Page 110 of Shadows and Roses

His hard eyes frowned at her now. "He's hurting you."

Castien didn’t object to a woman’s touch. Neither had he sought her out. At first, it had hurt. Octavius reported that they were not making any more progress in the cabin. She’d hoped anyway. They were always fragile, and a few moons were too short a time for the state he’d been in. A lifetime might be too short.

She murmured, "You know why." Castien was a courtesan. He was doing what he knew best, what was most familiar to him, what he thought would help.

Anais spoke again, "I do not force Viara from the library. I do not tell Jerome to sleep no matter how exhausted he is. He needs this. Stand down, Vern."

The cold reluctantly withdrew. "As you command, my Queen."

"And Thakris as well."

He smiled faintly and bowed his head.

Still, she couldn’t help but watch as Castien sauntered through the hall, as arrogant as his first day in the palace. He drifted from noble to noble until he chose one, seemingly at random. At least he kept his activities out of the bedroom. So far. But she saw that brittle cold in his eyes. It was all a performance.

Knowing this did not help.

Castien

His ‘additional training’ proved more brutal than the time he’d spent at the cottage. Arriving late to the combat circles earned him a cold bucket of waterto the face and several extra laps. The Master-at-arms paired him with a guard who he kept up with, much to everyone's surprise.

"I was beginning to think Octavius went easy on you," Master Hedric mused, taking the guard's place. The Master-at-arms was far more skilled. He tested Castien, shouting corrections and insults. Fumbling once too often, the courtesan found himself disarmed and shoved to the ground, the Master's sword at his chest.

"If you're going to dance with the court, you’ll learn to defend yourself, boy," Hedric said, his voice hard and eyes cold.

Castien slapped the blunted practice sword aside, picked up his weapon, and responded with a matching expression. "Fine with me." It would give him something to do, keep his mind off the Queen and whoever was sharing her bed.

Each day both crawled and rushed into the next. Every night was seared with memories become nightmares. He indulged in drink to numb his mind. Mingling with the cruel courtiers left him irritated, and he made more and more mistakes in the training circles. The nobles knew better than to whisper secrets to an Escort. At least the Masters-at-arms never went easy on him.Pain and pleasure, some tiny corner of his mind whispered. He ignored it.

Nothing helped.

Beaten and bruised, he lay staring at the ceiling as the early sun’s pale yellow light brightened his room.If you need pain, choose someone you trust.The words hadn’t left his mind. And somehow, the first person he thought was always… her. Did he trust Anais? Yes, undoubtedly, though he had no interest in evaluating that instinctive response.

What he wouldn’t do to touch her again, even if she only agreed out of a sense of obligation. He hadn’t spoken to her yet. She hadn’t summoned him. When he passed the Queen in thehalls or accidentally met her eyes, he simply displayed the minimal polite gesture before finding a reason to leave. She excused him from a regular schedule, which was apparently normal for his condition.

She didn’t want him.

Oh, this dance could cut deep. And wasn’t that exactly what he wanted? Pain and pleasure.

He rose from the bed, bathed, dressed. It had been a while since he’d taken this much care with his appearance. He didn’t bother to hide his bruises or his scars. If she didn’t turn him away, she’d see every one of them.

But the black lining his eyes, the rose pins on his sleeves, the open shirt that displayed his toned body—those were his tools, his weapons, his mask. Leather pants that hugged his ass. He’d noted the way her eyes once followed him. Seduction was a dance he knew very well.

He ran a hand through his hair and hesitated. That their first time together would be so heartless—well, it was the only path left to him. He’d thank her for a drop of pity if that was all she offered.

The only obstacle was her faithful-to-a-fault guard. Jerome stood by her door, which meant she was there, possibly still asleep. The knight stepped in front of the door.

Castien glided silently closer and lowered his chin. "I just want to speak to her." Contrite. Respectful.

Jerome was tense, examining him carefully, likely looking for weapons despite the impossibility of concealing anything on skin-tight clothing. Castien almost laughed. It was a miracle they hadn’t taken his bracers yet. Perhaps today.

"Do not move," Jerome gritted out. Another glare and he turned, entering her room. His lowrumbling to her was far more polite.

Castien stared at the doorway. Her reply was too quiet, if she made one at all. She could refuse to see him. He hadn’t considered that. He may as well strip off his bracers himself if she didn’t—

Jerome reappeared and, reluctantly, stepped to the side.

The courtesan inhaled and strode in.

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