Page 22 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and suppressed desires. Skylar’s heart raced, each beat a reminder of the precarious line they were walking. She knew she should pull away, should reestablish the boundaries that kept them safely in their respective roles. But she remained frozen.

Arye’s thumb traced small circles on the inside of her wrist, the gesture seemingly unconscious. His eyes lingered on the bandage, but Skylar could see the tension in his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. She noticed how delicate her wrist looked compared to his hand, how easily he could encircle it with his fingers. It made her feel delicate, feminine in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.

The realization sent a jolt of panic through her. She recoiled suddenly, breaking the spell. The abrupt movement caused a sharp pain to shoot up her arm, making her wince. “I should go,” she said, the words catching in her throat. She hated how breathless she sounded.

Arye’s hand dropped, and Skylar immediately missed its warmth. He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. “Yes,” he said after a moment, his voice rough. “You shouldn’t be here.” He turned away, returning the bandage to the drawer withmovements that seemed almost mechanical, closing it with a soft thud that echoed in the sudden silence.

Skylar stood, smoothing down her clothes with trembling hands. She breathed in deeply, trying to compose herself. “You’re right,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “The Captain is probably looking for me.”

She made her way to the door, each step feeling like it took monumental effort. Her body screamed at her to turn back, to throw caution to the wind and act on the desire that thrummed through her veins. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell him her secret, not like this, not now. Never. No matter how much it hurt.

As she reached for the doorknob, the cool metal a stark contrast against her heated skin, Arye’s voice stopped her. “Sky.” The single word was soft, almost vulnerable. It made her pause, her hand hovering over the ornate brass handle.

Skylar turned slightly, not quite looking at him. “Yes?”

There was a moment of silence. Then, “Rest well.”

Skylar nodded, not trusting her voice. She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, the cooler air a shock against her flushed skin.

As she closed the door behind her, she heard Arye’s voice, soft and indecipherable. She paused briefly, hand on the doorknob, before shaking her head and walking away, her mind swirling with confusion and longing.

9

She glanced at the heavy oak door, anxiety gnawing at her insides. Where was Melody? Skylar paced the confines of her private quarters, each step measured and deliberate, her long hair swaying with every movement. The plush carpet muffled her footfalls, but she could still feel the vibrations through her bare feet. Her fingers twitched, instinctively seeking the familiar weight of her sword. But she wasn’t Duke Anathemark right now. Just Skylar, waiting for one of the few people who knew her secret.

It had been over an hour since she’d sent her servant to fetch any incoming correspondence. Unease crept through her body, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She felt like prey despite her usual role as predator. This vulnerability, this feeling of exposure and unpreparedness—she hated it all.

Her gaze swept over the opulent room, so different from the sparse functionality of the war tent where she’d spent the last few weeks. The massive four-poster bed dominated one wall, its deep blue velvet curtains drawn back to reveal crisp white sheets that seemed to glow. But it wasn’t home either, no matter how often she had stayed here. In the palace. Near Arye.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Skylar tensed, her hand already reaching for the short-haired wig that lay nearby. The coarse fibers felt wrong against her skin, a constant irritant she had long since learned to ignore.

“Who is it?” she called out, ready to be the Duke if needed.

“It’s me, Your Grace,” came a familiar voice, muffled by the thick wood.

Skylar’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but she remained on guard. She positioned herself in a blind spot, ensuring that any nearby servants wouldn’t catch a glimpse of her true appearance if someone were to lurk through the door. “Come in, Melody.”

Skylar tensed at the unmistakable sound of the lock turning. She knew logically that nobody else could enter without a key, but it still made her pulse quicken. The door creaked open slowly, the hinges protesting slightly, and Melody slipped inside. Her brown hair was pulled back in a severe bun, not a strand out of place, and her plain dress spoke of practicality over fashion. As always, Melody’s gaze darted over her shoulder, checking for potential threats before focusing on Skylar.

“I have good news, my lady,” Melody said, her voice hushed as she quickly locked the door behind her. The click of the bolt sliding into place was oddly comforting. “I’ve brought a letter from the Dowager Duchess.”

Skylar’s attention fixed on the crisp envelope in Melody’s hand. “Finally,” she muttered, reaching for it. As she took the letter, a distinctive scent wafted from the paper. Lavender. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily, memories of pain and power flooding her senses.

“Shall I help you with your hair, my lady?” Melody asked, already moving behind Skylar. The soft rustle of her skirts against the carpet was a comforting, relaxing sound.

Skylar nodded distractedly, her attention focused on the letter. She turned it over in her hands, fingers tracing thefamiliar seal. A lump formed in her throat, unexpected and unwelcome.

With practiced ease, Melody set to work on Skylar’s long tresses, the gentle tugging a soothing counterpoint to the tension thrumming through her body. “I must say,” Melody began, her tone conversational but tinged with worry, “I’m relieved His Highness sent for that Aequilibrium healer. Even the scars from your chest wrap have faded.”

Skylar’s brow furrowed, her fingers unconsciously tracing the spots where the bindings had left their marks. The skin there was smooth now, unblemished, yet the memory of the pressure of the cloth that had constrained her for so long—and would continue to do so—lingered. “He shouldn’t have,” she said, her voice tight. “There were soldiers who needed attention far more than I did.”

“Nonsense,” Melody clucked, her motherly concern evident in the way her hands paused briefly in their work. “You needed care too. Besides, it’s good to see that crazy bastard cares for you, even if it’s just a little.”

“Melody,” Skylar warned, but the servant continued undeterred, her words tumbling out in a rush of pent-up frustration. The brush resumed its rhythmic movement, punctuating each statement with a firm stroke.

“You should have heard the ruckus he caused today. Challenging the King openly like that—it’s not right, my lady. The way he carries on, you’d think he was already wearing the crown. Mark my words, that boy will bring nothing but trouble.”

---