? Either way, Damon seems happy about it, at least."

"Good, good. I need to speak to him." Castien nodded and stepped toward the yard.

"Oh, he’s not here. Just left to grab something to eat before his weekly meeting with the Queen. "

Weekly? They were quite familiar, weren’t they. He frowned. That was unfair. They weren’t together. Unless she’d changed her mind.

Jerrl raised a brow. "Oh, while you're here, do you know what a ‘king’ is? Heard some of the new recruits mumbling about it. I think that was the word."

A recruit from one of the extremist factions, perhaps? Castien wanted to investigate, but his priority was Damon. "Like a Queen, but male. Do you know when Damon will be free?"

Jerrl looked more confused, then shrugged and said, "Not sure. I'll tell him you're looking for him."

Wondering why Damon hadn't shared his interest in kings and emperors with Jerrl, Castien decided it was not his business. "Thanks." He headed out of the room.

"Castien."

He turned back. Jerrl took a breath.

"Thank you. For coming to the funeral. Kev would’ve appreciated it. I mean… Thank you."

Castien stepped close and wrapped his friend in a hug. "He was my friend, too. I'm so sorry."

"Oi!" A trainee shouted. "If you guys are gonna kiss, hurry it up. Some of us have things to do!" Snickering rose from the crowd.

Castien growled but his friend patted him on the back. "It's fine, they know. And they know I'll kick their asses."

Castien left him to shouts about respecting Escorts, the questionable morality of their fathers, and an outburst of laughter.

Anais

Today, the steward and captain stood behind her as she sat by herself on the dais. She was glad to be alone with her thoughts—as much as she could be in the Great Hall. Delia had backed down, due as much to internal conflict as Lord Magdus’ claim. His legion was easy enough to track. All of the mercenaries were slithering south. Satryani’s orders, no doubt.

Did the duchess have enough? Enough for what? To win a war with Nadraken? Unlikely. To split Drantar in half, forcing the Queen to join the war or cause a civil war? Almost definitely.

And then there was Damon, haranguing her with demands—attack the nobles now, start the civil war themselves, then finish off the rest. Satryani’s circle was forcing their people into these militias, tearing apart families, marching them toward their deaths. The duchess had offered Damon an advisory role by her side. Anais wondered if he was encouraging her to start the war as well.

Dark silk shimmered at the entrance to the Great Hall. Castien. The bright gold dragon woven into his shirt seemed to writhe as he walked. None of the other Escorts quite managed that twisting, sinuous motion. He’d lost absolutely none of his grace from his ordeal. She wasn’t the only one to notice.

Anais let her gaze wander away. Patience. Everyone needed patience, including herself. He seemed better lately, but today, she couldn’t watch him dance with the ladies, smiling that cold, empty smile until he chose one to focus his attention upon.

Surprising her, he stopped in front of the dais. Bowed. "My Queen."

His voice washed over her, low and soft. There was something different about it.

A few seconds later, she lazily looked him over. "Escort."

If her mask wasn’t perfect, she might have broken down in tears right there. That look in his eyes wasn’t cold or empty. Concerned, resigned, perhaps determined or angry—but not cold.

He stepped forward, gliding up the dais, and bowed again before taking a place behind her, to the left of the steward, she sensed. His presence burned her awareness. Anais focused on the snakes, noting which glanced at her courtesan, wanting to tear out their eyes for even looking. Mine . Her fingers tensed.

A messenger burst through the doors, quickly approaching the dais. Bowing deeply, the woman held out a scroll that a nearby guard passed along to her captain.

She read the scroll.

Read it again.

Cruelty. Practicality. If she did this…

Necessity.

Handing it to the steward, she gestured idly. "Read it." Her voice rang. The crowd hushed.

Vern paused. She skewered a sausage, nibbled.

"Sister Anais,

"Greetings from Queen Yelena of Nadraken. May you find use for the sweet shadow that slinked back to your court. He was of great amusement to mine—most accommodating. For a time.

"A shame that he was so weak and soft. We’ve heard so much of your esteemed, terrifying Escorts, but perhaps we were mistaken. Perhaps dear, lost Drantar needs an infusion of strength from her neighbors? You have but to ask, Sister."

He stopped at her casually lifted hand .

Stillness and silence claimed the hall. She thought she could hear Castien’s beating heart.

Idly swishing a cup of wine in her right hand, she scanned the rage and disgust threading the room. Movement began. Heads turned. Whispers.

"They think us weak," she mused slowly, softly, staring at the rolling red liquid.

The crowd bent to hear.

"They broke a new toy and thought him equal to one of our court." A noble would break faster. And how fast would he break at her words? She let a hint of her anger through.

Her left arm swept out, fingers spread and raised. "Behold, my Escort Castien, Prince of the Night. Are you broken, pet?" Her chin angled slightly to the left.

She didn’t doubt him, but his warm palm on hers was still a relief.

He bowed over her hand. His voice rolled out smooth and strong. "As Nadraken could not keep me, my Queen, neither could they truly break me."

Then she caught his eyes. A glimpse only, but it was enough. He was so cold, so blank, not a single hint of emotion leaking through. No pain. No warmth. Nothing.

She wanted to beg his forgiveness, to explain the necessity, to say anything that might bring back that hint of light into his eyes.

There was only one thing she could do.

After a nudge toward the watchful crowd, she took back her hand. Her sharp smile followed his drifting steps down the dais. "If there is amongst you a spy for Nadraken, run and tell Sister Yelena that she failed to break even the weakest of my court."

She watched him walk away, gliding so beautifully, a dragon amongst snakes. This time, she would not wait for forgiveness. She no longer expected it.

Castien

Chains and laughter. His wrists tingled. Every scar itched.

He displayed himself for her.

He crawled for her.

Danced for her.

Begged and cried.

Kissed her.

Fucked —

Memories clashed. Not this Queen. Not Anais. Downing a glass of wine cleared the bile from his throat. The drink went to his head too quickly.

He needed to speak to her. Soon. Now . And not to ask permission to leave. No. He’d fight for them. He’d earned that, hadn’t he? She was worth fighting for.

His nails dug into his palms as he glanced at the pale orange sky. She would be at court, still. He paced his room.

Snatching Damon’s book from his desk, he strode down the halls.

Bowing heads and kneeling servants flashed by. The heavy wooden doors of the nobles’ apartments stood open, as always. He knocked on Damon’s door.

"Escort." A nearby guard stepped closer. "The lord left a few minutes ago."

Castien scowled. The book burned his fingers. He was finished with its nonsense. "Can you unlock it?"

The guard hesitated, then nodded. "As you wish, Escort. "

Castien shut the door behind him. A spark of guilt at intruding upon his friend’s space vanished as quickly as it appeared; Castien needed to do something. He set the book on a table and searched for paper to write a note. Damon should show this to Anais himself if he thought it important.

Scattered dirt crunched beneath his boots. A trail led to the back door—the gardens. Curious, he followed the trail.

Castien shook his head. Damon’s new hobby was good for him, but he was not good for his garden. What a mess . This was something he knew how to fix. Weeding was simple and familiar. Castien soon lost himself to his task.

When he began squinting due to lack of light, he sighed and slammed the trowel into the dirt.

Thump .

Strange.

That didn’t sound like dirt. Perhaps there was a rock hindering the garden’s growth. Castien scooped aside the earth. Wood, not rock. And not natural wood—a flat panel lay a few inches below the ground, beneath a few wilting flowers. He dug it out, sliding the panel away. Dirt clattered into a small, dark hole.

A box and a stack of letters lay within. His sense of intrusion weighed on him. This was his friend’s privacy he was invading. A man he wasn’t completely certain he understood—or was he simply jealous? Castien shook his head and moved to slide the panel back into place.

Gold letters caught his eye.

King Damon.

He frowned.

—

Less than an hour later, a dozen captains sat before him, some just awakened from their beds.

Castien stood on the other side. He turned toward Jerrl. "You told me Damon was talking about kings."

"Yes?"

"Read this." He slid the papers over.

We've had enough of Queens. Long live King Damon.

End her and you have our support, Emperor.

No to the claws. We don’t want a butcher King. All else, yes.

And several more similar notes. Castien had found them after a short search.

Jerrl stopped reading. "This is ridiculous. Is this a joke?"

"No. I found them in his room."

The other captains murmured noises of surprise.

Jerrl shook his head and leaned back as if physically distancing himself from the letters. "What were you— It doesn’t matter. They must have been planted. Or some other perfectly good reason. He wants—we all want—to remove the nobility, not become one of them. And what's this about claws?"

Castien said softly, "A noble’s child was found dead today, her claws removed."

"He would never do such a thing," Jerrl nearly shouted. A few of the others shared glances.

Pelios scowled. "Could be he's doing your Queen a favor and rooting out traitors in her court."

Castien disagreed. "We don't trust them anyway. Is it ridiculous to believe that he'd work with anyone to achieve what he desires?"

Jerrl snapped, "Impossible. He's talked about what he wants for years—you were there when he started. He still wants the same thing, not to be king or emperor or whatever nonsense."

Another captain agreed. "You don't know him like we do. He's not what these letters make him out to be."

Castien tried again, "Maybe that's why I can see this and none of you can."

Pelios narrowed his eyes. "Or your Queen is just looking for a reason to kill him."

"Anais doesn't know. I haven’t made them aware—her or the other Escorts. But I remember Damon's talks and I didn't want to believe this either. He insisted I read this." Castien tossed the book on top of the letters. "It also talks about the evils of claws. You all know how friendly he is with the nobles. I thought that was an act, but maybe this is what he wants instead. Maybe the Damon we know is the act."

Did he believe what he was saying? Perhaps he wanted them to convince him otherwise. They weren’t doing a very good job. He didn’t want his friend to be a traitor, a child murderer, but it made sense. Why else would Damon agree to work with a Queen? He despised the nobles, and now he walked with them and laughed with them. That was the real lie.

"Damon should be here." Jerrl stood and moved toward the door. The others looked at each other with uncertain and angry frowns.

Castien picked up a box he’d slid beneath the table earlier. "Wait. There’s something else. Damon took up gardening after Kevam's death. I found this in his garden, with those letters. It's locked."

Jerrl turned. "You’re spying on him?" Then he went silent and stared at the box.

One of the others leaned in. "What’s in it?"

Castien hid his wince. He was spying, but he hadn’t gone to Octavius. He hadn’t betrayed his friend that much, yet. "I'm not sure, but it was carefully hidden."

Pelios shook his head. "This is ridiculous—"

"Give it to me," said Jerrl. With thinned lips, he reached into his shirt and pulled out a small key.

Pelios frowned. "Jerrl?"

Castien set the box down.

The key fit.

The room went silent with shocked horror.

The box was full of claws, unmistakably women's claws, possibly dozens.

And on top, one small set still wet with blood.

Several people went pale. Jerrl stumbled back into a wall.

Pelios stared at him. "Is this yours, Jerrl?"

"No! Damon— He gave me this key. Said he'd buried something by Kev's grave that he wanted me to have if he died."

They looked at each other.

"Maybe— maybe Damon was just keeping evidence—" Jerrl stammered.

One of the captains, a young man, mumbled, "Th-the women rebels. Some of them voluntarily removed their claws?"

Pelios responded woodenly, "Those claws are buried. We don’t demand to keep them like some sort of grotesque trophy."

"There's something else in there," Castien said. He reached in, hesitated, then tipped the contents onto the table.

A necklace with a half-moon charm fell out from the bottom of the box.

Jerrl closed his eyes.

For those who didn't know, Castien murmured, " That belonged to Damon's mother."

He didn’t want to believe this. An empty ache pulsed in his heart. Perhaps if Kevam had not been murdered by a lord. Damn you, Damon.

Castien scanned their faces. "Do what you must. I need to report to the Queen."

He left the room as a few of the others followed Jerrl, the remaining captains’ voices rising as the door closed.

—

"Where is the Queen?"

It should have been an easy question to answer. Her bedroom guard didn’t know. None of the guards could tell him. Jerome would eviscerate them all when he returned to duty.

Fortunately, the Queen's Wing wasn’t terribly large. He could’ve searched for hours if this were the nobles’ apartments. The ring of clashing metal echoed in the halls. No one sparred this late in the night. He raced down the hall.

Blood pounded in his ears. He almost stopped to calm himself. The urgency could all be in his head. Anais was fine. She could take care of herself. She was deadly with a blade. Or perhaps she was simply taking out her frustrations on a practice dummy. Maybe the sound came from restless guards. He could be rushing to embarrass himself.

He snorted. His steps didn’t slow. A little embarrassment would be good for him. If that was all he suffered tonight, he’d thank the gods and maybe even turn religious.