Page 17 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

The memory of her father’s death, right after news of her mother’s pregnancy, still cut deep. In an instant, her entire world had shifted. No longer a temporary stand-in, but the Duke of Anathemark in truth, charged with protecting not just her family’s legacy, but her grieving mother as well. Five long years as family head, and she hated every bit of it.

Captain Knox’s approach pulled her from her thoughts as he guided his mount briefly behind them. His leathery face split in a broad grin, eyes crinkling with poorly concealed amusement. He jerked his chin toward a buxom noblewoman in the crowd, her ample cleavage threatening to spill from her low-cut gown.

“The Roots bless us with such sights after battle, eh, Your Grace?” he chuckled. The words rumbled from deep in his chest, carrying easily over the crowd’s noise. “Gotta work out some of that post-battle tension tonight, if you catch my meaning.”

Skylar felt her cheeks burn, grateful for the high collar of her formal attire. She opened her mouth to deflect, but Arye cut in.

“I’m sure the Duke has more pressing matters to attend to,” he said, his tone deceptively light. But Skylar caught the dangerous edge, the way his eyes narrowed.

Captain Knox, oblivious to Arye’s shift in mood, pressed on. “Ah, but surely even a Duke needs some recreation, Your Highness. And there’s more than enough beauties to go around—even for a Crown Prince, if you’ve a mind.” He winked, the gesture crude and conspiratorial.

“I’m not interested,” Arye snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. His gaze swept over the crowd, cold and dismissive. “And neither is the Duke. We have a kingdom to run, Captain.”

Tense silence fell. Captain Knox’s eyes widened, and he mumbled an apology as he fell back. But not before Skylar caught his muttered words:

“Gods above, it would do him good to let off some steam before his wedding.”

Skylar’s heart clenched at the words, a cold dread settling in her stomach. She risked a glance at Arye, but he steadfastly avoided her gaze, his eyes fixed on some point in the King’s back.

7

The words “wedding” and “Arye” collided in Skylar’s mind like two warring kingdoms, leaving devastation in their wake. Her heart clenched, a sharp pain threatening to steal her breath. How could she not have known? A bitter laugh caught in her throat. Of course, he was to be married. Crown Princes didn’t remain bachelors, especially not ones as coveted as Arye.

The realization crashed over her: the perfumed letters wafting through palace corridors, silken noblewomen tittering at court, knowing glances laden with unspoken gossip. It all made sense now. Skylar’s grip on Noire’s reins tightened, leather creaking beneath her gloves.

She knew this day would come. She had always known it would.

Skylar stole a glance at Arye, drinking in his profile. The strong line of his jaw, the intensity in his gray eyes as he surveyed the crowd. A wayward lock of raven hair fell across his forehead, stirred by the summer breeze. For a heartbeat, she allowed herself to imagine a different world—one where shewasn’t bound by duty and deception, where she could stand beside him not as his loyal Duke, but as…

No. She couldn’t indulge such thoughts. The pain was too raw, too real.

Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile, the muscles in her face straining with the effort. “So, Your Highness,” she began, injecting a teasing lilt into her voice that she didn’t feel, “should I be offering congratulations? I hadn’t realized you’d chosen a bride.”

Arye’s head whipped toward her, shock etched across his features. “What did you just?—”

A faint flutter of feathers tickled at the edges of Skylar’s consciousness. Too loud, too close. It didn’t make sense. Was it the Gryphon? She scanned the cheering crowd, the Divine Beast’s growing turmoil roiling beneath her skin.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Her hand found her sword, fingers curling around the hilt. Leather creaked as she tightened her grip. Her eyes darted through the sea of jubilant faces, searching for any hint of threat. The atmosphere crackled with an energy that raised the hairs on her neck.

Then the world exploded into chaos.

A high-pitched whistle cut through the air, followed by the sickening thud of an arrow embedding itself in her saddle. Time slowed. Skylar’s body moved on instinct, launching from Noire’s back, arms outstretched toward Arye.

“Down!” she roared, colliding with him mid-air.

As they fell, Skylar twisted, cradling Arye’s neck. An arrow whizzed past, grazing her wig. The rush of air against her cheek sent ice through her veins. For a terrifying moment, she thought it would tear away her disguise, exposing her secret to the world.

They hit the cobblestones hard, Skylar cushioning Arye’s fall. The impact drove the air from her lungs, stars exploding behindher eyes. Pain lanced through her wrist. Rough stones bit into her back through layers of formal attire. She pushed it all aside, focusing on the immediate threat. For a heartbeat, they lay there, chests heaving, faces mere inches apart.

Heat rushed to Skylar’s cheeks. She could see the softness of his freshly shaved jaw, smell the familiar cedarwood and citrus that clung to his skin. His breath was warm against her face, coming in short, rapid bursts. Her gaze dropped to his lips for a fraction of a second before she caught herself.

Get it together, Anathemark.

Surrounding them, chaos reigned. Horses reared in panic, shrill neighs piercing the air. The crowd erupted into screams, people pushing and shoving in their desperation to escape. Armor clanked as guards rushed to form a protective circle around the King.

“Stay down,” she hissed, massaging her throbbing wrist. Her eyes scanned the rooftops for the source of the attack, adrenaline dulling the pain.

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