Page 117 of Shadows and Roses

"At least I’m still whole," Castien murmured. The cold words seared his heart the moment they left his lips. He dropped the hand and turned away.

Thin leather snapped around the eunuch’s wrist.

"Are you done with this creature, Escort? I’d be pleased to remind him what amanlooks like." Not waiting for Castien’s reply, the noble leaned in close and pressed his lips hard against Marlow’s mouth.

Marlow’s whimper was filled with fear. Castien’s chest heated, fire spreading as he studied the Master’s wide, panicked eyes. This was not who he was, could not be who he was.

He turned back. "No, I’m not done."

The courtier frowned. "My apologies, Escort." The whip fell and the noble walked away.

Marlow rubbed his wrist and glared. "What do you want with me?"

"Nothing." His appetite had fled, but he found a relatively isolated seat and ate anyway.

The eunuch followed.

"Do something," he hissed in a low voice. "Slap me, hurt me, I don’t care what. Maybe you haven’t been paying attention, but Escorts don’t just save the likes of me."

"Clearly, I’m different."

His lips twitched into a sneer. "No, you’re not. Whatever’s bothering you doesn’t make you any less an Escort. I don’t know what she does to you all, that you’re so… cold. Just do whatever you’re going to do."

Marlow was afraid of him. And he was right—Castien had gone cold. The other Escorts kept a careful distance to avoid confrontation, refused to react to anything lest they react to everything.

Castien had struggled with that distance. Before. But now he wore it like armor, like a wall that blocked out everything.

The Master of Courtesans was shaking. Castien sighed. "Marlow, I’m not going to do anything. You… were kinder than the nobles, before I became an Escort. Call it a settling of scales. Nothing more."

The man’s breathing slowed, his hands shaking less violently. "Nothing more?"

"Go away, Marlow."

Another sidelong glance and the eunuch rushed off.

It had taken him too long to notice Marlow’s fear. Castien contemplated the courtiers, who turned aside after a glance at his bracers and grim expression. At the next table, the man’s lips moved but his companion stole glances at someone else. At another table, a lady held the leash on a woman who smiled prettily but her shoulders were too tense.

He hadn’t lost the ability to read people. He just hadn’t been looking. At anything. Quickly finishing his food, Castien strode outof the hall.

Long, swift steps brought him to the practice circles. Few people occupied the area, but Octavius examined a pile of leathers in a corner.

Castien stopped, hesitating.

"What do you want, boy?" Octavius snapped without looking up.

He suddenly wasn’t sure.

"Speak!"

"I— Octavius—"

The Master-at-arms stood, swiftly closing the distance between them.

"Is this what you want?" Octavius stopped less than a foot away, his thick, furrowed brows cast down over dark eyes and with what must be disgust thinning his lips. His rough hand shot out to grip Castien’s jaw and force his head up.

Meeting hard eyes, Castien found a bitter taste crawling up his throat. A day ago, perhaps even an hour prior, he would have returned that judging gaze with cold mockery and met those twisted lips with his own in a soft kiss. He was still tempted to, but now it was all wrong.

A few soft snorts rose from the others in the area, though none looked their way.

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