Page 36 of Shadows and Roses

A puff of laughter left her lips. "So polite. So perfectly correct. That’s good, that’s good."

If she were anyone else, he’d think she sounded tired. Older. He refused to be lured into a trap.

A pause, then a small sigh and her voice returned to normal. Her sharp emerald eyes pierced him. "Would you like to touch her, pet?"

The question was a command. He slowly raised a hand, fingers extending to the hawk's head. May as well give her ample opportunity to protest his approach. The bird went still, only blinking at him as he settled a finger on the top of her head and brushed the soft feathers.

The Queen clicked her tongue. A beak closed around his finger a moment later, but only holding him in a firm grip. The court inhaled as one. He froze. The Queen smiled, the slightest curve of her lips, the darkened cold of her eyes watching the bird, not him.

"Don't move. Look at me." Her lips barely moved, her tone urgent but not a command. Her face was still the cruellyamused, cold Queen, but her voice was quiet, low, and unless his racing heart was playing games with his ears—gentle.

"She'll cut you. Just a little. Don't move or she'll take the whole finger. Ready?"

Another cut. How many times would he bleed for her?

Her smile faded and she clicked her tongue again. The sharp beak closed, slicing the pad of his finger. The bird clacked at him twice.

He pulled his hand back but the Queen caught it, bringing the wound to her mouth. She sucked the blood clean, watching him with cold, cold eyes. Castien offered cool politeness in return, waiting for the moment he could reclaim his hand. The seconds ticked. Silence surrounded them. Even the nobles’ distant chatter was hushed.

She released him.

"Your blood is mine." Her voice rang out.

Red swelled at the tip of his finger, dripped to the floor.

"Kneel, Castien."

He lowered himself once more. Wings fluttered away. Footsteps sounded behind him as Lord Darius held out the box. The Queen lifted one bracer and held it out expectantly, the strings dangling.

The courtesan raised his arms.

"You are mine."

Never. He lowered his head.

"Your life, your loyalty." She fastened the left bracer. Blood trickled down his hand, licking the leather.

"Your body, your soul." The other one enclosed his right wrist. Invisible shackles made tangible.

Did the court understand that these symbols of rank were no more than marks of ownership?

With her own claw, she sliced her palm and graspedhis right bracer.

Blood stained the leather—his, and hers.

Darius whispered, "Repeat her words."

In a stage voice, in a steady tone that would’ve made his Master proud, Castien intoned, "I am yours, my Queen. My blood, my life, my loyalty, my body and soul."

She pushed his arms down and touched his shoulders. "Rise." Her claws stroked his arms as he stood. "Rise, Escort Castien."

Did she see the anger in his eyes? Her smile was as cold as always, her gaze set on his lips. She drew him to the throne, sweeping an arm to the side.

"The seat of honor is yours, Escort."

Honor, indeed. He snorted softly as he draped himself on the chair. The Queen cast him a sharp glance, but he could’ve sworn there was laughter in her eyes. There and gone. She seated herself as Octavius wrapped her hand. Her other hand settled on his, her claws stroking lightly.

Facing the hall, she announced, "Welcome my new Escort."

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