Page 60 of Shadows and Roses

The Great Hall had been entirely redecorated. He’d roamed the hall during the preparations, but it practically glowed now. The only tables that remained were set against the opposite wall to the hearth and piled with gifts. The hearth itself was dimmer than usual despite one man’s lagging efforts to feed the flames. His chained, bare arms were already reddened. A Nadraken spy, Anais had mentioned. While the nobles didn’t care who walked, someone was expected to suffer today.

The nobles stood in serene, respectful, orderly rows, presenting themselves as the aristocracy he would have expected on his first day in the palace. A pity the illusion wouldn’t last. They displayed an alarming splash of colors, covering the entire spectrum from dark to bright. No theme had been announced; perhaps it was another game to see who could match the Queen best.

Crystal and metal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, emphasizing the numerous glimmering satin banners and stringed jeweled beads hanging from the walls. Beneath the largest chandelier, slow-moving dancers spun and hovered in time with the music, their billowing fabrics floating like a cloud.

The Escorts stopped partway into the hall, lining up in front of the pretty, temporarily well-behaved courtiers. Castien wore the same attire as his companions: a silvery-grey silk shirt with an emerald sash tied at the waist and snug dark red pants.

The music stopped. He caught his breath.

From between the large wooden doors, the Queen entered alone. Black silk hugged her body, collaring her neck and caressing every curve. Small, glinting diamonds drew attention to the slightest movement. Thin, black gauze clung to her arms. Only the stark pale skin of her hands was unadorned, but for the red painted tips of her buffed claws. The black silk parted at her right hip, extending towhere the fabric barely missed the ground. Blood-red gossamer encased her legs, ending in soft black leather around her feet.

The Queen paused before she passed him. In a ringing voice that carried above the music, she commanded, "Escort. Join me." She extended her hand without turning her gaze from the dancers.

Castien placed his hand in hers and they stepped onto the dance floor. The performers' swirling silks spread around them like parting waters until they formed a circle, widening to give the Queen and her partner space. At the same moment that the pair stopped walking and faced each other, the dancers all lowered themselves to the ground with the susurration of settling cloth.

The Queen wore a faint smirk but her eyes were bright.Dance, she mouthed, barely moving her lips before the music sped and she spun away.

Every Night Courtesan knew how to dance. Castien was exceptional. On the stage, in front of an audience, he fell into the rhythm without thought. A few beats to recognize the music and he moved in perfect step—the opposite direction of her. Another few seconds and they met again. Inches apart, the speed of their movements caused their hair to collide in a twirl but nothing else touched.

It was a fluid, almost violent dance that tested their trust, reflexes, and endurance. There was no time to adjust to a partner's misstep, no chance to catch up to the demanding beat. Anything less than perfection would end in an embarrassing heap of painfully tangled limbs on the ground. Performed well, it was a natural and dangerous display of narrowly avoided claws at his throat or his leg extended where she should step but instead, she curved around him.

It was exhilarating to be himself in this court. And unexpectedly intimate.

Dances like these were always challenging tests of skill, an exhausting performance for the pleasure of the nobility. But now, as sweat gleamed on their skin and their breaths came faster, he found himself mesmerized by the intensity in her eyes. Not the piercing cold of sharpened emeralds that she directed at the snakes, but a heated, delighted evergreen that tempted him to close the distance.

Shift an inch at the right moment and their lips might touch like a passing breeze.

The desire almost shocked him out of rhythm but the song ended in another few steps, when the two dancers finally embraced. Castien stood frozen in her arms, lightning racing through his veins at every point where their skin met. They were joined in too many places—warm hands, taut legs, heaving chests, her breath panting into his ear.

He turned a fraction of a degree towards her neck, inhaling her lavender and rose.

Loud clapping and cheers broke his trance. The other dancers spun up around them and continued onto a new tune, almost drowning out the short laugh next to his ear and hiding the movement of her hip as she pressed briefly closer. He stifled a groan and backed away in embarrassment, answering her small smile with one of his own.

They glided out of the mass of fabric as smoothly as they had entered, every step a part of the performance.

But emerald ice slid back into her gaze when they took their place in the audience—her on the throne and him in the Escorts’ line that had shifted behind her.

When the final performers finished, servants quickly moved tables and trays of food into place. The Queen remained in her seat as tables were brought to her, and chairs for her Escorts. Vern, as steward, sat to her right, but the left remainedempty. The captain stood closest.

"Sit, Escort Castien. My dear captain has an aversion to chairs. At times, I wonder if someone blisters his backside." Her slightly projected voice elicited a few cruel laughs. Jerome didn't react.

Castien slid into the seat. Her claws settled on his arm and tapped gently, absently.

The courtiers began mingling as the servants completed setting the tables, the murmur of conversation mixing with clinking glass. A few nobles passed by the Queen's table to pay their respects.

One lingered. She bowed to the Queen but her eyes flicked toward Castien when she spoke.

"Happy birthday, my Queen. That was the most beautiful Panther's Hunt I’ve ever seen. It seems the Night Courts have other talents."

His stare was blank.

Anais' claws dug into his arm. "Indeed. A terrible pity if you haven’t already sampled him. His bedroom talents are even more exquisite."And mine, her humorless smile declared.

Possessive. No woman had ever claimed him quite so thoroughly. This was all fake, all a game, but a smirk threatened his expressionless facade.

The lady blinked and bowed, a blush rising in her cheeks as she moved away.

More people approached throughout the day, weaving flattery and presenting gifts along with their personal requests. This was a subtler, deadlier dance with steps he did not know, but he tried to follow where she led.

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