Page 39 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

The air between them crackled with tension. For a second, Skylar thought Arye might close the distance between them, might press his lips to hers. Part of her yearned for it, even as another part recoiled in fear. What would happen if he discovered her secret? If he learned that the man he’d grown up with, fought beside, confided in, was actually a woman?

But then Arye was pulling away, releasing her with a mix of pride and frustration in his gaze. “One day,” he promised, his voice rough, “you’ll surrender to me willingly.”

Before Skylar could formulate a response, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the spell. A servant appeared, looking flustered and out of breath. “Your Highness,” he gasped, bowing hastily. “His Majesty requests your presence in the throne room immediately.”

Arye frowned, getting to his feet. “It’s nearly midnight,” he said, helping Skylar up.

The servant shifted nervously, his gaze darting between Arye and Skylar. “His Majesty said it was urgent, Your Highness.”

Arye’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening and eyes turning cold with authority. For a heartbeat, Skylar saw not her childhood friend, but the future King of Regalclaw—powerful, intimidating, and potentially dangerous.

“Very well,” Arye said, his tone icy. “I’ll be there shortly.” He turned to Skylar, his voice softer. “We’ll continue this another time?”

Skylar nodded, trying to ignore the way her skin tingled where he’d touched her. “Of course. Good night, Your Highness.”

As Arye walked away, his posture rigid with tension, Skylar remained rooted to the spot, her mind reeling. Whatever prompted such a late-night summons couldn’t be good news.

17

The palace gardens sprawled before Skylar, a riot of color and fragrance that did little to soothe her frayed nerves. She inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of roses mingling with the earthier tones of freshly cut grass, desperately trying to center herself. What in the name of all the gods had possessed her to agree to this ridiculous outing?

A chorus of tinkling laughter erupted from the surrounding noblewomen, jarring her already frayed nerves. Skylar forced a polite smile, her jaw aching from the effort. The midday heat was suffocating—her formal jacket’s stiff collar chafed against her neck, and her trousers clung uncomfortably to her legs, the fabric rough against her sweat-dampened skin.

At least she wouldn’t have to wear layered skirts and simper at suitors… yet.

Lady Emma sidled up, her emerald gown rustling softly against the gravel path. The dress shimmered, accentuating her curves. She leaned in close, her cloying perfume making Skylar’s nose twitch. “I must say, Duke,” she purred, “you handle the court’s attention with such grace. One might almost think you were part of the royal family.”

Skylar’s spine stiffened imperceptibly. Lady Emma’s smile was sweet, but her sharp eyes seemed to catch every reaction. “You’re too kind,” Skylar replied evenly, her heart racing. “I merely do my duty.”

Lady Emma’s laugh chimed melodiously. “Oh, come now. Surely even you have some weakness.” Her gaze raked over Skylar. “Or perhaps… a secret to your poise?”

Before Skylar could respond, Lady Carlotta’s shrill voice cut through the air, dripping with false sympathy. “It’s such a pity some still fear you, Duke Anathemark. If only they could see you as we do.”

Skylar observed Lady Carlotta, her plump face flushed, small eyes darting nervously as she frantically fanned herself.

“Indeed,” Lady Emma agreed, her gaze unwavering. “Although it’s natural, given your power. How fascinating that your Divine Beast mirrors the royal crest so perfectly.”

Skylar’s mouth went dry. “A happy coincidence, I’m sure,” she managed lightly.

“Oh!” Lady Carlotta exclaimed. “That’s such a clear sign of your allegiance. Not like your father’s dreadful Basilisk at all.”

The mention of her father sent a sharp pang through Skylar’s chest. Unbidden, memories of her Coming of Age ceremony flooded her mind. The acrid smell of incense burning in brass censers. The cold stone of the throne room beneath her knees. Her mother’s fearful eyes as Skylar summoned Gryphon for the first time. The searing pain as years of her life were stripped away, feeding the ancient pact. King Lyinell’s triumphant smile, believing the beast’s form to be a testament to the Anathemark family’s loyalty.

But it wasn’t.

Lady Alison, severe in her high-necked black gown, sniffed disapprovingly. “I hardly think it’s appropriate to discuss suchmatters so openly, Carlotta. The Divine Beasts are sacred, not fodder for idle gossip.”

Skylar noticed Carlotta’s face fall, her lower lip trembling. “I-I didn’t mean any offense, of course. I just find it all so fascinating.”

Skylar cleared her throat, desperate to change the subject. “Your concern is appreciated, ladies, but unnecessary. I assure you, I take no offense at genuine curiosity.”

Lady Emma’s eyes glittered with interest. “How magnanimous of you, Duke. Tell me, do you find it difficult to balance your duties with your personal life? I can’t imagine you have much time for… personal pursuits.” Her tone dripped with insinuation, making Skylar’s skin prickle with unease.

Skylar opened her mouth to deflect, but was saved by the arrival of a harried-looking servant, his livery askew. “Pardon the interruption, Your Grace, my ladies,” he said, bowing low. “Lady Emma, your carriage has arrived.”

A flash of irritation crossed Lady Emma’s features before she smoothed them into a pleasant mask. “I see.” She turned to Skylar with a coy smile. “We’ll continue our chat another time, Duke. Do save a dance for me at the next ball, won’t you?”

As Lady Emma glided away, followed by her servant, Skylar felt a moment of relief. It was short-lived, however; Lady Carlotta immediately filled the space, practically vibrating with excitement.

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