Page 5 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

Castien

Castien’s first week passed without the Queen’s summons. He’d spent the remainder of that day tense, glaring at his instructors, just waiting to hear the snap of a whip. The lady Jania noted his restlessness and dismissed him to the training yards since, "You obviously haven’t the patience for a lecture."

His temper cooled by the time a soldier knocked him on his ass. There were worse ways to gain bruises. The soldiers were kind, or rather, highly disciplined with no room for cruelty, which equated to kindness as far as he was concerned. How they could tolerate serving under their cold Queen, he didn’t understand.

Her hand hadn’t been cold. Her voice, when she’d spoken only to him, had almost been intimate. He didn’t want to think about her, about when he’d be forced to serve her.

While traveling between wings and learning his way around, he slowly grew accustomed to the constant shock of the nobles’ debauchery. The courtiers found his aversion to their pleasures amusing, but they constrained themselves to taunts until that week ended.

This morning, he entered the Great Hall alone, a bit late after checking on Jesamin. The healer’s wing wasn’t exactly on the way, and he had no business being there, but a bit of the knot in his chest loosened when he saw her weak smile. He left before she tried to speak and wasted her energy on him.

Castien was distracted wondering how to apologize as he strode toward the banquet tables. The whip that rolled around his wrist had to tug him back.

"There you are." Cinnamon and cloves breezed by.

Castien recovered quickly, turning his awkward stumble into a bow. "Lady Marissa, good evening."

The lady dragged her eyes down his chest. "You remember me. Good. So much better behaved this time. I suppose I should send Marlow my compliments."

It was an effort, but he mastered himself, bit his tongue, and lowered his chin in another small bow. The nobles like deference. He was nothing if not a quick study. Beneath his skin, anger twisted.

Her clawtips settled on his bare chest. "No one’s touched you? I’m the first?"

"Yes, lady." She meant in the bedroom. An odd combination of anticipation and dread settled in his stomach. He knew his trade, but he was losing his footing the longer he stayed in the palace.

She scratched him lightly. "Not even the Queen?"

Would his House bother with a fee if she made him bleed? "She has not honored me with a summons."

"Good."

She dragged him out of the Great Hall. For a moment, he was worried she’d take him in a dark corner like any other servant, but she headed toward the nobles’ apartments. This wing was on the opposite side of the palace to the military wing and closer to the dining hall. Two large wooden doors stood open with guards on either side. They glanced at the lady’s wrists, smirked at the courtesan, and looked away.

Plush rugs lined the floor, vivid paintings the walls. The lady strode quickly, but Castien had plenty of time to note the luxurious ornamentation. Garish, in his opinion. Paintings didn’t need gold frames, and he didn’t doubt that was real gold hugging the canvases .

The lady halted halfway down the hall to unlock a door. They’d arrived. He hoped her rooms weren’t quite so painful on the eyes.

As the door slammed shut, Marissa wasted no time stripping off her clothes. A pity, Castien thought as he followed her to the bedroom. The seduction of sliding silk shouldn't be underestimated. Ah, well .

He loosened the strings of his pants, but with the whip still tightly wound around his wrist, he assumed she didn’t want him to undress. Yet.

The lady pulled him close. "All mine, now," she purred. Her claws scratched lightly at his chest, ran up beneath his shirt, and brushed the fabric off his shoulder. "Take this off. Quickly." The whip finally released him.

He did as he was bid—with an exaggerated, habitual flex of muscles and arch of his back. A small smile was on her lips as she flattened her palm against the panes of his stomach, stroking up to his shoulder, her claws curling and digging in, then dragging back down. She sighed and flicked her wrist. The whip tugged on him again.

As enlightening as it was to observe the ways of the court, Castien really hated the leash.

"You don't need that." He brushed the hand holding the whip, his fingers lightly climbing up her arm. Before the frown creasing her brow fully formed, he murmured, "Aren’t you curious why they call me the Prince of the Night? Let me show you. Just for a few minutes, lady."

Her lips puckered. "Hmph. A few minutes."

That’s all he needed.

He guided her to the bed, on her back as he climbed gracefully up her legs, kissing as he went. This dance could be as exhilarating as the most complex of performances. He knew by instinct the exact amount of pressure to apply while dragging his nails between her breasts. How to read the faintest tension in her inner thighs. Her widening legs were an obvious invitation, but that tiny hitch in her breath might’ve easily gone unnoticed by a lesser courtesan.

His tongue traced her collarbone as his hand stroked teasingly between her legs—alternating soft and firm touches on the edges of her most sensitive flesh, back and forth, not quite landing precisely where she wanted, but so close. So close. Closer.

Not yet.

Practice guided a dance, but there was instinct in every art. When she inhaled sharply, he knew her patience had run out. That’s when his fingers curled on her mound, his palm pressing and rubbing her clit, moving with her as she gasped and writhed beneath him. He smiled, pleased with himself, enjoying the pleasure he’d coaxed from her.

And that was just his hand.

Perhaps the Queen would be as easy. Perhaps she’d bend for him. If she allowed him to perform as with any client, then his time here could even be… fun.

As soon as he bowed out of Lady Marissa’s chambers, he was dragged into another noble’s bed. This next lady wasn’t so accommodating. She wasn’t interested in his skills, only wanted to explore his body, pleasure herself, and taste him. Her claws left angry red lines but didn't break his skin. After her was another lady, then a lord, a train of nobles who’d been waiting all week to use him until he was limp. But still, none of them made him bleed. Perhaps another unspoken rule.

Half-carried by a leering guard to his room, he endured one last round before being allowed to collapse into sleep.

—

Waking late, he stumbled out of his room to a few pitying glances from other courtesans. Castien straightened his spine and headed toward the training halls, resigned to the punishment he'd been repeatedly warned about for tardiness. He didn’t need their pity. If they could endure the palace, so could he.

Niko caught him halfway out of the courtesan’s wing.

"Darling, did no one tell you to rest today? Tsk," he murmured, eyes going up and down Castien's body.

Castien stiffened. "I can handle a few clients."

The man's eyebrows pinched upwards. "Oh, I'm sure. But what you’re used to is a gentle, beautiful sunset compared to the raging midsummer blaze you're about to experience here." His eyes hardened. "No one will stop the nobles if you complain about a whip. No one will spare you sympathy if you can't walk the next day. No one will give you a second glance if you’re stabbed in the heart in the middle of the dining halls. If you haven't learned that yet, accept it now."

Castien's lips thinned. "So I've been told, enough times. But I still belong to the Night Courts. At the very least, a noble will pay an exorbitantly high price for my heart."

A surprised grin met his bitter words and sharp tone. "That's the spirit. Just don't be too sure that the nobles care who owns you. Your wrists are bare, therefore you are prey. Now, go take a soak and rest. The nobles won’t miss you for a few hours."

The heated bath was bliss against his overused muscles. Since he was late, the room was empty. After a few minutes, he sighed and smiled wryly at himself. It was only a few years ago that he'd serviced a half dozen clients or more a day. Once the House realized his worth, he’d grown complacent with only a few patrons a week. The higher the demand, the higher the price, and his Master had decided that scarcity raised demand .

Fingers on his shoulders jolted him awake. He must have dozed off.

"Shh, shh. Relax." The fingers settled into a firm, soothing massage. "Tsk. Oh, I do so hate when they damage beautiful skin." Soft, gentle words while a featherlight touch traced a red mark on his upper arm, left by a claw.

Castien shivered. "Marlow. How would I request a private audience with the Queen?"

The fingers hardened, digging into his shoulders. "You wouldn’t. Ask me what you want to know."

"I wish to discuss my contract." Among other things.

Marlow returned to massaging. "You belong to the Queen. That is all you need to know."

"I’m not another of your courtesans; I belong to the Night Courts. Why has she not summoned me? Is she not curious—"

"While you are in the palace, there is no difference. The Queen will summon you or not at her leisure, but not this week. She left the palace this morning."

Castien sighed. "Then how do I send a message to my Master?"

"You don’t. The best way to survive is to not draw attention to yourself. Stop asking questions. There is one thing you should know—the Queen still claims newcomers for their first moon. That means the nobles won't hurt you without cause. Enjoy it."

So there were a few rules.

The man moved to a raised, cushioned table. "Come here," he murmured.

Castien hesitated. "Thank you for the offer—"

Marlow sighed again. "You need a massage, pretty boy. Those delicious muscles need to be ready for tomorrow. Come. Now." There was a hint of iron in his ever-soft voice.

Frowning, Castien dried himself and turned back.

A fist drove into his stomach. He fell to his knees, gasping for air.

"What did I tell you about frowning? Tsk. Oh, dear boy. Come, you’re fine."

While keeping his face carefully neutral, Castien laid down on his stomach. Warm, oiled hands ran over him, quickly smoothing away his tension. The man was skilled, if a bit odd.

"You have simply the most delightful skin. So teasingly soft and supple, almost virgin to the nobles’ cruel touch." His hands focused on Castien’s buttocks, carefully avoiding a small bite mark, then kneaded between his thighs where he’d been stretched too much.

If the man would stop talking, Castien could actually relax and enjoy this. That voice sang a chilling song of unpredictability through his spine. He closed his eyes and slowly deepened his breathing, pretending to sleep.

It was a wasted effort.

Marlow's fingers trailed down his arm and took a hold of his hand. A few gentle caresses suddenly grew firm, and Castien’s palm was brought to the side, pressed between the man's thighs. Castien stiffened, moved to pull his arm back, until he felt… nothing.

"My first moon here, I didn't understand either." He released Castien's hand and returned to slow massaging. "I was tired one day, didn't want to be their plaything, thought they could find another easily enough. It was the end of my second week.

"One lord took a particular dislike to my protests. The more I asked to be excused and proclaimed my exhaustion, the more he demanded of me. In a moment of clarity—utter stupidity in actuality, but I thought it was clarity at the time—I grabbed the whip while his back was turned and lashed him between the legs. He crumpled. I ran .

"Right into a pair of guards who dragged me back inside. When the noble recovered, he found a blade and told them to hold me down, to hold me still. I couldn't move anyway. Maybe it was fear, exhaustion, or the terrifying rage on the noble's face. I didn't understand what he was doing until the knife bit into me.

"The pain unfroze me. I screamed, he cut, and the guards laughed. I struggled then, I think. I don't remember precisely, just blood and pain and laughter. I fainted before he was done.

"When I woke in the healer's hall, they told me I almost bled to death. The same lord found me after I healed. I didn't resist him."

Marlow's hands did little to relax his tense muscles now. The nobles were more than cruel or callous. They were monstrous. Evil. Castien didn't believe in the concept, but it was on open display here.

"Marlow, I…"

The man's hand ran over his back, curled around his neck. "Save your pity. Be perfect and you won’t end up like me."

Step out of line and there were consequences. Of all sorts. The tight ball in his stomach grew.

What use were his skills against senseless cruelty?

—

Niko often sat with him at lunch. Castien was glad for the company. Today, he took the opportunity to inquire, "The nobles are asking me about the Queen. What she’s planning for Nadraken, why Captain Jerome won’t speak to them, who Lord Darius might marry—how would I know?"

The royal courtesan huffed a laugh and waved a hand. "Oh. They just want you to spy on the Queen and her Escorts."

"What? Why?" That seemed an odd assumption.

Niko raised a brow. "Politics, of course. If the Queen complains to you about one of the councilors, someone will pay for that information. Rumors are basically our only leverage. Don’t you do the same for your House?"

"Yes, but…" It was only the Masters they reported to. Selling secrets between clients would only stir up trouble, and Castien had never liked that uncouth part of his trade. Rumors were so unreliable. Although, investigating the Queen’s new toy made sense. He wondered how many of the other nobles had already done the same.

"Oh, it's a game here. Everything is." Niko paused, picking at his bread roll. "But a word of warning: don't ever spy on Count Vern. You should really steer clear of the Escorts altogether." He shuddered.

Castien thought it might be best not to play any of the court's games—if he could avoid them. He took to walking the long way around through the servant’s side halls, hoping to dodge both the barrage of inquisitive nobles along with their harsher interests. It was the best route to the kitchens and a small piece of quiet with his meals, besides. He’d stay here longer if his absence wouldn’t be noted.

Today, the hall to the kitchens was emptier than usual. Only a few servants passed him, eyeing his wrists before nodding brusquely and continuing on their way. Castien wondered if nobles ever traversed these halls. If so, only for their own amusements. His expression darkened.

Someone bumped his arm. A tray clattered to the ground, silverware scattering.

Castien stopped, bent to help. "My apologies, I wasn’t looking—"

The servant shook his head slightly. His gaze darted about before he said quietly, "The movement sent me. If you need— "

Castien’s hand hesitated with a fork. "Who sent you? Give me a name."

The man scowled. "We can’t talk long." His voice lowered even further, "Damon. I can pass on a message if you need it."

Castien picked up a spoon, dropped it on the tray. "Tell him I’m fine." For now. "I need more time."

"Signal me if you need anything. Leave a mark by the kitchen door—there. Good luck."

Castien nodded, a small smile on his lips as he entered the kitchens. His friend had found him and was offering a way out. That tiny light in this endless dark was enough.