Page 31 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

“My apologies, Your Grace,” he murmured, flushing slightly. “Oh,” he continued, “I meant to inform you earlier. Your order has been executed.”

Skylar’s brow furrowed for a moment before understanding dawned. “Ah, yes. Thank you for taking care of that.”

Anthony nodded, a hint of pride in his smile. “He’s been placed in the stables, as per your instructions. The stable master reports he’s a diligent worker, despite his condition.”

A wave of relief washed over Skylar, quickly followed by a pang of guilt. She pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the present. “That’s good to hear.”

As they neared the gardens, the scent of night-blooming jasmine filled the air. Skylar’s steps faltered as raised voices cut through the evening calm, growing louder with each moment.

Anthony’s eyes widened, fear flashing across his features. “Your Grace, perhaps we should?—”

Skylar held up a hand, silencing him. Arye’s voice, taut with anger, pulled her forward like an invisible thread. Before she could reconsider, she found herself pressed against the cool stone wall near the garden entrance. The rough texture beneath her palms anchored her as she strained to listen, her heart thundering in her chest.

“—absolutely refuse!” King Lyinell’s voice boomed, echoing off the walls. His usual silky menace was gone, replaced by raw fury. “You are a Clawborne! Your duty is to the kingdom, not your own selfish desires!”

“My duty?” Arye’s response came swiftly, his tone sharp. “My duty is to ensure a strong future for Regalclaw.” He paused, his voice growing more intense. “That includes choosing my Queen, not some political pawn you’ve picked out!”

Skylar’s breath caught in her throat. Queen? That must be about the marriage Captain Knox mentioned. Her heart began to race, dread coursing through her veins.

“Your Grace,” Anthony whispered urgently, his face pale. Beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip, glistening in the fading light. “We shouldn’t be here. This is not for our ears.”

But Skylar couldn’t move, her feet rooted to the spot by a desperate need to hear more. “It’s fine,” she said, waving Anthony away, her eyes never leaving the garden entrance. “You are dismissed.”

Anthony hesitated, clearly torn between his duty to obey and his fear of the consequences. His fingers twisted the hem of his jacket, the fabric creasing audibly in the tense silence. “Of course, Your Grace. Shall I inform you when His Highness returns to his chambers?”

Skylar shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

As Anthony’s footsteps faded, Skylar inched closer to the entrance. The voices grew clearer.

“You insolent brat!” King Lyinell spat, his words dripping with venom. “You think you know better than your king? Than your father? This marriage to Princess Aven could secure peace for generations!”

There was a pause, heavy with tension. When Arye spoke again, his voice was low and dangerous, reminding Skylar of a coiled viper ready to strike.

“Regalclaw demands unassailable strength, Father.” Goosebumps prickled along Skylar’s arms. “I’ll have a Queen who can wield power at my side, not some wilting flower from a withering kingdom.” Arye’s tone grew colder with each word. “Our enemies will tremble before us both. Anything less is unacceptable.”

“You speak of choice,” King Lyinell’s voice was dangerously soft now, a stark contrast to his earlier fury. “Tell me then, do you have someone in mind? Some noble lady who’s caught your eye, perhaps?”

Skylar held her breath, every muscle in her body tense as she waited for Arye’s response. The world seemed to narrow to this moment, everything else fading away. She could hear her own heartbeat, thundering in her ears like war drums. The scent of jasmine suddenly felt cloying, threatening to choke her.

“Yes,” Arye said finally, his voice filled with a conviction that made Skylar’s heart ache. “I do.”

The world tilted on its axis. Skylar’s vision blurred, her chest constricting as if the Gryphon itself was clawing at her heart. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling the gasp that threatened to escape.

Arye loved someone. He had chosen his Queen. And he had never told her.

The realization pained her more than every wound she’d ever received, leaving her winded and aching. She was his friend, his confidant, the one who stood beside him in battle. How could he have kept this from her? The betrayal sliced deeper than any blade, inflicting a gash in her heart that seemed beyond mending.

The words faded into a distant buzz as Skylar’s gaze fixed on a withered leaf trapped in a spiderweb nearby. Its edges curled inward, brown and brittle. She watched it twitch in a breeze she couldn’t feel.

Her hand moved without thought, fingers tracing the rough stone beside her. The chill of it seeped into her skin as she lowered herself to the ground.

“You fool,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she meant Arye or herself. “You utter, complete fool.”

14

The din of the Great Hall grated on Skylar. She sat stiff-backed in her ornate chair, eyes fixed on Princess Quince Spinewood across the table. The Thorncrest royal was undeniably beautiful, her flowing auburn hair catching every flicker of candlelight. But it was the way she leaned towards Arye that made Skylar’s stomach churn with acid jealousy.

Skylar’s formal attire felt like armor—a black coat adorned with gold embroidery and shoulder epaulets, paired with a dark blue brocade vest and black trousers. The high collar of her crisp white shirt constricted her throat, the ornate brooch a leaden weight. She reached for her goblet, the cool metal a stark contrast to her flushed skin. The wine inside was a deep crimson, similar to freshly spilled blood on a battlefield. She took a long swallow, letting the bitter liquid sear its way through her.

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