Page 27 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

“Once your brother is born, you’ll leave this place. I’ll send you far from the Clawbornes and their schemes.”

At the mention of the royal family, Skylar tensed. She pulled back slightly, searching her mother’s face. “What do you mean?”

Her mother’s gaze flickered to Melody and Fern, and when she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with a fear that chilled Skylar to the bone. “We worry about your closeness to the Crown Prince. He’s… not unlike his father.”

The weight of unspoken burdens etched into her mother’s face made Skylar’s stomach churn as realization dawned. Right. This was why she had taken on this role, who she had been protecting her mother from all along.

“Lyinell gets what he wants,” her mother continued, her eyes drifting to the stern face of Skylar’s father in the portrait above the fireplace. “And if he can’t have it… he destroys it.”

Defensive heat flared in Skylar’s chest. “The Crown Prince isn’t like that,” she protested, sharper than intended. Arye’s face flashed in her mind—the intensity in his eyes when he spoke of protecting the kingdom. Of protecting her. “He cares about the people, about doing what’s right. He’ll be a good ruler.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Is that all he is to you? The future King you serve?”

Heat rushed to Skylar’s cheeks, her heart thundering against her ribs. She opened her mouth to deny it, to brush off the implication, but no words came. Instead, she found herself engulfed in her mother’s embrace, the swell of her pregnant belly pressing between them.

“Oh, my dear,” her mother whispered, stroking her hair. The gesture was so familiar, so comforting, that Skylar felt herself melting into it. “I had hoped… but I see now. You love him, don’t you?”

Skylar couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. She nodded, the admission feeling like both a release and a noose tightening around her neck. Tears flowed freely, soaking into her mother’s nightgown.

“I’m so sorry, my darling,” her mother murmured, her voice thick. “You must forget him before it’s too late, before he finds out.” The last words were barely audible. “Before he develops feelings for you—twisted, wicked, unhinged.”

Skylar didn’t answer. She knew her mother was thinking of the King, not Arye. But she was right. There was no future for them, no happily ever after. She buried her face in her mother’s shoulder as silent sobs wracked her body, her chest heaving with each ragged breath.

Suddenly, a flutter against her abdomen—her unborn brother making his presence known. Her mother gasped, then chuckled softly, the sound warm despite the heaviness of the moment.

“Well, it seems someone wants to comfort you,” she said, humor lacing her words.

Skylar leaned away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She managed a watery smile, placing her palm gently on her mother’s stomach. “Hello, little brother,” she murmured, her words soft and wonder-filled. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

Another kick pressed against her hand, stronger this time. For a moment, the weight of her responsibilities, her fears, her uncertain future—all of it faded away, replaced by a surge of protectiveness for this new life.

Her mother’s face suddenly contorted in agony, a low moan escaping her lips. Fear clawed at Skylar’s insides. “Mother?Fern!” Her voice was sharp with concern, her body tensing as if preparing for battle. The healer was already moving, reaching for a vial.

The Dowager Duchess nodded, her breath coming in short gasps as Fern administered the medicine. “Just… another contraction. They’re getting stronger now.” She forced a smile, though Skylar noticed the strain. As the pain ebbed, her eyes took on a distant, dreamy quality. “Don’t worry, my dear.” Her tone grew gentle as she spoke. “This will all be over soon, and then…” She paused, a mysterious twinkle in her eye. “Then I have a surprise for you.”

Skylar raised an eyebrow, curiosity overriding her concern. “A surprise?” She couldn’t keep the skepticism from her tone. In her experience, surprises rarely boded well.

Her mother’s expression brightened, a hint of excitement breaking through the pain. “I’ve found someone,” she confided, barely containing her enthusiasm. “A wonderful man, kind and gentle. He can give you the life you deserve, away from all… this.” She gestured vaguely, encompassing the wig, the chest bindings, the sword, the weight of their family name.

The implication hit like a physical blow. A husband. Her mother had found her a husband. The abrupt shift from their conversation to this… it was jarring. She felt the walls closing in, her carefully constructed world threatening to crumble around her.

Skylar opened her mouth, ready to explain, to remind her mother of her feelings, but caught Fern’s eye. The healer gave a subtle shake of her head, her expression a mixture of sympathy and warning. The message was clear: it would be futile to try reaching the Duchess in this state, and unwise to cause her any stress.

Swallowing her protests, Skylar returned her gaze to her mother. That hopeful face, flushed with a mix of pain andanticipation—she couldn’t bear herself to shatter that joy. Not now, not when her mother needed peace and calm to bring this pregnancy to term.

So she nodded, forcing a smile of her own. The muscles in her face felt stiff, unnatural. “That sounds… lovely, Mother,” she lied, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “I look forward to meeting him.” She prayed her mother couldn’t hear the insincerity, couldn’t sense the dread tightening its grip on her heart.

Before her mother could respond, Fern cleared her throat softly. The healer moved closer, her face grave. “Pardon the interruption, Your Grace,” she said, addressing both Skylar and her mother. Her voice was low and urgent, a stark contrast to her usual calm demeanor. “But there’s something you should know.” She hesitated, glancing between them. “There are rumors of unrest in Thorncrest. They are preparing for war.”

Skylar frowned, her mind immediately shifting to strategist mode. Her posture straightened, her focus sharpened. Gone was the vulnerable daughter; in her place stood Duke Skylar Anathemark, protector of the realm. “That seems unlikely,” she mused, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Especially given the delegation that’s meant to arrive soon. Are you certain of this, Fern?”

The healer nodded, her expression troubled. “I have family in Thorncrest, Your Grace. The Spinewoods appointed my brothers. I thought you should be aware.”

Spinewood. The royal family of Thorncrest. Not a good sign, but not enough evidence to justify immediate action. She’d have to inform Arye, prepare for the worst while hoping for the best.

A sharp pain lanced through Skylar’s chest, as if talons were scraping against her ribs from the inside. The Gryphon, restless and agitated. She gritted her teeth, suppressing the beast’s influence.

Turning back to her mother, Skylar’s voice took on a note of urgency. “Mother, please be careful. If Thorncrest is indeed planning something, it could be dangerous for you. I need you to increase security around the estate.”

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