Page 106 of Shadows and Roses

Octavius’ persona shifted like switching a wooden blade for a live one. His gruff nature and concise words gained a sharp edge. Where there used to be kindness, practicality appeared instead. Castien wondered if the healer had more loathing for the pit of snakes or concern for their ailing Queen. No longer ailing, but still.

The ride to the palace passed in a daze. Too many thoughts crowded his mind. What if he wasn’t ready? Octavius wouldn’t let him return if he wasn’t ready, would he? Most of all, Anais claimed his musings. The Queen. He shouldn’t be so familiar with her; he had no right. It had been too long since they’d spoken—no matter that he spent hours every day imagining conversations with her.

Castien stepped into the bustling servant’s hall, the side entrance to the Queen’s Wing. A few maids and guards bowed at the Escorts’ bracers, but that was the extent of their welcome. Octavius excused himself to the healers’ hall, muttering about lazy apprentices and incompetent underlings.

The courtesan found he was grateful for the quiet entrance. Oh, he could have performedif the Queen needed to display him, but he was tired from the travel. Tired of performing, of pretending.

A few day's rest was all that he needed.

His room was the same. Neat, clean, recently dusted. The potted plants beside the window appeared in fair health, their soil slightly moist, sitting in the dimming sunlight of the opened curtains. The scent of long-dried rose petals and other aromatics was a comforting reminder of a place he'd begun to call home.

Perhaps everything else could also be the same. He found the baths empty and stepped in to clean off the road. Lifting an arm above the water, he imagined the bracelets on his faintly scarred wrists. Lips thinning, his arm fell back under the water.

She wouldn't force him to take the ring, of course. But they should talk. She hadn't visited him except once; Octavius had said the Queen was busy. He’d mentioned she had asked after him often, but she'd never sent a letter.

Well, neither had he.

A conversation was necessary. He slid out of the bath and wrapped himself in a towel. Everything in his wardrobe was elegant, but he chose something more casual. Then, slipping on his Escort’s bracers and picking up the box, he stepped back into the hall.

The offer in this intricate box felt too soon, too rushed. Her note had said too little—almost nothing. He was as confused as the first time he'd walked down another hall with a black rose prickling his palm. He had been angrier then, but no more understanding of the meaning behind the object in his hand. He smiled at how angry he had been, and perhaps still was a touch agitated, but it was mostly anticipation now.

Just before he turned the last corner, bright laughter echoed through the hall, shocking him to a standstill. Anais' joy was so rare, that he could neverforget the sound. In the few instances he'd seen her laugh, she'd looked surprised, then pressed a hand to her mouth as though trying to put the outburst back in. His fingers had itched to pull her hand down so he could see her smile again.

As he let the sound of her laughter wash over him, next came her rich voice full of warmth and amusement. Loud and slightly reprimanding, yet still with a hint of laughter, she said, "Damon! You terrible man!"

Another low voice murmured a teasing reply, then a door closed and silence rang.

Castien looked down at the box.

This wasn’t her playroom. The only doors down this hall opened to her bedroom.

He remembered the interest in Damon’s eyes, his friend’s casual comments.

Octavius had mentioned Damon’s initiation to court as Lord Damon, the fifth son of a country baron. Octavius had not mentioned that his friend was so familiar with their Queen.

Castien stepped back quietly, turned around, and began the journey back to his room. Upon passing a patrolling guard, he handed over the box with instructions to return it to the Queen.

Of course, the Queen must have an endless crowd of eager suitors and lovers. And of course, she should accept as many as she chose.

They had barely shared a kiss. It had been moons since she visited. He'd been away longer than he'd known her. He shouldn't have presumed.

Nobody loves a whore.

Damon was better for her anyway.

And the Consort's ring? A regrettable moment of pity? Certainly not more than that. He could imagine her hesitating before leaving the box with Octavius, rather than offering it herself. Perhaps that was why her letterwas so short. No doubt she would be relieved to receive the box with its contents intact. If he had been foolish enough to wear the bracelets, to think that she could still be interested in him, ever truly cared for him, a broken—

His mind skittered and his heart closed.

He walked blindly, his steps becoming a silent glide honed by anger and self-pity. The Queen's Wing was behind him now but the training circles were nearby. A perfect place to release his energy.

—

Fighting angry was distracting.

Fighting weak, exhausted, and angry was utterly foolish.

Thoroughly sore after being beaten to the ground, Castien wandered into the dining halls. He ached in more places than not, but a visit to the healers’ hall would earn him questions from Octavius that he wasn’t interested in answering.

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