Page 97 of Shadows and Roses

By the time he finally spoke, she’d steeled herself for rejection, depression, anger, hate, fear—any response she’d heard before from others similarly tormented.

His voice rasped. "I didn’t tell Octavius this. I didn’t— I wanted to see you— to tell you myself."

She nodded silently, patiently.

The words fell out of him like heavy stones. "I told her everything." He went on, detailing all he’d learned about her court—the Queen's Wing, her Escorts, the children that weren’t really hostages, her plan for a better world, the meetings with the rebels. His fingers twisted tighter and harder as he spoke, forming hard fists on the table toward the end.

Self-control was always difficult at these visitations. He wouldn’t want her claws near his skin, wouldn’t find her proximity a comfort.

His flat, dead eyes stared unseeing. "I betrayed you."

Never.

She didn’t use a gentle tone. She didn’t treat him like a child. He needed honesty—he had always wanted honesty.

"You were tortured. And you don't know enough to betray me. So you think I'm soft—maybe I coddle my new toys. So I'm kind to the children—or so I convinced you, to make you feel safe. You couldn't give them anything substantial. Even the rebels—that should just make them wary."

He shivered. "Do you? Were you just… playing with me? The Queen—" His words cut off, a frown flickering across his brow.

His doubt burned her heart, tears fighting to rise from her chest. Her mask was a temptation that would only hurt him more. She swallowed.

"No. But I can't answer that for you. I can't just tell you to trust me."

After a few moments, he nodded, relaxing his arms.

She asked, "Is there anything I—we can get for you? From your House, perhaps?" No doubt Octavius had already asked, but sometimes it mattered who did the asking.

"I… I’d like a garden." A quiet, soft few words, hardly louder than a whisper.

Tilting her head up against her blurring sight, she murmured, "Of course. I'll have tools and seeds brought." Octavius would make sure he… didn’t harm himself. She wanted to hope, but hope was dangerous.

He nodded again, absently rubbing his wrist with a slightly shaking hand.

There were a thousand things she wanted to say.I miss you. Did he? How could he? He hadn’t asked to see her—this was Octavius’ idea.Come back to court.She wouldn’t subject him to the snakes, no matter how close she wanted him.I love you. That one felt like cruelty. Would he see it as pity, even if he felt the same, or just be horrified at thethought?

As long as you’ll have me.

Had he meant those words? She remembered his voice, the caution that she’d ignored at the time. She should have known better. Doubt had suppressed his joy, uncertainty of their newly formed bond. They hardly knew one another. He doubted everything now.

In the end, she said nothing and he was just as silent.

"Good evening, Castien," she murmured softly before leaving the cottage.

A cold, dry breeze met her outside. The cold was a familiar, comforting feeling against her skin. She gestured to a guard by the mounts, who quickly approached with a package.

After removing a box from the leather bag and handing it over to the Queen, the guard trotted back to his post.

Octavius eyed the ornamental wooden box with a raised brow.

"Give this to him when you feel he is ready." She removed the lid.

Octavius stared, eyes widening. "Are you sure you wantmeto present this to him?"

Smiling briefly, she replaced the lid and handed it over.

"You’ll know better than I when he’s ready. And I don’t know how often I’ll be able to visit, with the events at court."

Octavius held the box as though it was fragile. "This could wait until he returns."

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