Page 43 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

Castien

They buried him far from Kevam. Despite all he’d done and how it ended, Damon had been their friend too long. He deserved proper rites. But Kevam didn’t need to rest with his murderer.

Jerrl refused to attend. No one blamed him. A rift grew in the rebels’ ranks, clearly marked by the responses towards those who had gone to the funeral. Some took Damon’s side. All the captains had kneeled to the Queen, but not all the rebels believed the accusations. Jerrl would have his hands full. Anais, as well.

Castien had no military background and little influence on the rebels. He had never fully committed to their cause. He couldn’t help there, so he spent his time in the Queen's Wing. Guarding children, occasionally teaching them art and music, learning the healing arts, practicing with the blade—he found throwing knives to be particularly entertaining. And occasionally spending a night with Anais.

Darius had enlightened him on a little secret—that if her door was open after dark, she might be interested in company. Her door had been closed for a full week after he’d returned from the funeral. He worried that she was avoiding him, but she was friendly during the day, just tired and busy. Then he worried that she would fall ill from overwork.

Tonight, finally, a warm glow spilled into the hall from her doorway. Castien kept his steps measured, proud that he was holding himself back from sprinting past the roses. Jerome gave him a slight nod. The captain had not been there that night. His replacements were still being punished, and Castien had heard that they would have been dismissed altogether if Anais hadn’t insisted she commanded them to stay behind. A command Jerome would have ignored. A command any of her Escorts would have ignored.

The courtesan thought they would be more suspicious of him by association. Rather, they seemed to respect him more. Well, Octavius had taken one look at his bandaged arm and grumbled about blocking with his damn bracer, but Jerome had thanked him. Two curt, yet grateful words. Thank you .

Castien had saved her life.

He hoped that was enough to keep him in her good graces for this conversation.

His knuckles rapped the door.

"Come."

The wolf pup—hardly a pup anymore—lifted her head, stared at him, and settled back down. Castien had caught Jerome attempting to train the creature. Ash would make a loyal guard.

"Sit, please," Anais murmured. She hadn’t looked up yet, still reading a messenger scroll. "I’ll just be a moment."

Castien stepped to her table but stayed on his feet. "If you’re busy, I can come back another time."

"No, no." She sighed and set aside the scroll. "You’re right, this can wait. My eyes feel like they’re bleeding from all the messages lately. And these are only the ones Vern’s passed on to me!"

He slipped into the chair across from her and peeked at a scroll. The code appeared the same. "Delia’s on the move again? They probably think those rogue mercenaries are soldiers."

She raised a brow. "That’s right, Octavius mentioned teaching you the code. I’m glad they finally trust you."

Ah, the reason he was here. He set down the scroll. "How can you trust me? After I came back, and… the way I behaved."

As though she was expecting the question, she smiled and extended her hand, lightly resting her fingers on his. "I didn’t care how many nobles you flirted with. I wouldn’t reject you if you had chosen to share your body with another. I don’t control you." Then she paused. "But, I’ll be clear this time: sleep with anyone else after tonight, and I'll put a blade in your chest before you leave their bed."

If Vern didn't get there first.

He laughed, the sound roaring louder when she raised an irritated eyebrow.

"This isn't funny—"

"No! Yes! I'm sorry!" He fought to clear his expression. "I was just thinking—your father would get there first."

"My— Oh! He told you? Yes." She smiled slightly. "He probably would. He'd let me finish the job, though."

His grin faltered at her too-sweet smile. Yes, Vern would do that.

Castien brought her hand to his lips. "Then I will be very careful to never hurt you again," he promised. "I never was one for knife play in bed."

A faintly haunted look passed through her eyes, then she giggled. "Of course, none of this would have happened if my mother were still alive. She would have dragged you to my room and barred the door for a week. If you were still alive, she'd expect a wedding date."

A wedding. Could she still want him to be her Consort? Could he bear it if she didn't? If she married for politics, if another man shared her bed .

Who was he to judge?

He forced a light smile. "Just like that?"

She stroked his arm. "Well, if you hesitated at all, then she’d stab you in the heart. Or at least a lung. She hated indecision."

Perhaps it was the self-pity that made him ask, "And if, somehow, she was there when I returned from Nadraken?"

Her beautiful claws gently tugged the strings of his bracers. "She would’ve killed you when you started befriending the nobles. Of course, I wouldn’t have let her. I refused to believe you could be a snake."

"What if you had been wrong?" he breathed.

Her fingers paused. "I wasn't." One claw gently outlined a scar as she said, "But I would follow you into darkness if you lead me there. You want honesty? That's my truth."

He caught his breath at the whisper of the Queen she could have been, the hint of fire and death in her eyes. "No. Anais—promise me you will never burn the world for me. I don’t want that."

She looked away. But when he started to pull back, her fingers curled around his hand, her eyes snared his, and he couldn’t break the gaze.

He would do the same for her—how could he expect her to do any less?

Holding his eyes, she stood and rounded the table in a few short steps. Emerald deepened to dark forest green and his heart beat faster. No, he wouldn’t have done the same. He would’ve taken her army and razed every inch of land between them. The world would already be on fire.

She leaned down, her lips parting. He caught them. Caught her, pulled her close, and claimed her lips, her tongue, her breath. She was his entire world, this magnificent Queen who didn’t judge him for being a whore.

When their lips parted, she leaned only an inch away, whispering, "I’m not waiting this time."

But he put a finger to her mouth. She growled, the sound echoing pleasantly in his chest.

"First, I have a surprise for you." From beneath the table, he slid a package between them.

She reluctantly edged backward a few more inches. "Right now? Castien, I want—"

"Trust me."

"Hmm." And she did, as easily as that.

Tugging impatiently at the strings, she unwrapped the garments he’d acquired from his House. Waiting for them to arrive had been one of the many ways he’d passed the time. He watched intently as her fingers ran over a thin, sheer, skin-tight black dress that would rip at the slightest pressure. Undergarments that revealed more than they hid, allowing access to everything. Would she put them on?

She looked into his eyes and seemed to hold her breath. Was that trepidation or anticipation? Had he misjudged? Was it too soon?

Her lips widened into a crooked smile. "Cas, you terrible man. You want me to wear this, do you? Put it on me, then."

A command he’d obey without the slightest hesitation. But…

He rose to his feet and spun her around. His fingers worked at the strings of her dress as he murmured, "I give the commands now, Anais. Do you understand?"

She shivered as her dress fell from her shoulders, pooled at her feet. "Yes. Castien, yes."

Methodically, quickly, he stripped her. Then gently, reverently, he guided her into the wispy material. He wanted to see everything, but he focused on not scratching the fabric. The wait was worth it to view her all at once .

Naked feet caught his downcast gaze. Naked, toned calves. Smooth thighs. Black silk hugged her hips, curving with her body perfectly. This garment hid nothing, touched everything. If anyone else ever saw her dressed like this, he’d be forced to tear their eyes out.

Then he met her gaze, noted her hesitation and a hint of fear. Had she never given up control before?

She slid a delicate foot slightly backward.

"Come here." His soft command.

She inhaled deeply. Stepped slowly closer.

"You're perfect," he purred. He caught her hips, running a light touch over the delicate cloth. Her skin trembled, tiny bumps rising as his fingers moved upward.

"Are you cold?" he whispered. She jerked her head from side to side.

"Good," he murmured, then pressed his lips to her stomach, licking her through the almost non-existent material. She gasped, clutching at his arms.

Tugging his arms free, he slid them under and around her, standing and lifting her in one smooth motion. She was so small in his arms, so perfectly beautiful.

He tossed her onto the bed.

She landed with a sharply indrawn breath, but she didn’t move when he began to undress. Her wide eyes followed his impatient motions, peeling off his pants and tossing his shirt away. One of her hands slid down her belly to between her thighs, but he grabbed both her wrists, stretching her arms above her head as he settled his body over hers. She twisted sinuously beneath him, uttering a small, shameless moan.

"Castien—"

"Shh. So impatient."

He’d held on to a strand of cloth after throwing his clothes off, and now firmly wrapped that strip around her wrists, binding her to the bed. Her hips strained to touch him.

But her fear had returned, her stretched arms tense. He stroked them gently and brushed her cheek.

"Don't let your claws cut the bindings," he offered, hoping she'd understand the reminder.

Her fingers flexed, claws testing the soft cloth. Easily torn material. Her fingers relaxed, claws lifted away, muscles loosened. The fear faded. Burying his head in her neck, he licked her too-fast pulse, teased an ear with his tongue. "Say my name," he whispered as he worked his way slowly down her body.

“Cas,” she gasped. “Umbra, I know. Gods, Castien…”

He shivered. Tasting her was a luxury. He savored every inch of half-hidden skin. His tongue on her collarbone elicited a short gasp. Barely moving, he caressed her side, her ribs, only slightly brushing the underside of a soft breast. Warm air blown over her nipple rewarded him with a pleased sigh.

He worked his way lower—a light kiss on her stomach, his fingers kneading the muscles of her back, thumbs grazing her inner thighs. Oh, he’d like to spend an eternity here. Her squirming legs were so restless.

Laughing softly, his lips brushed her hips. Left, then right, trailing a light breath in between. Her hips rose to meet his lips, her moan just slightly desperate. He licked a little lower, that valley where her legs met her body. Her moan thinned into a whimper. He smiled.

Moisture beaded at her nether lips. Holding her legs down, he leaned closer. Her perfect, sweet, musky scent curled into his nostrils, and his eyes glazed as the tip of his tongue just barely touched the delightful slickness. Just a taste.

Her hips bucked, and his fingers tightened .

"Don’t move," he whispered. A small shudder ran through her, and she went still.

Pleased, he nonetheless kept a firm grip on her thighs as his tongue stretched out again. This time, he swept a slow path up her sensitive, swollen folds. The gasp that fell from her lips shot straight to his cock. A growl answered her. He wanted to play. He could imagine exploring every inch of her skin, hours passing heedlessly as he reduced her to a puddle of whimpering want.

Some other day.

The taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her trembling muscles—he crawled up the bed, nipping her skin along the way, suckling at her breasts, kissing her neck. His cock met her hot, wet slit and he tensed. He hadn’t been this impatient in years.

Meeting her eyes, he found the same hunger staring back.

Yes. His hips shifted.

A slow, gentle, lazy thrust. She gasped, squirming, arching her back. Her toes curled with his agonizingly slow withdrawal, then the smooth slide back in, a bit faster. This was torture, probably for both of them. Sweet, wonderful, terrible torture. Castien's tongue slipped into her mouth, teasing her lips as his hips ground small, soft circles. She whimpered when he lifted tantalizingly away from her raised hips and dodged her attempts to suck in his lip or tongue. His mouth found her neck when she panted, "Please."

His low chuckle made her clench. "Please, what?"

"Please take me, make me yours," she begged, straining against the soft cuffs around her wrists, her eyes locked on his sensuous, slightly curved lips and the tongue that peeked out, taunting her.

His kiss melted her, her body suddenly limp beneath him as she moaned. When he finally allowed her to take a breath, she only gasped because, right then, his hips started thrusting hard and fast. Her eyes rolled up and she gripped the bars of the headboard, her body growing taut and tense.

"Be my Consort!" she cried right before that moment of release. Castien growled and held himself still as she quaked below him.

Consort. His lips curved into a sardonic smile. She would ask him now, like this. He moved again, taking his time, watching her carefully. When her eyes started to flutter open, his rhythm suddenly increased, faster, longer, harder. With a strangled groan, she arched again, sending delicious thrills through his abdomen that began to push him over the edge.

One more. Her breathing regained its steadiness. "I'm yours," he whispered, his eyes glazing. "Anything you want. Anything you ask." A thrust with every word. "Take me," he whispered into her ears, blacking out for a moment as her heat melted him into bliss.

"Castien… Ohh…"

He wanted to hear that breathless whisper of his name for the rest of his life. He needed it.

But as a Queen’s Consort?

When her body finally stopped writhing beneath him, and her panting slowed to a sated sigh, he leaned up on his hands and gazed at the perfect woman in his arms.

Yes. No . Anything , he’d said.

He combed her hair. "Consort? You'd make a whore your Consort?"

Her eyes caught his, the flinty cold emeralds making him inhale in surprise. That particular gaze she usually reserved for the court, for those that displeased her; it sent a chill to his core, a sharpening of the senses, and a reminder that a predator shared this bed with him. She’d gladly handed over control, but she could take it back at any moment. Prodding that thought from a few different angles, he found that he didn't mind, not with her.

Snick . Her bindings fell, and she stroked his face. "Who's going to stop me?" A hint of the cold Queen slid into her voice. "I take what I want, and anyone who mocks you will suffer—"

His finger on her lips cracked the ice in her eyes, the warmth slowly gathering there a soft brush of fur on his insides. The tip of her tongue touched his finger and she grinned. "Habit," she shrugged apologetically. He grinned back, a feral part of him delighted to play with this dangerous, delicious woman.

"I would be honored to be your Consort," he murmured, watching her tongue and lips dance over his finger. His mouth replaced his finger, a branding hot kiss that pulled a whine out of her. He leaned back.

"I love you." His fingers stroked her soft hair. "I've never wanted, needed someone so much." He buried his head in her hair, her throat, tongue sweeping her skin until she moaned. He wanted to stay here forever, nestled inside her, instead of speaking aloud what they both knew to be true.

"But I can't be your Consort," a tortured whisper, and she tensed beneath him. "You know I can't," he reasoned as claws dug into his back. "I rejected your offer before because I wasn’t ready—but I'm still not fit for court, for the dance you perform every day. They would tear me to shreds to get to you, to the nation. They’ve already broken me once, just because I was a shiny new toy. What will they do if you favor me?" She growled and bit him, teeth a little too hard on his neck. Her tongue licked the soreness away and she sighed.

"I could give you a title," she mumbled.

He laughed bitterly. "You know that's not the problem. They don't care who's in your bed, but Consort? You compared me to a rat when I first arrived here, the court filled with snakes, and you the hawk. I'm still a rat, Anais."

"I'll make you a mongoose. I'll make you more than their equal. Play the game with me, Castien." Her claws scratched gently tingling shivers into his back. "It'll hurt. We'll do unforgivable things to each other and those around us. But eventually, they will all bow to you. Dance with me. I don't want to dance alone anymore."

His eyes roamed her face while a heavy, tight ball settled in the pit of his stomach. Could he do this, be someone he hated, for her, to help her make a better world? He would do anything for her. "Anything. Anything you want. Just don't break me, my Queen," his voice turned harsh. Not again.

Her mouth opened, but she said nothing, and her eyes were a swirl of emerald chaos. A twinge of fear chilled his spine. Then her lips found his and her hands gripped him desperately. Trust me , her hands said. Love me , pleaded her lips, her tongue, her mouth. Sinking into her, he groaned and surrendered. He had no choice.