Page 28 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

The Dowager Duchess waved a hand dismissively, though Skylar didn’t miss the flash of fear in her eyes. “Of course, my dear. But I’m more worried about?—”

A commotion outside the room cut her off. Raised voices, the sound of a scuffle. The noise grew louder, more insistent. Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing a palace guard. He was red-faced and panting, his uniform disheveled and sweat-stained. Behind him, Skylar could see the Anathemark guards trying to hold him back, their faces a mixture of anger and embarrassment at the breach in security.

The guard’s eyes darted around the room wildly before landing on Skylar. Relief washed over his features, quickly followed by a dawning realization of his impropriety. The scent of his sweat, sharp and acrid, mingled unpleasantly with the lavender and medicinal herbs.

“Your Grace!” he exclaimed, then seemed to remember himself, bowing hastily. “My deepest apologies for the intrusion, but it’s urgent.” He tried to step closer, but the Anathemark guards grabbed him, forcing him back.

“How dare you barge in here!” one growled, his face flushed with anger. “This is the private chambers of the Dowager Duchess!”

“Let him speak,” Skylar commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to her. She could feel her mother’s gaze on her, and for a second, she wondered if this was the first time her mother truly saw her as Duke Skylar Anathemark.

Skylar caught Melody’s eye, silently communicating. The servant understood immediately, moving to block the guard’sview of the dress on the bed. With practiced efficiency, she covered it, hiding the evidence of Skylar’s true identity.

The Anathemark guards reluctantly released the palace messenger, but forced him to his knees, his head bowed to the floor in supplication.

“Speak,” Skylar ordered, her voice low and authoritative. It felt natural. This is who she was. “What news is so urgent that it couldn’t wait for a proper summons?”

The guard lifted his head slightly. “Your Grace, the war council is gathering this afternoon. You’re needed at the palace immediately. Please, you must come with me at once.”

Skylar’s mind raced. A war council, so soon after Fern’s warning about Thorncrest? This couldn’t be a coincidence. She glanced at her mother, seeing the fear and worry etched into her face.

Before Skylar could respond, her mother spoke, her voice taking on an authoritative tone despite her weakened state. “My good man,” she said, drawing the guard’s attention. “Surely you can spare a moment for my son to say a proper goodbye? After all, it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.”

The guard hesitated, clearly torn between his urgency and respect for nobility. “Of… of course, Your Grace. My apologies.”

Skylar turned back to her mother. The tension of their unfinished conversation, of all the things left unsaid, hung heavy between them. She knelt beside the bed, taking her mother’s hand in hers.

“I have to go,” she said softly, her words laden with emotion. For a moment, she was just Skylar again, a daughter saying goodbye to her mother. “But I promise I’ll return soon. Please, be careful. Increase the guards, and don’t trust anyone you don’t know personally.”

Her mother nodded, squeezing her hand. Pride and sorrow tinged her words. “Go, my darling. But remember, no matterwhat happens out there, you’ll always be Skylar to me. My beloved child.”

Skylar leaned down, pressing a kiss to her mother’s clammy forehead. “I love you, Mother,” she whispered. “Both of you,” she added, placing a gentle hand on the swollen belly.

As she straightened, she took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead. When she spoke again, her voice was steady, authoritative. The vulnerability of moments before was gone, replaced by the commanding presence of the Duke. She nodded to the palace guard, who scrambled to his feet.

“Lead the way.”

12

Skylar’s boots echoed against the marble floor as she strode into the war council chamber. The oak doors groaned shut behind her, sealing off the bustling corridor. Inside, tension thickened the air, mingling with the scent of fear barely masked by expensive perfumes.

A hush fell over the room. The sudden silence pressed against her eardrums, broken only by the soft hiss of torches. Skylar felt a dozen gazes tracking her movement, her skin prickling under the scrutiny. She fought the urge to fidget, acutely aware of every crease in her attire.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Arye near the entrance. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, the fabric of his dark tunic stretching taut across his broad shoulders. Even from this distance, his gaze burned into her, cold and intense.

Skylar took her place standing beside Captain Knox at the long oak table, acutely aware of Arye’s looming presence several paces behind her, his stance unchanged. Her fingertips brushed against the worn wood, feeling the grooves that whispered tales of wars past. The scent of beeswax polish mingled withold parchment, an aroma uniquely tied to moments of grave decision.

King Lyinell sat at the head of the table opposite the entrance, his golden crown glinting in the flickering light. Shadows danced across his face, deepening the lines of cunning etched into his features. His eyes, cold as a winter storm, swept over the assembled advisors before settling on Skylar. She held his gaze steadily, refusing to be cowed by the man who had commanded her father to his death. She wasn’t sure if it was her bindings or the weight of her family’s curse that was constricting her chest.

“Duke Anathemark,” the King’s voice was smooth as silk but laced with steel. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence. I trust your dear mother is as radiant as ever?”

Skylar inclined her head slightly, keeping her expression neutral even as her heart raced. “Yes, Your Majesty. The Dowager Duchess sends her regards.”

A lie, of course. But the King didn’t need to know the truth of her mother’s condition or the worry gnawing at Skylar’s insides.

“How touching,” King Lyinell’s lips curled into a predatory smirk. “Now, perhaps we can finally attend to the matter at hand. Captain Knox, your report?”

He stepped forward, his expression grim. The scar along his jaw stood out starkly against his tanned skin. His voice was a low growl that vibrated through the air. “The captives have been most… informative.”

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