Page 10 of Shadows and Roses

"As you said—you’re a fool."

Chapter 3

Marlow’s glare greeted him early the next morning. A guard stood a few steps away. Between the Master’s slightly shaking fingers was a red rose in perfect full bloom, its green stem stripped of thorns.

His words passed clenched teeth. "This is what the Queen’s summons looks like—a rose, any color. Delivered directly to you if you should ever receive one.Thisrose is for Jesamin." He glared a moment longer before turning and extending the flower to the guard.

Respect softened his tone. "Please return this to the Queen with our sincerest apologies. Jesamin is in the healer’s wing, indisposed for the next few days."

Castien clenched his jaw. That pathetic excuse for a nobleman had whipped her back bloody, then fucked her unconscious. Castien had spent the night scrubbing blood from the bathing chambers.

The guard walked out of the hall.

Marlow spun. They stared at each other for a long minute. The Master finally said, "I’ve heard of you, ‘Prince of the Night’. Isn’t that what they call you?"

A moniker even he found pretentious. Castien shrugged. "It’s meaningless. Just nonsense to increase my fee."

"Remind yourself exactly how meaningless it is here. A prince has rights; you have nothing. Think on that before you get someone killed."

"I understand—" Castien began.

"No, you do not. I had hoped you were experienced enough to know how to conduct yourself. But no, you’re even more arrogant than therest of your kind. Get out."

"No one should be treated like this. Why does the Queen allow—"

"Get out! Perhaps lessons will teach you something. And learn quickly,prince. I’ll do far worse if you’re a threat." His hand rested on his dagger.

That tiny slice on his cheek had been a calculated cut. It was hardly visible even now. But the threat to remove his finger? No one threatened him. Castien growled but held his tongue. Marlow was right—he had no guards. He had nothing. The Night Courts had abandoned him to the nobles’ tender embrace. He stalked out of the hall.

—

Lessons were held in the military wing. Soldiers in metal and leather armor filed past him, but not a single noble. Not a single whip. Castien was cautiously hopeful as a guard pointed him toward a door near the entrance to the hall.

The room was large and appeared to be for civilians, including a sectioned outdoor yard. Racks of weapons lined one wall, a few bookcases and benches on the opposite end.

Standing in a line were five other men of varying ages and occupations. Castien joined next to a younger man, who introduced himself as a chef, the son of another established chef in the royal kitchens. Next was a gardener who'd been here for years but kept to himself. He'd flinched and shrank, murmuring quiet, short answers to Castien's questions.

A few minutes after they all gathered, a short, small, frowning woman walked in. She scanned them and scowled harder. "My name is Jania. You may call me ‘my lady’."

Five voices murmured, "Yes, my lady." Castien examined her.

She had no claws, and no whip dangled from her wrist. Instead, she held a long stick, smacking her hand, or the ground, or anything else for constant emphasis.

Her narrowed eyes found him. "Right. We have a fresh one today. Who wants to teach him about bracers?" The stick smacked the leather bracer on her left wrist, a worn brown of about two inches.

"I understand the bracers, lady." Although the system wasn’t used outside the palace, the nobles wore and occasionally complained about the symbols of rank.

She pursed her lips. "Night Court trained. Very well, then you can remind your fellow servants."

"There are five types. The royal family wears gem-adorned bracelets or bracers. Iron-studded leather for the Queen's Escorts. Metal cuffs for military. Nobles wear any fabric they prefer. And a single leather such as yours indicates skilled specialists who can be leashed but must not be harmed." The Queen’s wrists had been unadorned, but no one would dare mistake her rank.

Her expression remained irritated, though she allowed him a small nod. "Right. We're covering decorum today since you all either don't know or don't care." The stick smacked a practice dummy, sending bits of loose straw flying. "Learn. Care. It's your life, boys."

Decorum was simple enough. They were subservient to just about everyone. Obey, don't complain. Always agree, never challenge. Stay out of the way, do what you're told, and youmightnot get whipped to death. Apparently, the Queen became upset if a corpse inconvenienced her, which limited the deaths somewhat. And the numerous healers were quite skilled—likely due to their constant practice.

At some point, the stark differences between the palace and the House he served began to sink in. Perhaps it was Jania'sno-nonsense manner of speaking, the others' quiet acceptance of everything she said, or the noble who would have killed Jesamin to teach him a lesson.

No one in the Night Courts was afraid. Their whips were soft, used only teasingly in bed. Noblewomen's claws were sheathed or gloved. Death was a casual certainty here but never broached in the Houses.

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