Page 32 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

From her vantage point, Arye cut an imposing figure, seated to the King’s right. His raven hair contrasted starkly with the pristine white of his high-collared shirt. His black coat, intricately embroidered with gold thread, emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. A crimson sash crossed his chest—asubtle reminder of the power he wielded. His expression seemed distant as he listened to the Princess, but Skylar couldn’t be sure from this far away.

The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine hung heavy in the air, mingling with the cloying perfumes of the nobility. It clung to the back of Skylar’s throat, threatening to choke her with each breath. She fought the urge to tug at her collar, to loosen it just enough to give herself room to breathe. But such a gesture would be unbecoming for a Duke.

The Princess’s unexpected arrival with the peace delegation had thrown the court into chaos. Skylar could still see the shock on the faces of the courtiers as Princess Quince swept into the palace, flanked only by her personal guards and a handful of servants. Now, as platters of roasted swan and exotic fruits crowded the table, the air felt thick with unspoken tensions and political machinations.

King Lyinell presided at the head of the banquet, resplendent in his golden robes. His crown glinted in the candlelight, each jewel seeming to hold a flame of its own. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as his gaze swept over the assembled nobles, lingering for a moment on Arye and the Princess before moving on. Something about that look made Skylar’s skin crawl.

She shifted in her seat, acutely aware of the distance between her and Arye. It felt like a chasm, wider than the span of the table, deeper than the moat surrounding the castle. Days had passed since their last real conversation, each one an eternity of stolen glances and aborted attempts to speak.

Was he avoiding her? The thought gnawed at her insides, sharper than hunger. No. She knew Arye had been busy—he always was. Meetings with the King, strategy sessions with his advisors, and a flurry of letters exchanged with the neighboring kingdom. The sealed missives from Aequilibrium had beenarriving with increasing frequency, each one whisked away to Arye’s private chambers before the wax had fully cooled.

Skylar wanted to talk to him, to spend whatever time she had left before her inevitable disappearance by his side. But their schedules never aligned. It was maddening, like trying to catch smoke with her bare hands.

Her attention snapped back to Arye as he nodded at something the Princess said. There seemed to be a tension in his jaw, a coolness in his eyes that belied his polite demeanor. He appeared to be tolerating the Princess’s advances, not welcoming them. Or was that just wishful thinking? Skylar’s fingers tightened around her goblet, the metal cool against her palm.

Time was slipping away, and with it, her chances to make things right. Soon, she’d leave this life behind—the weight of the duchy, the familiar press of bindings against her chest, the comfort of Arye’s presence. She’d become a woman, yes, but never one as refined or alluring as the Princess who now commanded Arye’s attention. The thought of living as a lady, free from the constraints of her current life, should have been liberating. Instead, it filled her with a nameless dread.

A burst of laughter from the Princess cut through Skylar’s brooding. The sound was like shattered glass, sharp and grating. She watched as Arye’s lips quirked in what might have been amusement, might have been disdain. It was impossible to tell from this distance, and the not knowing was maddening.

“Your Grace?”

Skylar blinked, realizing she’d been staring. A young nobleman to her left was watching her expectantly, hope shining in his eyes. She vaguely recalled him trying to engage her in conversation earlier. What was his name? Edmund? Edward?

“My apologies,” she said, forcing a polite smile. “You were saying?”

The nobleman brightened. His boyish face lit up with enthusiasm, reminding Skylar of an eager puppy. “I was just remarking on the excellent vintage they’ve brought out for the occasion. Though I daresay it pales in comparison to the Anathemark cellars. I’ve heard tales of your family’s collection.”

Skylar nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Yes, we’re quite proud of it. My father was particularly fond of the ‘Eulogiant Red.’ Have you had the pleasure?”

The young man’s eyes widened. “I… no, Your Grace. I can’t say that I have.”

“A pity,” Skylar said, warming to the topic. “It has notes of blackberry and oak, with just a hint of spice on the finish. Truly exquisite.”

As she spoke, she found herself relaxing slightly. The nobleman—Edwin, she finally remembered—proved to be an attentive listener, his questions thoughtful and occasionally amusing. When he made a particularly clever observation about the way certain nobles held their glasses, Skylar couldn’t help but laugh.

The sound had barely left her lips when a shadow fell across the table. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees as Skylar’s gaze lifted to find Arye looming over them, his expression dark and unreadable. The candlelight caught the angles of his face, leaving half obscured in darkness. He looked like something out of a nightmare—beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Edwin paled, shrinking back in his chair. “N-not at all, Your Highness,” he stammered. “The Duke and I were just discussing wine.”

Arye’s eyes never left Skylar’s face. “Is that so?”

Skylar met his gaze steadily, even as her heart raced. “Indeed. Lord Edwin was kind enough to keep me company.”

“How thoughtful of him,” Arye said, each word dripping with sarcasm. He turned to Edwin, who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else. “I’m sure you have other guests to attend to.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Edwin scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking over his wine in the process. He bowed deeply, his earlier grace forgotten. “Of course, Your Highness. Your Grace.” With a final, apologetic glance at Skylar, he hurried away, disappearing into the crowd of nobles.

Skylar watched him go, a mix of frustration and longing swirling in her chest. When she turned back, Arye was already striding towards his place, where Princess Quince waited. A cold weight settled in her stomach as Arye returned to his seat, though she couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to angle his body slightly away from the Princess.

The rest of the banquet passed in a blur of toasts and forced pleasantries. Skylar found herself reaching for her wine more often than was wise. By the time the last course was served, her head felt pleasantly fuzzy, the edges of the world softened.

Skylar excused herself from the table as soon as was polite, seeking refuge on one of the balconies overlooking the gardens. The cool night air was a balm against her flushed skin, carrying with it the scent of jasmine. Skylar leaned against the stone railing, letting the quiet envelop her. The dark sky stretched vast above her, the stars cold pinpricks of light indifferent to the court’s scheming below.

The creak of the door behind her made her stiffen. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was—she’d recognize those footsteps anywhere.

“Arye,” she said softly, still facing the gardens.

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