Page 23 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

Skylar tuned out Melody’s speech, focusing instead on the letter. She broke the seal with trembling fingers, the crack of the wax seeming unnaturally loud, steeling herself for its contents. As she unfolded the paper, the lavender scent grew stronger, almost overwhelming. It was cloying, suffocating, remindingher of everything she both cherished and despised about her heritage.

Her mother’s elegant script filled the page, the ink a deep, rich black against the cream-colored parchment. The words began to swim, announcing the imminent arrival of her brother. A decade of waiting was finally drawing to a close. Her eyes stung as she read her mother’s heartfelt message, full of joy and anticipation for the son who would carry on the Anathemark legacy.

Five years since they’d learned the child would be a boy. Five years since her father died. Five years of living as Duke Anathemark, on top of the twenty years she’d already spent pretending to be a man—from the very moment she was born.

And now, it was all coming to an end.

“My lady?” Melody’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Shall I braid your hair?”

Skylar blinked, focusing on the ornate mirror before her. She hardly recognized the woman staring back—soft features at odds with the hardened warrior she pretended to be. Her silver-white hair fell in waves around her face, framing eyes that looked too sharp, too intense for a noble lady. “I don’t care,” Skylar’s gaze remained fixed on her reflection, her words as empty as her expression. “Perhaps it would be best to cut it.”

Melody gasped, her hands stilling in Skylar’s mane. “Never! Especially not now, when you’ll finally be able to live as yourself. Once we leave this hellhole, you can wear your beautiful hair with pride.”

Skylar managed a weak smile, but the words only deepened the ache in her chest. Leave. Soon, she would leave it all behind. Leave him behind.

As Melody resumed her work, her chatter filled the room once more. “It’ll be such a relief to be away from here. The constant worry, always looking over our shoulders. And don’tget me started on the Clawbornes!” She shuddered dramatically, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The way the King used to look at your mother… I dread to think what might have happened after the Duke’s death if we hadn’t had you as heir.”

Skylar’s stomach churned at the implication. She’d always known her father’s death was strange—who would let such a useful tool die? It made a twisted sort of sense; after all, it’s hard to kill someone from a cursed bloodline. And it was quite convenient to have a second Anathemark who could summon a beast as well. It was suspicious, but to hear it spoken of so plainly…

“That’s enough, Melody,” she said sharply.

The servant fell silent, focusing on Skylar’s hair. In the quiet, Skylar’s thoughts drifted to Arye. She hadn’t seen him in days, too busy investigating the assassination attempt. The evidence all pointed to Thorncrest, despite their impending delegation. But something felt off, a nagging sense that they were missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

“There,” Melody said at last, stepping back to admire her work. “All done, my lady.”

Skylar nodded absently, her mind still on Arye. “Thank you, Melody.”

But the servant wasn’t finished. “Oh, I nearly forgot to mention,” she murmured, her tone conspiratorial, leaning in close enough that Skylar could smell the faint scent of herbs that always seemed to cling to her clothes. “The whole palace is abuzz with rumors of His Highness’s future.”

Skylar’s head snapped up, her heart racing. “What do you mean?”

Melody nodded eagerly, oblivious to Skylar’s distress. “Oh yes, it’s all anyone can talk about. Poor woman, whoever sheends up being. I don’t envy her one bit, having to marry that tyrant.”

“Do you know who it is?” Skylar asked, hating how nervous she sounded. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fought to maintain her composure.

Melody leaned in, eyes gleaming with gossip. “Well, nothing’s certain yet, but word is, it will most likely be Princess Aven Elridge from Grimrose. The King has been pushing for that match for years now. Can you imagine? That poor girl, tied to someone like him for the rest of her life? It would have been safer for her to marry one of the fae brothers.”

Skylar flinched. The words pained her. Arye, married. The thought of him with another woman, sharing his life, his bed… It was almost more than she could bear. A wave of possessive anger washed over her, followed quickly by shame. She had no right to feel this way. No claim on him.

“My lady?” Melody’s tone was tinged with concern. “Are you alright? You’ve gone quite pale.”

Skylar forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. Her face seemed stiff, unnatural, as if she’d forgotten how to arrange her features into a convincing expression. “I’m fine,” she lied, her voice strained. “It’s just… unexpected news.”

She stood abruptly, needing to move, to do something to distract herself from the pain threatening to overwhelm her. The sudden motion sent a rush of blood to her head, making the room spin momentarily. She gripped the chair’s frame, the polished wood smooth and cool beneath her fingers, anchoring her to the present. “Pack my things,” she ordered, her voice steadier than she felt. “We’re going to visit the Anathemark Estate.”

Melody’s eyes widened in surprise. “But my lady, is that wise? With the recent assassination attempt?—”

“Mother wants to see me,” Skylar cut her off, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Make the necessary arrangements. We leave at first light.”

As Melody hurried to obey, muttering under her breath about the dangers of travel and the unpredictability of nobles, Skylar’s mind raced. She needed… something. Someone. To feel, to forget, if only for a moment.

She remembered Captain Knox’s crude suggestion from the procession. Post-battle tension indeed. Recalling the way he said it made her skin crawl, but there was a kernel of truth in his words. She needed release, an outlet for the maelstrom of emotions threatening to consume her.

It wouldn’t be Arye. It could never be Arye. But for one night, she could pretend. For one night, she could be Skylar—not a Duke, not an Anathemark. Just a woman, seeking comfort in the arms of a stranger. To satisfy this desperate, burning hunger, even if just for a night.

10

Skylar’s breath came in ragged gasps, the air heavy with the musky scent of sweat and arousal, filling her senses and clouding her mind. She pressed herself closer to the man beneath her, their bodies moving in tandem, flesh sliding against flesh. His callused hands gripped her hips, fingertips digging into her skin, leaving marks she knew would linger for days. A single candle flickered on the rickety nightstand, its flame dancing erratically, casting shifting shadows across the room and shrouding his features in darkness.

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