Page 105 of Shadows and Roses

A ring sat atop a pile of soft black silk. The golden band twisted in the shape ofa long, sinuous dragon with a rose-shaped ruby set in its mouth. Beside the ring lay a pair of emerald and gold bracelets, a matching set to the ones he’d seen adorning her wrists on special occasions.

The Consort’s ring.

She cared. More than cared.

His mind blanked as his fingers slowly extended toward a bracelet.Bracelets for the royal family. The Queen. With his fingertip hovering an inch above an emerald stud, he stopped. Went still. The letter drifted to the ground. He couldn’t catch his breath. His feet stumbled back. An ache throbbed in his wrist, and he rubbed it, tightening, twisting. Faint clanking and laughter echoed as he stared at the metal.

They’re nothing alike, he told himself. Bracelets, chains. His heart sped faster. His Queen didn’t laugh when she tortured people. No, she only wore a cold, cruel smile when her whip cracked through the air. His back twinged, and the air was too thin. Anais would not hurt him. He knew that. She wouldn’t take a whip to his back, carve her claws into his flesh, starve him until he begged for the food and drink he knew was drugged to make him obey.

Out the door he ran, gasping in the cool air and blinking at the bright sun. He sank to the wooden deck, trembling as the sun warmed his chilled and sweaty skin. He wasn’t ready. He wanted to be, but she wouldn’t thank him for pushing himself too hard.

She cared. Anais remembered him, wanted him, cared for him.

After a few minutes in the open air, after his heart calmed, he stepped back inside and closed the box.

Octavius said nothing when he returned. He only moved the box to Castien’s bedside, where it sat untouched for another moon.

—

He stretched, leaped, and spun. It felt so good to dance again. The air was warmer today, and sweat dotted his skin. His lungs and muscles ached with that well-earned exhaustion from a long, wonderful practice session. He stopped and panted, catching his breath. Endurance was difficult to rebuild, but he could feel the progress every day. Not as strong as before, not yet. Soon.

Octavius was restless. Castien thought the healer was only pushing him harder, getting his body into shape so that his mind might follow. He scowled at every message, snapped at the messengers. Octavius never so much as glanced at the box, but Castien wondered. He wondered, and he couldn’t stop looking at it.

How long had he yearned for a woman who wanted him? Not his body, not his skills. Wasn’t that the promise of the box? Consort. Partner.

His eyes ran over the rose and vines. At night, the faintest sweetness of roses drifted to his nose, possibly more memory than reality. He wanted more than a memory.

—

Meticulous in every detail. Miniature silver chains pinned the half-sleeves of his black silk shirt, the buttoned, gold-embroidered front displaying his chest in a deep slit. A few white scars still lined his skin, but most had faded with both regained muscles and Octavius’ care. Shimmering black leather hugged the renewed toning in his legs. He was a bit lean but had been pleasantly surprised to find these pieces fit so well.

Gliding out of the cottage, Castien found the healer brushing his horse. "Octavius. I’d like to return to court."

The Master-at-arms glanced back, his eyes pausing at Castien’s unadorned wrists. Frowning, Octavius grumbled, "You’re not ready."

Anger flicked across Castien’s brow. They had never spoken of the Queen’s offer, but clearly, the other Escort disapproved of his choice.

"Am I banished from court if I refuse her?" There was no hint of temper in his soft voice, murmured right behind the warrior as he gently touched Octavius’ hips. "If I no longer desire a woman’s touch." His hands moved, smoothly rising up the healer’s back, softly massaging as they traveled to his shoulders.

Octavius turned. "No, Castien. That decision isn’t the reason." He stepped out of Castien’s caress and grabbed the courtesan’s right hand. "Why aren’t you wearing bracers? At least a noble’s."

Castien smiled and tugged his hand free to straighten the sleeves of his shirt, his thumb running over the chains. "I don’t need them with you, do I?"

Octavius scowled darker. "Castien."

The courtesan sighed, turning towards the warmth of the sun. "I’ll wear the Escort’s bracers at court. I’m not stupid, Octavius. And Iamready. I need to be around people again, remember how to behave in that ridiculous place."

"Are you sure?"

The air was crisp with last night’s rain, the small birds chirping and chattering. Water hung sparkling from bright green leaves—dewdrops, raindrops, both. Nature was refreshing, endearing, calm. So very calm.

Castien removed the silvery bits of metal and clasped his hands behind his back. He preferred the rose pins anyway. Smirking slightly, he glanced sideways. "Yes. I thought I wanted to be a gardener or forester, but staying out here in thisbeautiful natural nothing is incredibly boring. And you don’t react at all to my charms; it’s demoralizing."

Octavius’ lips twitched in a faint, brief smile. "Fine. Next week, we’ll return to court. But until then I’ll be your reminder of what that court looks like." He removed a small whip from one of his pockets, slowly wrapping it around his wrist as Castien watched.

The courtesan nodded. "Then I better get used to my bracers."

—

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