Jerome stepped back. He was missing a shirt. Her anger returned as she took in the red lines marking his chest and abdomen. “Are you alright?”
“Fine, my Queen.” He inspected her head to toe, pausing at the bandage around her thigh, and no doubt marking every drop of blood. As always, her captain was far more concerned with her well-being than his own.
“Your hand is broken, and you've been whipped,” she snapped. “You're not fine.”
His eyes dropped to her leg again.
She scowled. “Go back to the– No, Vern said he moved them. Find Pelios, and get your hand taken care of. I'm going after Castien.”
“Vern is with Castien. I'm staying with you, my Queen.”
She expected the obstinate bastard to say that. Shaking her head, she began, “I command you–”
Her mouth stopped moving. Vern found Castien? Her captain nodded. Relief mingled with a touch of uncertainty.
He wouldn't kill him. She had told Vern not to kill him. She had to trust her father.
And if she gave it a second of thought, she knew she and Jerome would only get in the assassin's way.
“Very well. Let's get out of here.”
The hall was clear of guards – courtesy of Aurora, perhaps. As they fled to the stairs and down to the stables, the question of why the Commander was here floated to the top of her mind.
My Queen has orders. A chill ran down her spine. If Shoni'i was allying with Vertayne–
That was a concern for another day. If she still had a throne to return to.
Chapter 27
Castien
Memories invaded his dreams. Darkness hovered at the corners of his consciousness, threatening to distort and smother his visions, but this one was clear.
It had been a couple of moons ago, early summer. Warm rain drummed the roof of the gazebo where he sat with Vern in a game of chess. The steward was teaching him strategy. Castien had neglected to mention how well he knew the game.
His fingers hovered over a piece as though he was hesitating, then he chose another.
Vern made his move silently. He raised his eyes when the courtesan leaned back.
Castien frowned in a perplexed manner. “You dislike me.” Reading people was a skill he excelled at. The steward maintained a cool, detached disposition toward most – except Anais, Madeline, and some of the servants. To Jerome, Thakris, and the rose guards, he was severe without being cold. But to Castien, he was almost as cold as to the nobles.
The other man glanced at the board. As soon as Castien touched a piece, Vern said, “Incorrect. So long as you are not a threat, and you make her happy, I do not dislike you.”
Castien waved a hand dismissively. “Alright, fine, but you don'tlikeme.”
A ghost of a smile hovered at the man's lips. “Does that sting your pride, courtesan? I shouldn't think it matters if I'm not a client.”
His face flushed. He had no shame in his profession, but to imply he only served Anais because it was his duty – did her father truly think so little of him?
He snapped, “She is not a client.”
Vern’s smile vanished. “I know. If I thought you were playing her, you would not be in her bed, in the Queen's Wing, or even in the palace. The individual pieces of you scattered across the world would be too small to be a proper meal for a hawk.”
Castien rubbed his chin as he considered the board, his anger blowing away with the breeze. He smirked. “Maybe you do like me. Darius said you couldn't be bothered to threaten him in his first year as Escort. It could be said I've only been an Escort for four moons.”
The steward had snorted and not deigned to respond. Castien smiled wider.
—
