Page 4 of Shadows and Roses

While her claws were perhaps a bit longer and sharper than most noblewomen’s, they appeared perfectly natural. Rumors of claws longer than her arm were clearly nonsense. There were so many rumors to sift through—it wasn’t worth the effort. No matter that this was the court; he knew his trade. By the end of his time here—a few days, perhaps a week at most—all the rumors would be about him.

His easy smile designed to charm and dark brown eyes lined in black were already captivating his audience. While his gaze remained on the Queen, he caught more than a few nobles openly staring, their companions forgotten.

But the Queen’s icy interest passed quickly, her sharp fingers lazily waving him away. His first official presentation at the royal court, complete in a few seconds. Mildly affronted, he nonetheless performed a deep, elegant bow before striding towards the banquet tables. Her short attention span was for the best; he’d eaten little beforebeing rushed out on a carriage this morning. His House hadn’t even bothered with the usual briefing. The gods’ damned palace and he was here blind. What were they thinking?

It was a good thing he was more hungry than offended, otherwise, he might have been tempted to do something foolish, like flirt with everyone here until they all grew jealous of each other and leave her to clean up the mess.

That could still be fun. Later.

As he approached the tables, a neatly dressed servant gave him a cursory glance, then ignored him. Well enough.

Miniature everything sweet was spread out in decorative, dense patterns. Sugar was hardly sustenance, but he was starving. Still, the image of the vapid man by the Queen's side gave him pause. Was any of the food drugged?

Castien flinched as a large shadow fell over his hovering, extended arm.

"A little jumpy there, boy. Aren't you supposed to be one of those fancy whores?" The gruff voice belonged to a portly old man who helped himself to several pastries after waving off the servant.A glance identified another vice—gold and jeweled rings on every finger, emerald buttons attached to silk, gold thread lacing every pattern and weave, laced silk cuffs, earrings, brooches, and too many other adornments that Castien was having a difficult time naming to count.

Castien lowered his arm and bowed. "Yes, I am from the Night Courts, my lord. We… take our pleasures in private." He gently lifted a pie from the same area.

The old man bellowed a laugh, spewing crumbs. "You mean this place is nastier than a whorehouse? I've always said so!" Selecting another miniature pie, he winked. "Not that I mind." Boisterous laughter trailed the old man as he ambled away.

The Houses weren’t just any whorehouse, but perhaps the nobles saw little difference. Castien licked cinnamon and spice from the apple pie and leaned backward against the table. He really was too nervous. Hunger, probably. This was his first visit to the palace, but hardly his first assignment. The little pastry only made him hungrier.

Eyeing the other tables, he spotted someone else walking towards him. A tall, slim man dressed in a similar fashion to his own—shirt open to reveal lean, smooth muscles, and tight pants that outlined the anatomy of every step. The man wore a lopsided smile, tipping his chin slightly when their eyes met.

"Don't mindthatold pig," the man breathed, emphasizing almost every other word. "He can't get it up anymore, so he eats too much instead. Can you imagine that he used to be a strapping, muscle-bound knight? That must have been athousandpies ago."

"Indeed, a knight?" Castien responded non-committally.

The man shrugged, daintily picked up a round, white puffball, then grimaced and set it back down. "So he says, often. Lord Hegbert of some small town I can't remember, once Plains' Knight and captain of a hundred cavalry troops. It probably takes a hundred horses to get himanywherenow." He brushed off his fingers and extended a hand. "I'm Niko, royal courtesan. I've been here for about a year."

"Castien, of the House of Shadows," he said as he accepted the gesture. The palace courtesans had no loyalty or contract to the Night Courts. Incomparable, of course.

"Pleasure. Can I ask—is Shadow the House that lets you… tie them up and hurt them?" Niko licked his lips, his eyes suddenly wide. "Have you… made your clients bleed?" he asked in a low, eager tone.

"No, I have not," Castien replied with a slight frown. This was one of the reasons whyhe preferred in-house service. The rules were explained, misconceptions generally cleared before he met a client. "My House specializes in games of control, yes, but we discourage actual harm. The few voluntary courtesans who participate in light blood play have very strict requirements, and lasting damage is prohibited." The occasional noble inevitably broke the rules, something he suspected the House allowed just for the steep fees they could extract.

The eager glint faded from the man's eyes. "Oh. That’s a pity. Are you quite sure…? Yes, well." He picked up a clean plate and started stacking pastries. A few cream puffs and tarts later, as Castien spotted a promising table, Niko's voice piped up again. "I heard," he trilled, "that the High Houses let their courtesans get away withanything. My lord was complaining about a girl who refused him. He hit her too hard and had to pay a fine,andhe was banned until she recovered." His wide eyes were back, but this time only with awe.

Castien shrugged. "The Houses have rules. I’m unaware of the circumstances, but perhaps the lord misunderstood those rules. The Masters don't like their merchandise damaged."

"Rules. That sounds nice," the man whispered. He blinked and smiled a bit too widely. "I'd best return to my lord. Take care."

What an odd man. He hadn't appeared drugged, but he had sounded a bit off. Perhaps some rumors about the palace were true.

Putting the conversation from his mind, Castien maneuvered to a table encumbered with roasted meats. The servant frowned but again ignored him. Clean plates and utensils were neatly stacked to one side. Castien had managed to half-fill his plate before the servant bowed to someone behind him.

A whip caught his wrist. It yanked, almost unbalancing his plate. His arm tensed, and he barely avoided pulling away; he'dbeen told during the vetting process of servants whipped to death for even accidentally tugging at the leash. But a whip used onhim? A soft snarl escaped his lips.

"What’s that, toy? Did you justsnarlat me?"

The owner of that sharp, incredulous tone was a brown-haired woman in a dark red, layered satin dress. A few inches shorter than him, she managed to sneer down her nose as she examined his face and glanced at his chest. She pulled him closer, cinnamon and cloves assaulting his senses, twisting his stomach. Her claws slid up between his thighs, roamed lazily over his cock, and slowly outlined the edges of his open shirt.

"My apologies, lady," he said stiffly. "My empty stomach is talking."

Sharp clawtips scratched his skin as she eyed him with disdain.

"You Night Court are all the same. Sauntering around with a guard, pretending to be more than a whore." She leaned forward with a hungry grin. "But you don't have a guard." Her claws stroked under his shirt, over his heart. "I will enjoy breaking you."

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