Page 15 of Shadows and Roses

He loosened the strings of his pants, but with the whip still tightly wound around his wrist, he assumed she didn’t want him to undress. Yet.

The lady pulled him close. "All mine, now," she purred. Her claws scratched lightly at his chest, ran up beneath his shirt, and brushed the fabric off his shoulder. "Take this off. Quickly." The whip finally released him.

He did as he was bid—with an exaggerated, habitual flex of muscles and arch of his back. A small smile was on her lips as she flattened her palm against the panes of his stomach, stroking up to his shoulder, her claws curling and digging in, then dragging back down. She sighed and flicked her wrist. The whip tugged on him again.

As enlightening as it was to observe the ways of the court, Castien really hated the leash.

"You don't need that." He brushed the hand holding the whip, his fingers lightly climbing up her arm. Before the frown creasing her brow fully formed, he murmured, "Aren’t you curious why they call me the Prince of the Night? Let me show you. Just for a few minutes, lady."

Her lips puckered. "Hmph. A few minutes."

That’s all he needed.

He guided her to the bed, on her back as he climbed gracefully up her legs, kissing as he went. This dance could be as exhilarating as the most complex of performances. He knew by instinct the exact amount ofpressure to apply while dragging his nails between her breasts. How to read the faintest tension in her inner thighs. Her widening legs were an obvious invitation, but that tiny hitch in her breath might’ve easily gone unnoticed by a lesser courtesan.

His tongue traced her collarbone as his hand stroked teasingly between her legs—alternating soft and firm touches on the edges of her most sensitive flesh, back and forth, not quite landing precisely where she wanted, but so close. So close. Closer.

Not yet.

Practice guided a dance, but there was instinct in every art. When she inhaled sharply, he knew her patience had run out. That’s when his fingers curled on her mound, his palm pressing and rubbing her clit, moving with her as she gasped and writhed beneath him. He smiled, pleased with himself, enjoying the pleasure he’d coaxed from her.

And that was just his hand.

Perhaps the Queen would be as easy. Perhaps she’d bend for him. If she allowed him to perform as with any client, then his time here could even be… fun.

As soon as he bowed out of Lady Marissa’s chambers, he was dragged into another noble’s bed. This next lady wasn’t so accommodating. She wasn’t interested in his skills, only wanted to explore his body, pleasure herself, and taste him. Her claws left angry red lines but didn't break his skin. After her was another lady, then a lord, a train of nobles who’d been waiting all week to use him until he was limp. But still, none of them made him bleed. Perhaps another unspoken rule.

Half-carried by a leering guard to his room, he endured one last round before beingallowed to collapse into sleep.

—

Waking late, he stumbled out of his room to a few pitying glances from other courtesans. Castien straightened his spine and headed toward the training halls, resigned to the punishment he'd been repeatedly warned about for tardiness. He didn’t need their pity. If they could endure the palace, so could he.

Niko caught him halfway out of the courtesan’s wing.

"Darling, did no one tell you to rest today? Tsk," he murmured, eyes going up and down Castien's body.

Castien stiffened. "I can handle a few clients."

The man's eyebrows pinched upwards. "Oh, I'm sure. But what you’re used to is a gentle, beautiful sunset compared to the raging midsummer blaze you're about to experience here." His eyes hardened. "No one will stop the nobles if you complain about a whip. No one will spare you sympathy if you can't walk the next day. No one will give you a second glance if you’re stabbed in the heart in the middle of the dining halls. If you haven't learned that yet, accept it now."

Castien's lips thinned. "So I've been told, enough times. But I still belong to the Night Courts. At the very least, a noble will pay an exorbitantly high price formyheart."

A surprised grin met his bitter words and sharp tone. "That's the spirit. Just don't be too sure that the nobles care who owns you. Your wrists are bare, therefore you are prey. Now, go take a soak and rest. The nobles won’t miss you for a few hours."

The heated bath was bliss against his overused muscles. Since he was late, the room was empty. After a few minutes, he sighed and smiled wryly at himself. It was only a few years ago that he'd serviced a half dozen clients or more a day. Once the House realized his worth, he’d grown complacent with only a few patrons a week. The higher the demand, the higher the price, and his Master had decided that scarcity raised demand.

Fingers on his shoulders jolted him awake. He must have dozed off.

"Shh, shh. Relax." The fingers settled into a firm, soothing massage. "Tsk. Oh, I do so hate when they damage beautiful skin." Soft, gentle words while a featherlight touch traced a red mark on his upper arm, left by a claw.

Castien shivered. "Marlow. How would I request a private audience with the Queen?"

The fingers hardened, digging into his shoulders. "You wouldn’t. Ask me what you want to know."

"I wish to discuss my contract." Among other things.

Marlow returned to massaging. "You belong to the Queen. That is all you need to know."

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