Page 113 of Shadows and Roses

"Thank you, my Queen."

"You’re welcome." Cold. Polite, but cold.

Chapter 32

Anais

Roses.

A confession to the beautiful man sprawled on her bed had nearly leaped from her heart. It was his fractured, fragile state that held her tongue. He had allowed himself to play with her as a courtesan, a patient—and not a single piece more.

She’d had his skin beneath her hands, his sweating body writhing between her thighs, his thick cock filling her—and his heart a world away.

"I'm not sure I helped," she said to Octavius as they shared a private lunch in her tower. The day was beginning to warm. It would be a hot summer this year.

The healer patted her hand. "You did. If you weren't so close, you'd see it. But I’ll admit, it should have been someone else."

She shook her head. "He doesn't trust anyone else."

"Yes, but— Are you alright?"

"I will be. When he is." She'd take it all. Every bit of his pain.

And if he didn't heal? Perhaps she'd burn the world anyway.

—

The next morning, she stood at the edge of her tower inside the Queen's Wing, her gaze drawn to the practice yard below. Shirtless, sweat-slick skin gleamedin the early morning light. She could watch him all day. His body flowed with a sword in his hand, his movements more graceful than the forms called for. She was missing breakfast with the Escorts. They’d understand.

A short distance away from Castien, her personal guard trained with a few rebel captains and select high-ranking soldiers, all learning to work together. Several of them peeled off from the formation.

Footsteps echoed in the tower a few minutes later.

"Looking for me?" Damon’s voice made her turn. He was alone; she’d instructed the guards to allow him access to her.

"I come here to think sometimes. The early sun is enchanting."

"The view is particularly delightful this morning," he agreed.

She turned back to the yard. Castien’s movements seemed strangely familiar.

Damon stepped to her side. "The troops wanted a break from training, so I suggested a hunt in the woods. That Master-at-arms there, Hedric, grumbled but let us go. Care to join us, my lady?"

The nobles took to hunting often enough, but she rarely participated. Theirs was a tedious affair of too much drinking, sitting around while the foresters herded out safe critters such as rabbits, and often devolved into drunken orgies or an impromptu hunt of an unlucky servant.

"I’m supposed to be at a meeting," she murmured.

"Perfect. I hate meetings. Come, I’m sure a healer would tell you that the open air is good for you."

It would be better than moping, she mused. An hour later, she found herself on a horse and smiling at Damon’s nonsense despite her dour mood.

"...but that boar didn’t like me, which is how I got this ugly mark on my hand," Damon waved his hand around, showing off a ragged white scar that crossed his palm.

"I’m pretty sure you got that from chopping wood," Kevam interjected with a grin. "Or trying to, but you were a clumsy five-year-old, even as little ones go." He ducked under a smack from Damon.

"Git. Can’t you see I’m trying to impress a lady?" Damon scowled.

Anais shook her head and leaned into her horse, urging it forward. They dashed for the tree line, the rushing wind providing a chill breeze. A few mockingly offended shouts cropped up behind her, and her smile widened.

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