Her feet took a single step. “Jerome, have I told you how grateful I am for everything you do?”
The man lowered his chin. “Frequently, my Queen.”
“I don’t think that’s true. I scold you for not sleeping, for being overprotective, for invading my privacy, but you are always there for me. I appreciate you, Jerome. Truly.”
He shifted, then nodded stiffly. “My duty and honor.”
The man was clearly uncomfortable, but these things needed to be said. “As I am honored by your loyalty and care. Madeline is lucky to have you.”
His cheeks darkened. He coughed, cleared his throat, and examined the halls very closely. A hint of relief entered his eyes.
The sound of footsteps bounced softly against the walls. Anais turned. “Castien! Oh, Ash, hello to you, too.” She bent to hug the loping wolf. The fully-grown creature acted like a giant puppy, panting and licking her. That was, until Anais stood and clicked her tongue. Ash sat back, her mouth closed, ears up, eyes attentive.
Anais smiled at Castien. “I only have a few minutes. The rebel contingent – hmm, we need a better name for them, they're not really rebels anymore. Anyhow, they need to discuss plans and logistics. As for you–”
She opened her arms. The lopsided smile on his lips widened, and he gathered her in. The scent of his new soap, a lovely smoky citrus, wrapped around her. She inhaled deeply and sighed. “I'm sorry to spring this on you, Cas, but the council demands a Consort Tournament. The suitors will start arriving in a week, and the council has decided you must compete.”
His arms tensed for only a second, and his voice was light. “Suitors, hmm? Should I be jealous?”
She tilted her head up. He was smiling, but there was caution in his eyes. Her fingers found his hand and brought it to her lips. “The entire event is all for show. A tournament is customary. I’mnot required to choose any of them, and I certainly don't want you to be a part of the nonsense.”
She left out the part where sheshouldchoose for political gain. Her throne could take the loss. Her heart couldn't.
His thumb brushed her cheek. “I'll be fine, I'm sure. You'll probably arrange it so that we have a dancing competition, and I know I can win that.”
She wasn't so confident. “The competitions are set in tradition – artistic performances, yes, but also combat and duels. I can't change that aspect of the tournament. You will need to train harder this week. Competitors have died before. I will ask Vern to help. He witnessed all of Jana’s tournaments.”
“You worry too much. I won't die on you, I promise, my Queen.” His casual confidence seeded a frown on her forehead that was uprooted with the gentle kiss he brushed onto her hand. When his lips claimed hers, she let the kiss linger. Castien’s swordwork had improved, but enough to keep his head against princes and champions of the other nations? Even if the public spectacle was fair, there were plenty of ways to kill, maim, or destroy a man, as well she knew.
“You’re so tense,” he murmured against her lips. “Make time for a massage tonight.”
She imagined his firm fingers running down her back. “I’ll try. I have to go. Spar, Escort. That's an order.”
Chapter 3
Castien
The morning of the first foreign arrivals dawned, and Castien felt like he had forgotten something. He frowned around his room. Clothes lay strewn on the floor. The plants on the windowsill drooped somewhat. An empty glass with the residue of wine sat on his desk.
Nothing was out of place. He’d refused a servant entry a week ago and every day since. Hiding surprises from the Queen was impossible with gossiping servants. He should clean up a bit, though.
Some other time. By the distant chatter, he was already late. A few sets of clean-pressed Escorts’ blacks still remained in his closet. They would do. He groaned, stretching aching muscles as he dressed himself. Swordplay shared many similarities with dancing, but he had never acquired quite so many bruises in dance practice.
Smoothing his shirt sleeves beneath his bracers, he considered the rose-and-vine carved wooden box on his desk. He wasn’t officially the Consort. Wearing the adornments was presumptuous. Yet the Escorts claimed that the ceremony didn’t matter, and Anais always checked his finger, smiling when he had it on. She liked to mark what belonged to her.
He liked belonging to her. He picked up the ring and slipped it on. The ring alone was hardly noticeable.
As he passed the hall to the Queen’s bedroom, Castien paused. Her door was closed. It had been all week. An entire week, and he hadn't had a chance to be alone with her. He could have slept in her room, he supposed. Her door was never truly closed to him. But half the nights, she didn't even seem to be there. His hands slid into his pockets.
Perhaps tonight.
The soft murmuring of voices clarified as he approached the courtyard. Servants and guards mingled at breakfast, a few nodding his way. Fresh pastries, bread, roast meats, and summer fruits burdened a long table set against the bushes. He poured himself a cup of water.
And turned to marvel at the Queen’s dress. She sat at the edge of the fountain, her shadow casting a red hue into the pool below. Satin red woven with black lace made every motion look as though she were a shadow gliding over a pool of blood. Her claws were encased in metal. Gleaming, sharp steel cut through the air as she spoke.
Beside his majestic Queen sat Madeline and Darius, wearing similar blacks to his own. The lady’s cheeks colored slightly whenever she cast her gaze into the corner. Jerome seemed to ignore her in his standard imitation of a statue, though his eyes softened whenever they passed over her. There was probably something to be said about the spot he had chosen and how he had clear sight of all entrances as well as the Queen, but really, the man could have been a gargoyle. He wasn’t breakfasting like everyone else. Did he eat? Castien had vague memories of the captain taking meals. He chuckled to himself and sipped his water.
Darius waved. “Ah, the pretty boy is awake! I’m supposed to be the one who preens forever in the mornings. What’s your secret?”
