Free Dame of Owls by A.M. Belrose Page A

glad he wasn’t supposed to have sex with her after all.
                  “The marks of your house show true,” she said with a pleased smile. “This evening you will be introduced. This evening, my dames, we will have much to discuss. For now, rest.”
    ---
                  It was up to a servant to escort Chris to a guest room. Juniper and Sid probably had their own rooms somewhere in this labyrinth, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit abandoned. He’d been at Sid’s heels for more than awhile now, and knowing she was out of reach made his chest ache oddly. She looked over her shoulder at him for a long moment as she walked away, but he couldn’t guess what she was feeling.
                  His room was markedly less shiny than everything else thus far, which was a profound relief. The bed was still too soft, and there were still too many markers of wealth scattered around haphazardly, but he could cope. He ran his thumb over a silver candlestick and couldn’t help but laugh a little. The specter of poverty had loomed over him most of his life, canned food and pawn shops, and one of these little baubles would feed him for years.
                  Maybe he was supposed to be impressed.
                  Chris focused on collapsing onto the bed without missing the pillows. By the time he woke up there were fine new clothes on the table at the end of the bed and a steaming tub in the next room. He bathed because it was obviously expected of him, and put on clothes because they probably didn’t want him running around naked. The dark blue trousers and black tunic fit him better than anything he’d borrowed from the House of Pines, and he couldn’t miss the silver embroidery at the hems: cats prowling through bare branches.
                  To his relief, it was Sid that came to collect him. Her dress suited her, hugging her curves and accenting the grace of her movements. It was pure white, stark against her curls where they tumbled over her shoulders, and matched the white stones around her neck and glittering at her ears. She was a world away from the woman in jeans and a hoodie, or the soldier with a sword at her side, but walked in all with equal comfort.
                  “The queen has asked me to escort you to the House of Cats.”
                  “Thanks.”
                  “You have that on wrong.”
                  “What?”
                  “Your undershirt, the collar is – Come here.” She pushed past him into the room, pulling the door closed behind her. “Sorry, the clothes aren’t exactly something we think about.”
                  “It’s not a problem.” He pulled off his tunic unselfconsciously, caught himself hoping she’d enjoy it.
                  As she reached up and adjusted his collar, her calloused fingers brushed against his neck. He repressed a shiver, smiled and thanked her when she patted his shoulders and announced him presentable.
                  Friendly.
    ---
                  Sid led him to a large room with walls and ceilings made of glass, furnished with a dozen couches, low tables and cushions, filled with at least twenty men and women dressed even more ornately than Sid and Chris. They were intercepted by a one of the servants, a class Chris was only beginning to recognize because they wore mainly brown.
                  The servant returned with a plump, matronly woman in tow.
                  “Capella,” the servant announced, “Lady of Cats.”
                  Sid curtsied. Chris bowed, and he suspected he bowed badly.
                  “Stop that,” Capella chided, and urged them upright with fluttering hands. "Allies and family don’t bow to me, and we have one of each here!”
                  “Of course,” said Sid, but