Page 36 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

Then why did it feel like she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life?

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The button on Skylar’s shirt snagged against her trembling fingers. Night air seeped through her chamber windows, carrying the faint scent of jasmine. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm the storm raging within her. Sleep was impossible; her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The memory of Arye’s fingers on her cheek, his lips whispering against her ear, sent shivers down her spine. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. How could she have let things go so far?

A soft knock startled her. “Your Grace?” Melody’s voice, laced with concern, filtered through the heavy oak. “I saw the light. Is everything all right?”

Skylar sighed, running a hand through her short wig. “Come in.”

There was a brief pause, followed by a metallic scrape as the key turned in the lock. The door creaked open, and Melody stepped inside, worry etched on her face. “It’s late, Your Grace. Why are you still up and dressed?”

A wry smile tugged at Skylar’s lips. “Can’t sleep. My mind won’t quiet down.”

“Are you planning to return to the banquet?”

The thought of facing the crowd again, of seeing Arye surrounded by fawning nobles, made Skylar’s stomach churn. She let out a hollow laugh and gestured at her practical attire, so much more comfortable than the restrictive formal wear from before. “Gods, no. I just need to move.” Her gaze drifted to the window, to the shadowy outlines of the palace grounds beyond. “I think I’ll work off some of this restless energy.”

Melody’s lips pressed into a thin line, disapproval clear in her eyes. “Your Grace, that’s hardly appropriate for a?—”

“A lady?” Skylar finished, bitterness creeping into her tone. “Well, I’m not a woman tonight, am I? I’m the Duke of Anathemark, and he can train whenever he pleases.”

Melody’s expression softened, a mix of sympathy and resignation. “Of course, Your Grace. Shall I accompany you?”

Skylar nodded, grateful for the offer. As they made their way through the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps echoing in the stillness, Melody cleared her throat. “I received a message from Fern earlier today. She says your brother is expected to arrive within a week or two.”

Skylar’s steps faltered. Her chest tightened as she struggled to respond, the tumult of emotions stirred by the news rendering her speechless. The end of her time with Arye was approaching faster than she’d anticipated. Soon, she’d no longer be Duke Skylar Anathemark. She’d be… what? A nameless woman, hidden away from the world she’d grown to love?

The granite beneath her feet felt cold, even through the soles of her boots. The air grew cooler as they descended toward the lower levels of the palace, the scent of damp earth and old stone replacing the lingering perfumes of the upper floors. Torches flickered in their sconces, casting long shadows that danced along the walls.

They passed a group of servants huddled in whispered conversation. As Skylar neared, they fell silent, bowing hastily. She caught fragments of their hushed words—“women,” “crying,” “escorted.” Her stomach clenched. Word of Arye’s outburst had spread quickly.

The training ground near the guest annex was bathed in moonlight as they approached. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of dew-damp grass and distant woodsmoke. Crickets chirped in the surrounding bushes, their song a constant backdrop to the night.

Suddenly, Melody gasped. Skylar’s head snapped up, her body tensing instinctively. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the figure approaching them.

Arye.

He was dressed in simple training clothes, the fabric clinging to his muscular frame, his raven-black hair slightly disheveled. He’d been talking to Anthony, and Skylar could see the chief servant’s balding head bobbing nervously as he spoke in hushed tones to the Prince. As Arye turned, his storm-gray eyes locked onto hers.

For a second, they both froze, equally perplexed by the other’s presence.

“Your Grace,” Melody whispered urgently, tugging at Skylar’s sleeve. “Perhaps we should?—”

Skylar squared her shoulders, cutting off Melody’s protest with a subtle shake of her head. She schooled her features into a blank expression before politely nodding. “Your Highness.”

Arye’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving Skylar’s face. “Duke Anathemark,” he replied, his tone clipped and formal.

The situation felt strangely familiar, echoing their childhood quarrels. So many years later, yet they still circled each other warily. Cautious. Observant. Uncertain.

They were too similar, she realized.

She looked at the training ground and back to Arye. Of course. Of course, they’d both seek refuge in the same place, at the same ungodly hour. They’d spent countless hours together over the years; it was only natural they’d developed matching coping mechanisms, finding solace in the same haven when the world became too much to bear.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Arye’s lips quirked into a small smile, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I could say the same to you,” he replied, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down Skylar’s spine.

“Trouble sleeping, Your Highness?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

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