Page 48 of Shadows and Roses

Every day that they spent in her protected halls made it harder to remember his wariness. Every time she smiled at him, even in that cold, possessive way, made him want more than a taste. When she brushed against his unmistakable desire today, he would have let her take him then and there.

And regretted it the moment his sanity returned. This ridiculous lust was making him a fool. Apparently a week or two without sex was all it took for him to be panting after anyone who gave him a second glance. But that was a lie—the courtiers did more than glance and they still disgusted him. Thankfully.

Later, after they entered the privacy of the Queen's Wing, she turned to him with a distant expression. "I apologize for the need to display you."

He matched her neutral tone. "It was tolerable."

She winced.

More than tolerable, if he was honest. He offered, "I apologize for my… reaction."

A faint, amused smile. "It made it more genuine. And flattering besides."

Flattering? His eyes fell to her lips. He could do more than flatter.

She took a step closer, her lips parting.

Her dutiful guardian cleared his throat. "My Queen. Your meeting."

A flicker crossed her brow, and she stepped back again. "Good evening, Escort," she said before leaving him wondering if he was going mad.

He was the most celebrated whore in the nation. The Prince of the Night. A Queen’s ransom for his life. Yet he fell apart at a glance from her. He’d kept the black rose, its driedpetals invading his dreams. Perhaps the court was breaking him, after all. It was a sobering thought.

—

Away from her, in the soft silence of the night, he remembered the Dark Queen. Her Inner Court may not be a lie, but why was it so disparate? Why could she not enact change amongst the nobles, in the nation? Damon— His friends would follow her, once they understood. She could change the world.

So why hadn’t she?

With his reintroduction to court, the royal court gave Castien a wider berth. Calculating wariness instead of cruel amusement colored their watchful gazes. He could go where he pleased. No one stopped him. No one questioned him.

He strode toward the kitchens. Pausing, a scuff of his boot rubbed the doorframe. He continued in, requested a fresh tray of pastries and a servant to follow him. A young girl with a bruise on her cheek balanced the tray carefully as they walked away. She made a small noise when she saw where they were going.

Castien turned to her. The hall was empty. "I’ll take that from here. You may return."

She paled. "It’s not a problem, sir, I can—"

"Return."

"...Yes, Escort."

He watched her scurry back toward the kitchens. Sighing, he stepped through the rose-scented passage and into the courtesan’s hall.

Jesamin sat on a bench near the entrance, braiding her hair. She looked well. Wearing a white, translucent dress, Castien could see no bruises, no scars. Small blessings. As he approached, shehopped to her feet.

"Castien! Oh— I mean, E-Escort…" Jesamin swallowed, her eyes falling to his bracers, to the coiled whip on his wrist.

How he hated fear. Extending his arm, he offered the tray. She hastily grabbed it with both hands. His fingers circled her right wrist. The tray wobbled, the girl froze.

His deft fingers twisted, snapped, and lifted, leaving a strip of leather binding her wrist. Jesamin stared at it unmoving still. She seemed unable to breathe.

"You are mine. Escorts are allowed a companion—" Castien began.

"I know," she whispered. Her hands trembled. "I mean… yes, sir. Should I go with you now?"

He stepped back. "No. This is to repay a debt. Nothing more."

She stared and stared. Did she understand? Her eyes finally met his, slowly. "This is too much…"

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