Page 3 of Shadows and Roses

I didn't want their respect. I needed their fear.

While I ceased being a child in the eyes of the court years ago, I was still young and untested. Respect would not earn me their unquestioning obedience.

But fear must be delicately insinuated, else they decided I was a monster and be rid of me.

The irony.

They would learn that I was my mother'sdaughter. For now, respect would do.

—

My coronation dress was white. Not for purity as the oldest traditions still maintained in the far corners of the world, but for precision. It was simple, plain, and hovered just above the floor at my ankles. Its thin sleeves hugged my wrists.

Cold cruelty was far more intimidating than raging fury.

The captain had selected a victim. We did not need to discover the actual events and culprits—that wasn’t expected or necessary, not yet. But blood was expected.

This naked man strung up on a single wooden pole was one of Jana's lovers, the last person seen leaving her chambers. Unfortunate timing for him; he hadn't been in the palace for the last few days, only returning this morning. A pity no one cared about the details of a bed servant.

They cared about the blood dripping from his wounds, about the cracks of my whip on his skin, about his muffled screams behind the cloth binding his lips. They scrutinized the pleased, savage smile on my face, searched for cracks in the ice of my eyes, for the hint of red on my dress that would show a lack of control.

I hoped the real murderer was watching, would know that their time would come.

When the poor man hung limp and barely breathing, a casual swipe of my claws ended his life. I pressed my hands to his throat, caught his warm blood on my chilled fingers, and stepped into the red rivulets that ran from his body. Red footprints stamped the floor and up the stairs.

Not a single droplet of red marred the white of my dress.

The chancellor, chamberlain, and general awaited me before the only seat on the dais today: the throne.

I bowed my head to justice, wealth, and military might. The general crowned me, the chamberlain clasped a jeweled bracelet on my wrist, and the chancellor an iron bracelet from which dangled ruby scales.

A thunderous rustle of cloth echoed as I turned and claimed my throne.

Long live the Queen.

Part 1

Chapter 1

Castien. Five years later.

"Castien FitzUmbra, bastard son of the Night Courts’ High House of Shadows," boomed the herald.

Unnecessarily redundant.Fitz, bastard.Umbra, shadow. The herald could have left out the ‘bastard son’ bit. Everyone knew what it meant, even if they pretended to ignore him. Like the lords and ladies glancing his way over their gold-rimmed cups and behind elaborate fans, a few taking longer, sweeping, lascivious looks.

He lengthened his stride, exaggerating and slowing his standard strut. An open black silk shirt revealed his toned chest. Snug leather pants highlighted every step. Walking was an art form, and he was an artist.

Upon reaching the end of the red rug, Castien bowed with a slight flurry of long-practiced elegance. He held the posture for the appropriate five heartbeats. A few titters floated up behind him, no doubt admiring his leather-accentuated rear. A heartbeat longer, then.

He straightened to catch a glimpse of amusement in dark green eyes before the cold returned.

Beautiful. He could appreciate those who appreciated him. Hers was a sharp sort of beauty. Wrapped in silk and gold, anyone was beautiful. He wondered what she'd look like, stripped of her finery, naked in bed, as they all were eventually. This one had more cruelty than beauty. He should be a touch more careful. But only a touch—if they didn't wanthim, then they should have chosen another.

Although, this particular client could choose whomever she wished, and do whatever she wished to him. It was a grim thought. Her royal figure bore a relaxed, assumed authority where she lounged upon a rose-carved wooden throne. If he’d had even a minute of warning, his favorite jeweled rose brooch would be pinned on his sleeves. Details were important.

From the sound of the contract, he was at the service of her entire court. At least he wouldn't be bored. Sharing a courtesan amongst a household was normal; perhaps he should view the royal court as one magnificently large, perversely complicated household. Perhaps the Queen didn't even have any interest in him.

Her steel-tipped claws tapped on the arm of a man seated beside her. The man appeared content—no, drugged. His expression was too vacant. He didn’t flinch, didn’t react at all as she drew angry red lines on his skin.

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