Page 19 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

“Stop,” Arye cut her off, tone sharp. “Don’t give me that ‘duty’ nonsense again.”

Skylar fell silent, unsure how to respond. They walked in tense silence for a few moments before Arye resumed speaking, his voice so quiet she had to strain to hear him.

“When I saw that arrow coming toward me,” he said, gaze fixed ahead, “do you know what my first thought was?”

Skylar shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“It wasn’t fear for my own life,” Arye continued. “It was fear for yours. I knew you would throw yourself in harm’s way to protect me.”

Skylar’s heart stuttered in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could she possibly say to that?

Before she could formulate a reply, they reached the carriages. King Lyinell was already being helped into the first one, surrounded by a protective ring of guards.

Arye paused, turning to face Skylar fully. “This conversation isn’t over,” he said, tone brooking no argument. “We’ll speak more at the palace.”

With that, he climbed into the carriage after his father, leaving Skylar standing there, mind reeling. She took a deep breath, centering herself. There would be time to process all of this later.

As she moved to follow Arye, a commotion near the edge of the crowd caught her attention. A group of guards was dragging a struggling figure toward them. Skylar’s hand went to her sword, body tensing for another potential threat.

“Your Grace!” a guard shouted, voice strained with exertion. “We’ve caught one of the assassins!”

Skylar closed the distance, her gaze sharpening as she assessed the captive. It was a young man, barely more than a boy. His clothes were ragged, face smeared with dirt and blood. But it was his eyes that caught her attention—wide with fear, yet burning with a fanatical light.

“Bring him here,” she commanded, voice cold and authoritative.

The guards shoved him to his knees before her. He glared up, defiance written across his features.

“Who sent you?” Skylar demanded, hand resting on her sword’s pommel.

The assassin spat at her feet, lips curling into a sneer. Blood-tinged saliva landed on the cobblestones, stark crimson against gray stone. “Death to the demons!” he shouted, voice raw with hatred. “Long live Thorncrest!”

A wave of dread washed over Skylar. Thorncrest. Of course. The peace negotiations must have failed spectacularly for them to resort to such a brazen attack.

She bent down, face inches from the assassin’s. The stench of fear and unwashed body assaulted her nostrils, nearly making her gag. “You’ve made a grave mistake,” she said, voice low and dangerous. “You’ve signed your death warrant. But lucky you, your kingdom will be safe. For now.”

“What—?”

Skylar leaned closer, lips near his ears to ensure no one else would hear. Her breath stirred the grimy hair at his temple as she whispered, “If you’d even scratched the Crown Prince…” She paused, letting the words sink in. “I wonder how long it would take the Gryphon to devour every single human in your kingdom. Men. Women. Children. All of them.”

Her own brutality shocked her, but she embraced the darkness for a moment. The Gryphon stirred within her, responding to her anger and thirst for revenge. She could almost feel its beak nibbling at her heart, begging gently to be unleashed.

Fear flickered in the young man’s eyes, quickly masked by bravado. “You’re a monster!” he spat, voice trembling despite his attempt at defiance.

Skylar straightened, her face grim. “Perhaps,” she said coldly. “Take him to the dungeons,” she ordered. “I want him questioned thoroughly.”

As the guards dragged the assassin away, Skylar turned back. She caught Arye watching her from the distance, his expression unreadable.

She climbed in, the carriage creaking slightly under her weight. The interior was plush, all velvet cushions and intricately carved woodwork. The scent of leather and polish mingled with the sharper notes of Arye’s cologne. She settled across from him and King Lyinell, acutely aware of the limited space. Her knee brushed against Arye’s, sending a jolt of electricity through her body.

“Thorncrest,” she said simply, meeting Arye’s gaze.

Arye’s eyes hardened, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he looked at his father. “I told you,” he growled. “Their promises of peace were nothing but lies.”

King Lyinell leaned forward, his features etched with cold fury. “We pretend it never happened,” he declared. “A few fanatics won’t jeopardize the agreement.”

“Father, you can’t be serious,” Arye protested, voice rising. “They just tried to assassinate me in broad daylight! This isn’t something we can sweep under the rug.”

“Can’t I?” King Lyinell’s words slithered out, dangerously soft, barely above a whisper.

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