Page 104 of Shadows and Roses

Physically, he felt better. His body moved with a comfortable grace again. He could dance passing well, though Octavius found curious ways to work a sword into his routine. It was not art, not fighting—something in-between that served to strengthen his body. He didn’t hate it.

His mind was a different matter. Sleep was difficult, made worse by nightmares that felt too much like memories. He didn’t protest the physical activity that brought exhaustion; it was often the only way to have a peaceful night’s sleep.

He jogged up to where the healer waited. The cottage door stood open, the messenger sipping a mug of beer within. Octavius held out a scroll. A few weeks back, the healer had started teaching him how to decipher their coded messages. That amount of trust had been surprisingly reassuring.

The scroll contained the usual military and rebel training updates, brief discipline issues for Octavius’ review, plus supply and maintenance notices. The coded message took a few minutes to understand:Queen ill several days. Recovered. Insectbite?Unconfirmed.

His heart stopped and restarted too quickly. "She’s fine?" He had to be sure he’d read it correctly.

Octavius nodded.

He swallowed and returned the scroll with slightly shaking hands. She’d been ill and he hadn’t even known, couldn’t do anything. And he’d kept her healer too long. Something worse could’ve happened. If she’d been hurt and Octavius couldn’t help because the healer washere…

"How am I doing?" he asked.

Octavius grunted. "Good. You may be ready to leave here soon, if you wish."

"Good sounds promising. Am I ready for court?" Octavius hadn’t given such an optimistic outlook before.

"Eager to dive back into that madhouse?"

Castien picked up a mug of water. "I’d like to see her again." It had been difficult to admit that to himself at first, much less say it aloud. The healer’s honesty expected honesty in turn. Octavius never judged, ridiculed, or rejected his emotions. Even his anger—all he’d had in the first few days—was met with blunt, stern reasoning.

The healer nodded. "So would I. We will. She’s sturdier than a bug bite."

Castien watched him return the scroll to its container. "You never answered me. Am I still an Escort?"

Octavius’ usual scowl smoothed to an unreadable expression every time he asked this. "Do you want to be? Your contract was severed, your bond ended. She will not force you to stay."

His contract. He’d hardly thought about it, had simply assumed he’d return to the palace and her side. Was this what he wanted instead?

A little out-of-the-way cottage in an open field, a garden, time for himself. Peace. Quiet.

Boredom.

"Yes. I want to be an Escort."

Octavius considered him for a few moments. "Go take another lap. Think about it. I’ll answer you when you come back."

He didn’t need to think about it. He wanted to be useful and to be near her. Before he knew her, he’d wanted only his freedom and to run from the palace, before… everything. But he had his freedom now and he was freely choosing to serve. That was, if she still had a use for him, much less cared for him.

She hadn’t visited again.

Perhaps he could help with the rebels, watch over the children, or learn these ciphers.

When he returned to the cottage, the messenger’s horse was gone, and Octavius was saddling his own. The healer hopped onto the mount. "I’m going to the village for supplies. My answer’s inside."

What answer needed to be inside the cottage? It was a simple yes or no. Octavius was rarely cryptic.

More confused than concerned, Castien stepped through the door as trotting hooves faded into the distance. Nothing was different about the room except for an item on the table. A folded white letter sat on a delicately carved wooden box.

Castien,

If you’ll have me,

Anais

His fingers ran over the rose etched into the lid. He opened the box.

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