Page 76 of Shadows and Roses

He shrugged. "You asked what I wanted. Fine. How do I know his kidnapping wasn't set up? That you didn't throw him to the wolves for a convenient excuse for us to work together? Is that why you haven't saved him yet?"

Jerome shot to his feet, sword half-drawn before she snapped, "Escort." She turned to Damon. "I understand your lack of trust, but do not question our loyalty to our people. Castien ismine." If he knew her better, the sharp possession in her tone would mean something. She carefully ignored Vern’s scowl.

Damon held her gaze, then shrugged and changed his tune. "Why don’t we get all this tension out of the air with a good spar? I’ve heard stories of the beautiful and deadly Queen, and I’ve always wondered how true they are."

She scoffed at his unexpected suggestion. "Kill me later. We need to work together for Castien’s sake."

He smirked. "Oh, I’ve no intention of killing you today. My friend should be here to see you fall."

After whatCastien had suffered, the chances were good that he’d like that. Her lips thinned. "If you want to spar, pick your weapon. Otherwise—"

"Sword." The man's smile disappeared. His expression and his word were both serious and intense. He wanted a fight. Was that truly what he was here for? To kill her?

Best disabuse him of the notion quickly. She rapped her claws on the table. "You cannot kill me, if that's what you're hoping for. The rumors are more than true."

His teeth bared in a wolf's grin. "I thought you had no use for bluster. Fight me, or we are done here. I have information you need if you truly want to save Castien. One of my people brings him meals every day."

He had access.

"The Queen does not spar with rebels," Jerome growled.

"Your dog needs a muzzle."

Jerome’s expression shuttered, displaying cold disdain as though Damon were a noble. Yes, this man would be difficult to work with, but he had access.

She stood, drawing sharp looks from her Escorts. "Swords it is."

Damon laughed. "I'm eager to see how a Queen fights! Give me my sword, dog."

Jerome spoke through clenched teeth. "You will be using our practice blades—"

"Live blades are fine, Captain. Return his weapon." Her Escorts could have a fit later. This proud man needed her to prove something.

Jerome hesitated. It was a rare sight, and this rebel wouldn't recognize it for anything other than a slightly extended glare. Her captain never disobeyed, but these moments madeher wonder what it would take.

Then he walked out and returned with a sheathed sword. "The weapon will be given to you in the practice yard."

She allowed Jerome his caution. Gesturing at the door, she said, "After you, Damon."

He turned without bowing and followed Jerome.

Vern stopped her. "Why are you doing this? This could just be a bluff so he can attempt to kill you."

"Then he dies and we waste a little time. He can't hurt me." Arrogance wasn’t why she assumed victory without even watching the man fight. Besides lifelong training, she had survived multiple assassination attempts, and led plenty of border skirmishes. From Castien’s brief description, Damon had less than a half dozen years of experience with a sword. Enough to be good, but she’d practically been born with a weapon in her hand.

As she continued past Vern, she noted, "And I don't think he's bluffing. He has something we need and he knows it."

She quickly changed into basic leathers. Assassinations and skill aside, it would be arrogance to ignore all preparation.

Damon was stretching when she entered the yard. The rebel eyed her form-fitting armor, pausing at every feminine curve. He smirked, his eyes dragging up her body to rest on her full lips.

Anais' hand curled on the sword at her hip, loosening the strap. "First blood?" she offered mildly.

Damon's smile spread. "Till surrender. Let's have some fun."

She nodded curtly, ignoring their glaring audience.

"What does a Queen use her blade for, anyway?" Damon asked idly when she stepped into a flattened circle of dirt. "Chopping off heads? Slicing up insolent servants?"

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