Page 13 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

She was a living lie. Arye saw her as his friend, his confidant, his right-hand man. Nothing more. Nothing less. And that’s how it had to stay, no matter how much it tore her apart inside.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped Skylar back to reality. She straightened, shoulders tensing as she adopted the rigid posture expected of Duke Anathemark. Gone was the vulnerable woman of moments ago, replaced by the unflappable leader the world needed her to be.

“Your Grace?”

Skylar turned to see the Chief Servant approaching with a stack of papers clutched to his chest. His perpetually worried frown seemed deeper than usual, the lines etched into his face more pronounced in the harsh morning light.

Damn, that was close.

“Anthony,” she greeted, straightening her posture and deepening her voice slightly. Even here, in the relative privacy of the stables, she couldn’t risk dropping her guard. “What news?”

Anthony’s gaze darted nervously before he spoke, his words low and efficient. “The preparations for our departure are nearly complete, Your Grace. We should be ready to leave for Regalton in two days’ time, as planned.”

Skylar nodded, her mind already racing ahead to the triumphal procession awaiting them in the capital. The prospect of parading through streets lined with cheering crowds made her stomach churn. “Excellent. Make sure the wounded are comfortable for the journey.”

“Certainly, Your Grace,” Anthony replied with a slight bow. He hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The movement stirred up small clouds of dust. “And… there’s one other matter.”

Skylar raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.

Anthony glanced anxiously at the stable entrance. “A young man has been lingering around your quarters for the past few days. He seems harmless enough, but I thought you should be aware.”

Curiosity piqued, Skylar followed his line of sight. At the edge of the encampment stood a figure hobbling near her lodgings. Even from this distance, she could see the awkward gait, the way he supported himself on crutches, the empty trouser leg that flapped as he moved. Recognition hit her like a punch to the gut.

Billy.

The soldier she’d tried to save on the battlefield. The one she’d lied to, promising him he was going home when she knew deep inside he likely wouldn’t survive the night. Guilt surged through her, threatening to drown her in its murky depths.

There were countless others like him—young men who could have been unharmed if she had favored the Divine Beast overtactical warfare. If she had been willing to shorten her lifespan in exchange for the raw power to end the battle swiftly.

The Gryphon was right.

She could have ended it all, saved so many lives. But she had hesitated, clinging to her own existence like the coward she was. She wasn’t Duke Anathemark, protector of the kingdom. She was just a fraud. Scum.

“Your Grace?” Anthony’s concerned voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “Are you alright?”

Skylar swallowed hard, forcing her features into a neutral expression. The taste of bile burned the back of her throat. “I’m fine. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

She turned back to Blanche, running the brush along the mare’s flank with perhaps more force than necessary. The horse snorted in protest, shifting away from her touch. Noire nudged her softly, his warm breath ghosting over her neck as if sensing her distress.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, gentling her strokes.

Her mind raced, grappling with the implications of Billy’s presence. Why was he here? Did he blame her for being crippled? The thought of facing him, of seeing the accusation in his eyes, made her chest tighten with anxiety.

As she worked, movement caught her attention. Arye stood some distance away, engaged in a heated discussion with several advisors. She could easily spot the tension in his posture, the sharp set of his jaw. His black tunic, adorned with intricate gold embroidery, seemed to absorb the morning light. The cape draped over his shoulders rippled with each agitated gesture, revealing flashes of its blood-red lining.

Noire nickered softly, nudging Skylar’s shoulder. She absently stroked his nose, her eyes still fixed on Arye.

“How has the Crown Prince been lately?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Anthony shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting towards Arye before returning to Skylar. “Well, Your Grace, if I’m being honest…” He paused, leaning in closer and speaking softly. “His Highness has been in quite a state these past few days.”

“How so?”

The Chief Servant ran a hand through his thinning hair, a nervous habit she’d noticed over the years. “Some say he hasn’t been sleeping much—just pacing his tent, snapping at anyone who dares interrupt him.”

“That doesn’t sound like him.” Skylar’s brow furrowed. “His Highness usually keeps his temper in check, at least in public.”

“Aye, that’s what’s got everyone on edge,” Anthony agreed. “Some of the younger servants are terrified to go near his tent.”

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