Page 41 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

Anais

Candles flickered, casting shadows throughout her chambers. Dancing shadows. A huff by her side drew her attention down. Anais ran her fingers absently through the wolf pup’s fur. Ash’s head turned a moment before a gentle rap at the door—the usual soft knock that her guards used.

"My Queen. Lord Damon requests an audience."

This late at night? Perhaps he was still hopeful for her affections. Stifling a sigh, she gave the guard her assent.

Damon strode into her room hugging a bottle of wine. "My dear Queen Anais," he greeted with a broad smile, dipping into a deep bow.

Ash growled. Her hand on the pup’s head silenced the sound but the creature's hackles remained raised.

"Damon. It's late." The words were harsher than she intended. She offered a slight tilt of her head and a smile to soften it.

"Please, do forgive me. That’s why I'm here—to apologize for that day on the hunt. I was too forward."

She relaxed a bit. "No need. I'm glad it's not an issue."

He waved a hand, then extended the bottle. "Of course not. A lady’s rejection always stings, but I would never hold it against you. I pilfered this wine from the cellars to offer as an apology. I know, I know—gifting you your own wine. But will you share a glass with me? As friends and allies."

The man was an unrepentant, brazen flirt. Combined with his crooked smile and handsome features, she wouldn't have resisted if her heart wasn't already thoroughly set on a man who ran from her like the plague. At least the panic in Castien’s eyes had finally vanished. Instead, he seemed like a lost puppy who couldn't figure out how to cross the chasm that separated them. She tried. There had been invitations to casual gatherings where he wouldn't feel the need to speak to her, but she would be available. He never attended. And after today? No, Castien was unreachable.

Damon had no such uncertainties. If she ever suggested a hint of interest, she'd probably have to fight off his advances.

Nodding at the glasses in a cabinet, she moved to the small table next to the window and ushered the pup out the door. Animals really didn't like Damon.

"As friends and allies," she murmured.

He sat across from her. His motions were smooth and practiced when he poured the wine, his manner gracious and graceful. It was almost natural.

Certainly, none of her court would have noticed or cared about the small oddities in his behavior—such as how he never called her Queen except in mockery, flattery, or absolute necessity. And how his mask was too perfect as he stared intently into her eyes, carefully avoiding her lips or examining any other part of her. Likely he was still infatuated.

But his words came easily, his banter friendly and insinuating nothing. In the midst of a story, his imitation of her ridiculous court had her in laughter and accepting another glass of wine. Somehow, the midnight bell was ringing and the bottle was empty.

He'd moved to stand by the window, moonlight limning his body, highlighting his rugged beauty. Glowing muscles and shining hair brightened in her wine-addled eyes. Her instincts kept insisting that he couldn’t be trusted, but, perhaps this time, she was wrong. Perhaps Castien— Perhaps her heart was affecting her judgment. If he asked again, she might not refuse just a taste.

Damon leaned sideways against the window, smiling at her. "I was thinking. Care for a rematch? I'm still sore over how easily you won our first bout, but I've been improving with your Masters-at-arms."

She sipped at the last of the wine in her cup, taking a moment to understand that he wanted a sword fight. She giggled. "We're drunk, Damon, we'll just hurt ourselves."

He grinned. "I feel fine. See?" He pushed off from the window and spun in a few circles, bowing deeply after a final spin. "Surely the deadly Dark Queen can’t be defeated by a little wine?"

To be honest, she felt fine too. Sword fighting wasn’t quite the entanglement she wanted, but he seemed insistent.

She sighed dramatically. "Alright, if you need me to put you in your place again, I'll oblige."

A flicker passed through his eyes but he bowed again and it was gone. "My lady." He extended a hand to help her stand. On the way out the door, Damon retrieved his sword from the guards.

"Live blades?" She raised an eyebrow.

He buckled the weapon to his waist. "Like the first time. Humor me, my lady?"

Perhaps she'd think better of it without the wine in her blood, but now she only nodded magnanimously. "Let me find my sword… ah, there it is.” Her fingers fumbled slightly. She stretched her wrist and shrugged. Once she warmed up, the bit of alcohol would be unnoticeable.

They took a few steps into the hall before Damon turned to address the guard trailing behind them. "Some privacy, if you please. I'd like no witnesses to my humiliation this time, and I'm sure our dear Queen wouldn't want it known if she were beaten."

The guard frowned. "Captain Jerome—"

She brushed a hand through the air. "It’s fine. If I can’t fight circles around this peasant while a bit tipsy, my mother will rise from the grave and beat me herself." Jerome wouldn’t have been convinced to leave her, but he’d pulled his bad shoulder in practice earlier today. Octavius had warned him not to push himself, but did the captain ever listen?

Bowing his head didn’t hide the guard’s amused smile. He walked back to his post beside her door.

Damon flashed her a bright, slightly rosy smile. He really looked like he’d barely drunk anything at all.

The practice circles were empty this time of night—most places were, except where the nobles took their pleasures. She rejected that dark thought with relative ease—Damon was positively jolly now. He sounded excited. She felt a little bad for him and considered letting him win, for his pride.

"Ready?" He grinned.

The blades seemed shiny. She blinked to remove the odd gleam, without success. Perhaps it was the flicker of the torches, or she was more inebriated than she thought. Still, she twirled the blade.

"At your pleasure, my lord," she teased.

Swords clashed, steel ringing. He had improved. And she was just slightly off balance. Regardless, she could make her loss look good.

Still mulling over the idea, she stumbled but managed to parry. Maybe the wine truly was affecting her too much. She stepped back and shook her head, opening her mouth to call it a night.

He spoke first.

"It's you who needs to be put in your place. "

She frowned at his strange, flat tone and his thin, tightly pressed lips. What was he playing at?

He struck, faster than before. His attacks were more certain now, more aggressive.

At her next fumbled parry, she said, "Damon, wait—"

His smile was replaced by an ugly twist of his lips. That slice almost reached her arm, her parry unintentionally slow. She retreated again. She was breathing too quickly, her heart beating faster than it should, her muscles already tiring. The wine shouldn’t be affecting her this much.

Damon chased her, not letting her rest. He spoke with every strike that she could barely match.

"At first, I thought you and I were playing the same game. It took me a while to realize you actually care . Insanity. How you survived this long as a so-called ‘Dark Queen’ is impressive, I'll admit."

"What are you—" She stumbled again, awkwardly deflecting his attacks. Talking and thinking at the same time was too distracting. This was not just wine affecting her.

"How long did you think you could keep it up? Pretending to be something you're not?"

She blinked, shaking her head. His words were as confusing as her blurry eyes. He’d drugged her. That was the only explanation.

"Don't worry," he murmured. "No more pretending after today. You'll be a good little bitch when I'm done with you."

She slid back, his blade passing too close to her face. Whatever cocktail of drugs he'd fed her was rapidly increasing its effect. Blurry eyes were the least of her problems—she could fight nearly as well blind. But it was affecting her balance, slowing her reflexes, muddling her thoughts. Soon, she would hardly be able to stand, much less fight.

Fool. She'd been an absolute fool to trust this man. Dying under his blade would be the lesser offense. Though it sounded like he wanted something other than her death. She should be afraid, but her senses were too dulled for even that feeling to rise.

She blinked, her eyes closing for a second too long. His blade sliced and she couldn’t block. It was over. She’d lost.

Damon hesitated.

"Get away from her."

Anais didn't dare take her eyes off Damon, but she knew that voice intimately, even with rage twisting it into a growl.

Castien stepped into view, a nearby practice sword in his hand.

"Castien, no. He's better than you with a sword. Don't—" she mumbled, blinked again, losing her thought. Her weapon clattered to the ground and she wavered, stumbling back. The room started to spin.

Castien stepped closer to a sneering Damon.

"Castien," she murmured, frowning as her eyes struggled to focus.

"Shut up, Anais," her Escort said softly, but not unkindly.

"Lover-boy here to save his Queen?" Damon lunged before he finished speaking, but Castien caught and deflected the attack. "Why? How can you care more about this monster than your friends, Castien?"

"You know she's not like them. But you are. You hid it well, but you're worse than most of her court."

Damon laughed. "I don’t live in a dream! A wonderful, caring world is just that—an impossible dream your foolish girl is chasing. Reality is harsh and must be met with harsher actions. Your Queen is too soft."

"You wouldn’t last a day on her throne," Castien bit out while barely dodging a slice .

"Her pretty little ass can sit where it wants. Anais! Surrender to me, and I won't kill your pet."

Castien stepped back. "You're truly willing to kill me? Damon."

The rebel scoffed. "You’re broken, lordling. After Nadraken, you’re hardly different from them anymore. And you wouldn't be the first." He glanced at Anais. "Did you ever consider that Kevam might have shoved you toward the wolf that night? He felt guilty about it later, once he grew to like you. He was going to confess. I couldn’t have that."

“You… You killed Kevam? How could you?” Castien shuffled back after defending against a rapid flurry of strikes. He was outmatched and would be lucky to survive another minute.

Damon's words registered in her foggy mind once Castien was in the clear.

This man had killed his friend. He was capable of worse than she thought.

"Yes. He was just another expendable idiot. And they were all getting too friendly with the Queen and the army; I had to remind them that they’re all monsters." He addressed Castien. "You of all people—don’t you see that? Isn’t it obvious the day they’re born with those unnatural, beastly claws?"

Castien didn’t respond, too busy concentrating on not being skewered. In a desperate defense, he blocked with the bracers on his left wrist. The blade twisted at the last moment, slicing through leather and leaving a shallow cut on his arm.

Anais gritted her teeth. "Escort, stand down. He won't kill me, but he will kill you. Please, Castien."

"No, I'm not trusting— Damn it, Anais, stop distracting me." Another line of red crossed the same arm, higher on his shoulder.

Castien was tiring.

Why had she let Damon send the guards away? The first time Castien spoke to her like a normal person and he was going to die right in front of her. Her heart would bleed, she knew, if her thoughts weren't so hazy, if the world wasn't half-muffled.

Their shuffling footsteps seemed to echo all around her.

Moments passed. No more ringing, clashing steel.

"Put down the sword, Damon."

Faint words from a new voice. Her vision darkened around the edges. At least she had found a wall to lean against. Sitting would be better. She winced as she hit the ground ungracefully.

Several boots entered the edges of her sight. Trying to focus, she looked up, her head spinning faster.

"We heard enough. You killed Kev. You killed my brother! Are you denying it?"

Damon’s sword lowered, and he muttered something in reply.

"Butcher. At least you’re not a coward. And do you deny this is yours? That key you gave me unlocked it."

Small objects clattered to the ground. One rolled near enough for her wavering vision to pick out. Claws. Gleaming, shiny, sharp. Red dotted the edges of a smaller one, smeared the floor.

"...didn’t intend for her to die."

Her consciousness was slipping. There was silence in which perhaps Damon spoke again but her senses were all too dull.

She blinked.

"Find a healer!"

A face suddenly hovered over her. She must've laid down at one point. Castien. He looked so sad. She thought about lifting a hand to wipe his tears but her arm was too heavy.

"I can’t lose you," he choked. She smiled and tried to open her mouth to comfort him.

"Anais, please. I love you. Anais, please don't die." He touched her face, her shoulders, her hair. His hands were warm and soothing, so she closed her eyes.

"No! Anais!" Blinking, she groggily focused her eyes again, Castien's panicked expression summoning a laugh that didn’t quite make it up her throat.

"I'm not… dying." She wasn’t sure if the words made it out before the darkness closed in.

—

Anais woke in her bed with sunlight peeking through the edges of the curtains. Dried lips, a parched throat, and a headache were her first concerns. The glass of water at her bedside soothed most of her problems.

"Castien!"

The courtesan was asleep, slouched in a chair against a wall. Her unintentional outburst woke him and he lurched to his feet, rubbing his eyes as he approached the bed.

"You're ok," he sighed. "The healer said you'd be fine, but I had to be sure. I couldn’t—" He reached towards her arm, then let his hand fall. The fear and concern melted from his features, and he took a step backward. "I’m glad you’re well, my Queen."

"So all I had to do was die for you to finally come to my side?" she teased.

He looked miserable. "I'm sorry. I couldn't— I didn't know how to— I'm sorry."

Her voice softened. "For what?"

He hesitated, his body stiff and fingers twitching as though he wanted to flee. "I don't know where to start. I wasn't ready to come back to court. "

"That was Octavius' decision. No, you weren't ready, but you weren't making any more progress out there either."

A small nod was his only response. He was withdrawing from her.

She tried again. "Thank you for saving me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come."

He winced. "I never thanked you for rescuing me."

"You don’t need to—"

"Yes, I do." Although he finally met her eyes again, the troubled storm in them wasn’t what she’d hoped to see. "You could have left me there. Perhaps you should have. I heard what you did. You nearly started a war for me. I’m not worth that. So, thank you—but please don’t do it again."

"Castien…"

Nothing she said helped. He had clasped his hands behind his back and took an almost soldierly stance, except for his lowered head, staring at the ground.

She extended her fingers out to him, palm up. "Castien. Look at me. Please."

His gaze locked onto hers in a single, instant sweep as though he could not bear to look away. The uncertainty in his eyes did nothing to hide the dark intensity lurking beneath. His eyes didn't want to run. No, she could see his burning desire to touch every inch of her body, to claim her.

How long had he stood in this room, hovering over her bed, fists clenched at his side or behind his back? He wouldn't have touched her while she slept. Not with that fragile doubt in his eyes.

"Castien. I love you, too. I didn't hallucinate that bit, did I?" It was a hazy memory, but she could see his face right over hers, desperate and in tears.

"No," he whispered as he hesitantly grazed her claws, then brushed her fingertips. "But… You don’t know what I’ve been doing."

She stopped herself from grabbing his hand and pulling him in. "Yes, I do," she said gently. "Perhaps not everything, but people talk, and my Escorts kept an eye on you. You've been… a courtesan."

His hand fell away. This time, she stretched and lightly grasped the tips of his fingers. He didn't pull back. She sighed. "I meant— You did what you were trained to do. You’re not at fault for that.”

He shook his head. “And for ignoring you?”

“We’re both at fault there. I thought I was giving you space.”

"You shouldn’t forgive me so easily," he whispered.

"You needed time. Everyone heals differently. Some never do. I didn't mind giving you time. I know how to wait. And I will wait as long as you need me to." She told herself she should let go of his hand, let him choose, but his fingers were warm and she was tired.

A slow, silent minute passed. She closed her eyes and laid back on the pillows, gently tugging him closer. When he didn't resist, she smiled and sighed. When his weight settled on the bed, she turned to gaze up at him.

"I thought, you and Damon…" His lips thinned. "It’s not important."

She winced. "He was charming, friendly, arrogant but gracious. He was exactly the leader I wanted. Too perfect. I trusted him, foolishly, but I didn't love him."

"I thought you were just toying with me, with the Consort’s ring, that you didn’t want me. I’m an idiot, aren’t I?" His thumb was so, so lightly stroking her fingers.

"I want you. I want every moment with you." She almost offered the Consort’s ring again but stopped herself. Not yet. Scaring him away again wouldn’t help anyone.

"Despite how much of a complete ass I made of myself?"

She chuckled. "I particularly enjoy your ass. And no, you didn’t, Castien. Besides, you saved my life. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

He gave her the hint of a smile. "I love you," he whispered.

She kissed his hand. "I love you."

His lidded eyes were focused on her lips, his hand closing around hers.

"I don't want more time. I want you." He leaned down, watching her, lips firmly claiming her mouth, both hands stretching her arms above her head. She groaned, arching her chest toward him.

A light tap on the door and a pointed cough made him growl. She grinned but nudged him until he slowly peeled himself off of her, hands running down her arms, through her hair, a feather-light finger across her cheek.

"My Queen. You should rest," a stern voice said. One of her overprotective healers.

Anais rolled her eyes, enticing a small smile onto Castien’s lips. He stood and bowed. "I'm starving. No dying before I get back, yes?"

"She's fine," the healer grumbled, approaching the other side of the bed. "It was just an overdose of a sleeping draught made stronger by alcohol. She needs rest, food, and no one aggravating her." He glared at Castien with the last few words.

The courtesan blinked innocently. "I’m not aggravating. Am I aggravating, my Queen?"

"Extremely," she murmured.

With a hand pressed to his heart and a dramatically pained expression, Castien walked out of the room.

She did appreciate his ass.