Page 7 of Shadows and Roses

"Name?" he asked.

"Castien—"

"Ah, yes, Castien FitzUmbra, bastard son of—"

"Do you really need that part?"

"Bastardsonof the House of Shadows. Age twenty-four. Impudent." He scribbled the last word into the parchment.

Castien narrowed his eyes.

"Let’s see. The guards didn’t note down much, probably busy staring at muscles they only wish they had. Fools. Hmm," the man mumbled.

Probably true. They’d insisted he strip and display himself in multiple poses. They were clearly tempted to do more, but the House representative had been slowly increasing the volume of her complaints.

"Right. You’re assigned to the courtesan’s halls. Someone there will show you around. Take meals in the Great Hall. Go to the kitchens if your services are required. After—"

Castien interrupted, "Do you have my contract? I was told nothing except that I serve the Queen and her court."

The man sighed. "Yes, yes, everyone likes to rush things, and then someone has to clean up the mess. Here it is," he mumbled while shuffling some papers.

The contract appeared standard other than the Queen’s flowing script at the end. How she made letters on paper feel sharp was a curious art on its own. Castien scanned the document.

"...A year?" Contracts that long did not exist. He set the paper down and pointed. "There must be a mistake."

The man scowled. "The Queen signed it. Do you think she’s in the habit of making mistakes?"

"No, but—a year! I’ve never been contracted longer than a moon." And even then not since his first two years of service. A week was rare enough lately. He couldn’t imagine the price—but perhaps there was no price for the Queen. Not in gold, at least.

Then his mind caught up to the shock. "Wait. This is half a year past my bond. I didn’t agree to this." In five moons, he would be twenty-five years of age. He would be released from his House with a generous stipend set aside for his services. In five moons, he planned to be far from this city, perhaps never to return.

The clerk shrugged. "Take that up with your House. Or the Queen, if she asks for you."

"If? I was told she would summon me before any others were allowed—"

"No, no. Did that fop Marlow tell you that? Ugh. He's good at making you alllookperfect, but he doesn't give a damn about the proper procedures. The Queenmightrequest you within the first week.After that, you belong to the court."

No one else would protest that the Queen’s contract exceeded his bond by half a year. Certainly not the Night Courts, who had signed him away. They likely had no choice; the Houses depended on the crown for military protection. It was the only way to keep their expensive merchandise fit.

And since his contract exceeded his bond, the heads of his House likely had no more concern for his fitness.

Glaring at the piece of paper, Castien caught another line out of place. "No guard? Why was I not assigned a guard?"

"How would I know?" the clerk scoffed. "Alright, that’s enough. You don’t need to be quibbling over every detail. It’s a bit too late for that." He snatched away the contract and exchanged it for a smaller piece of parchment. "Your schedule. Report to the training halls at dawn. Rest at noon bell. You will—"

"What training?" Castien growled, his patience running thin. These amateurs couldn’t possibly presume to teach a House courtesan anything.

The small man frowned in irritation but ignored the interruption. "Attend the afternoon tea service for the first week. Rest when dinner is served. If you are not requested elsewhere, your nights are free."

This man would answer his questions. He didn’t know any more about the contract, fine, but this talk of training was intolerable. "I've been trained by the Night Courts, and—"

"This is not the Night Courts, boy," the clerk snapped. "This is the Queen’s palace. You will be trained in manners, if nothing else, as those are clearly lacking."

Castien's smile was slow and mocking. "I serve the Queen, not you."

The small man rubbed his nose. "Fool. You serve at the Queen's pleasure. As do I, and every person in this palace—from a scullery maid to the lords and ladies, and the generals ofher armies. That means you serve everyone above your station—and a courtesan only ranks slightly higher than a scullery maid. Didn't your Masters teach you that much?"

Castien shrugged a shoulder. "Perhaps, but they don't care what the bastards learn. The fifth and sixth sons and daughters of those titled ladies often find the Houses quite instructive."

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