Page 30 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

“Diplomacy has its place, Advisor,” Arye said, each word precise and cutting. “But make no mistake—if they dare to strike, we will not hesitate. Their precious tree, their kingdom, their very way of life—all of it will burn if they force our hand.”

A heavy silence followed his words. Skylar watched as a slow smile spread across King Lyinell’s face, pride and satisfaction evident in his expression. The resemblance between father and son was striking, reminding her of her mother’s warning. Arye was different from his father, she knew that. But in moments like these, the similarities were undeniable.

“Well said, my son,” the King nodded approvingly. “And with Duke Anathemark at our disposal, the Spinewoods would be foolish to test us.”

Skylar’s pulse quickened. The cursed creature stirred within her, its presence a heavy burden in her chest, its beak pulling and gnawing at her heart. Images of the battlefield erupted in her mind—the sickening crunch of bones, the screams of the dying, the intoxicating rush of power that threatened to consume her very soul.

Skylar was about to speak when she noticed Arye subtly straighten his spine. His eyes never left the King, but she could read the tension in every line of his body.

“No,” he said, glancing at Skylar for a moment with such fierce determination it made her catch her breath. “My men canhandle this without resorting to the Divine Beast. We don’t need to rely on such measures.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Skylar felt a rush of conflicting emotions—gratitude, frustration, and a deep-seated fear of once more failing her kingdom. The memory of fallen soldiers, their lifeless eyes accusing her of hesitation, surged into her thoughts…

No. She won’t hide behind Arye ever again.

Captain Knox’s expression lit up at Arye’s declaration, a fierce grin spreading across his weathered face. “Of course, Your Highness!” he exclaimed, thumping his fist against his chest. “No need for fancy beasts when we’ve got the finest soldiers in the land!”

“And risk more lives unnecessarily?” Skylar found herself saying, her voice cutting through the excited chatter, all attention turning to her. She could feel Arye’s gaze burning into her, his silent warning, but she forced herself to continue. “Your Highness, Your Majesty, while I appreciate the faith in our military strength, I cannot in good conscience stand idle if our kingdom is threatened.”

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. Her duty pressed down on her, threatening to crush her beneath its burden. But she straightened her spine, feeling the familiar pressure of her chest bindings as a reminder of who she was—who she had to be. Her heart raced, but her resolve remained unshaken as she faced the King.

“As long as I am able to summon the Gryphon, I swear to use its power to protect Regalclaw,” Skylar declared, the gravity of her oath evident in every syllable. “I will not hesitate again, no matter the cost.”

King Lyinell nodded, a dangerous gleam in his eye that made Skylar uneasy. It was the look of a predator that had just cornered its prey.

But it was Arye’s reaction that she sought, her heart pounding as she met his gaze. What she saw there made her breath catch in her throat. Arye’s eyes burned with an intensity she’d never seen before. His jaw clenched tight, the muscles in his neck straining against his skin.

The air between them crackled with unspoken words. Skylar could almost taste the tension, metallic and sharp on her tongue. She waited, half-expecting him to use the pact and command her to stand down, to forbid her from using her powers ever again. A shiver of anticipation raced through her body, every nerve ending alive and alert.

But the command never came.

13

It was a mistake. She should have told him before talking big.

Arye’s face flashed in Skylar’s mind—his eyes blazing with anger at her pledge to use the Gryphon. Her stomach churned, nausea clawed at her insides. She swallowed hard, forcing it back down. She had to explain, to make him understand why she’d done it. It was all for his kingdom, for his men, for him.

A pair of servants scurried past, the soft swish of their livery barely audible over the pounding of Skylar’s heart. Their gazes remained downcast, trained on the intricate mosaic patterns beneath their feet. Skylar watched as they quickened their pace, seemingly eager to be out of her presence. The soles of their well-worn shoes squeaked slightly against the polished stone, a discordant note in the otherwise silent hallway. The Duke of Anathemark was not someone to be approached casually, after all. But right now, Skylar didn’t feel like the powerful, cursed protector of the realm. She felt small, uncertain, desperate to explain herself to the one person whose opinion truly mattered.

The setting sun cast the corridors in gold and crimson, long shadows stretching across the polished marble. Skylar’s footsteps echoed hollowly as she moved through the empty halls. As she rounded a corner, she nearly collided with Anthony, the Chief Servant. His frown deepened at the sight of her, worry etching lines into his face. The strong scent of parchment and ink clung to him, reminding her of the endless paperwork that came with managing the palace.

“Your Grace,” he said, bowing slightly. The movement caused his joints to creak audibly. “Is there something I can assist you with?”

Skylar nodded, grateful for the fortuitous encounter. “Yes, actually. I’m looking for the Crown Prince. Have you seen him?”

Anthony’s eyes darted nervously before he leaned in, lowering his voice. His breath smelled faintly of mint. “I saw His Highness heading towards the gardens not long ago, Your Grace. If you’d like, I can escort you there.”

“That would be appreciated. Thank you.”

As they set off, a flurry of movement caught her eye. A group of servants hurried along, their shoulders tense and faces etched with worry. One nearly collided with her, his eyes widening in recognition before he ducked his head and moved on.

“Strange,” Skylar muttered, watching their retreating forms. Unease settled in her gut, her skin prickling with tension. “They seem on edge.”

Anthony’s lips thinned as he glanced around, the corners of his mouth turning down in a grimace. “Tensions are high, Your Grace. The Crown Prince has been in a foul mood today. Most of the staff are trying to make themselves scarce unless he needs them.”

A few maids rushed by, arms full of linens. “Slow down!” Anthony barked, his usual nervous demeanor replaced by stern authority. “This is a palace, not a tavern!”

The maids flinched, their pace slowing immediately. Skylar raised an eyebrow at the head servant, impressed by the sudden show of backbone.

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