Page 32 of Shadows and Roses

"Follow me. Please." She added the last word as an afterthought, already slipping away. He trailed after her, wondering what she might have done if she hadn’t liked the letter.

These halls continued to prove less richly furnished than any noble’s home he’d ever seen. Practical iron braziers, currently unlit, were what passed for decoration on the walls. They passed a courtyard that was the highlight of the areas so far, neatly trimmed with a few tasteful arrangements.

Everything was clean and well-kept, but nothing like the castles of dukes he'd served, or the wealthy merchants' extravagant homes. No paintings, no banners, no adornments whatsoever. No chained bodies or trails of blood, either. The girl walked with confident ease.

Castien surreptitiously tugged the sides of his open shirt a little closer together.

Finally, they arrived in a room full of shelves and a few tables. Almost a library, but with more boxes than books. Thescowling man who accepted his letter might fit in a library though.

"Back to training, lady," the clerk grumbled.

The girl stuck out her tongue at the clerk but waved brightly at Castien on her way out. He lifted his fingers too slowly with a faint sense of disorientation.

"Name," the man clipped out in a reedy, bored voice.

Completely off-guard and questioning if he’d walked into a different nation altogether, Castien provided his full name and House association. After the man rummaged through some files and pulled out a folder, he continued. "Age."

Ah, now this bureaucracy he was more accustomed to.

"The Night Courts sent my information, and I've already been vetted—"

"Not in the Queen's Wing, you haven't. Age." The man snapped but still didn't look up.

The attitude was familiar. "Twenty-four."

"Height."

Castien rattled off his weight, years of service, years of training, date of entry to the palace, his favorite food, and the number of shits he took on average. The clerk scribbled something down at that last piece of information, then continued.

"Occupation."

"What— courtesan."

"Skills."

Castien was beginning to think this bored clerk was just toying with him. He placed his hands on the table and leaned forward with half-lidded eyes, waiting for the man to finally look up. Castien's mouth parted, tongue wetting his lips as he let his gaze drift to the clerk's mouth.

In a low, sultry voice, he purred, "I'm fairly good at chess."

The clerk blinked several times and shifted in his seat. He swallowed and frowned at his papers, shuffling them until he found Castien's letter again. His face turned a few odd colors, then he stumbled to his feet.

"Please wait here," he squeaked.

With a small pout, Castien straightened and hoped the next clerk wouldn't ask all the same questions again. He might start stripping if they did.

As he contemplated stealing a chair, an older woman wearing a single cuff and an elegant robe appeared, inclining her head in greeting. "Escort Castien. Welcome to the Queen’s retinue. I am Minister Priya."

She extended a hand. The woman had a firm, callused grip. She continued, "I apologize for my assistant; the work is dull and newcomers are rare."

Castien presented a crooked smile. "I was about to give him a show. Think he would have enjoyed it?"

Priya didn’t acknowledge his quip. No one in this dour place appreciated him.

The minister picked out a particular document. "As an Escort, you now belong solely to the Queen—"

"Actually, I belong to the Night Courts—"

"No longer. The Queen purchased your bond in full last night," she said, offering him the paper.

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