Page 59 of Shadows and Roses

He turned to Darius, who shook his head. "Her birthday is next week." It sounded more like her funeral.

Raising a brow, he inquired, "Is there some grotesque event to celebrate her birthday?"

"The day itself isn’t the problem." Darius sighed. "Her mother was killed two daysafter her twentieth birthday."

Castien’s eyes widened as he realized that coronation day was three days after her birthday. "I see."

Darius’ smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Next week’s celebration will encompass both her coronation day and her birthday. Dual reminders of the terrible event, decorated with dance, music, food, debauchery, and all of it anointed in blood."

While the court would expect nothing less than excessive extravagance for such an event, it would be tantamount to torture for her. He had never known grief or loss, but he’d have a difficult time watching her endure the next week.

"She must attend and participate the entire week. Some nights, she asks for me." Darius paused, giving him a frank stare. "Consider taking my place. It’s not a command or an expectation, and she didn’t ask me to step aside. Just… think about it."

The Escort barely gave him a chance to process the words. "Right, the festivities. First event will be the dance. Your dossier was quite eloquent about your abilities—please do stand in for me there. This is me begging. By tradition, the dance is chosen when the music begins. I always miss the opening steps."

Castien nodded, his mind not on any dance. A moon ago, the Queen had been a nightmare creature, someone he was glad paid him no attention. And when she finally did, it wasn’t the insanity he expected, but insanity nonetheless.

He wanted the chance to taste her. Maybe it would be enough to satisfy this terrible craving. He'd never desired another like this—not without it being shortly satisfied. That was the only possible explanation.

"She doesn't mind if I step in?" The fact that Darius—perhaps all the Escorts—had noticed his interest wasn’t a surprise. Vern had noticed.

Darius' smile was knowing. "Oh, she won't mind in the least."

Good. Then he could quench this fire and regain his sanity.

Anais

"To Jana." Vern’s voice rasped as he lifted a glass of wine.

Anais leaned forward and clinked her glass against his. "To Jana."

His smile was strained, but she was still glad to see it. It had taken two years for more than fleeting glimpses of a smile to appear on his lips. Now, he was almost as she remembered.

Almost—more protective, quicker to anger, slower to trust. The pain in his eyes—she didn’t think he’d ever stop feeling that pain. She looked away.

A vase of white roses sat in the center of the gazebo. One year after her mother’s death, Anais had found this little homage. The gardeners’ tribute. White had been Jana’s favorite color.

Her mother had not been an easy woman to love. Respect, honor, obey—yes, the Inner Circle had done all that without question. But they had not surrounded her in the love that Anais knew as a child, these men and women who had helped shape a princess into a Queen.

Except Vern. Vern had looked at Jana like she was his light. Her mother had told her the story of rescuing him, stealing him from a lady who would have forced him to her bed and to marriage. Vern showered Jana with gratitude and affection. Even though she did not return the affection, he never stopped. Not even when she grew tiredof the gifts and demanded that if he insisted on leaving things in her room like a stray cat, he ought to bring her the head of a troublesome noble. He did.

From then on, Jana had fondly accounted the string of corpses he’d laid at her feet—until she finally appointed him the Master of Assassins and asked him to her bed.

Something sharp had sprouted in him the day his light died, thorns that time had helped soften.

Vern emptied his glass and reached for the bottle, filling hers as well. His hand didn’t shake. His hands never shook.

One day. One hour. Oneminute.

She wanted just a single moment when she could let go. When they could all stop pretending. Just once. But she was afraid that if she did, she’d unravel and never pull herself together again.

Castien

Next week came quickly. In addition to his regular schedule, they added dance and music practice. The court swelled, and he joined the other Escorts in monitoring the large crowds. The nobles were inclined to behave themselves a touch better with a reminder that the Queen was watching—at least counting.

The Queen’s birthday dawned rather noisily, as though no one in the palace had slept. Servants rushed about even in the Queen's Wing. Dodging them, Castien managed to join the other Escorts as they paraded to the Great Hall. All her Escorts were in attendance for these events. A row of guards fell in line on both sides as soon as they exited the wing.

Music grew louder with each step. A variety of instruments colored the air—harps, viols, drums, and flutes all melding together in a strange, lilting melody.

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