Page 41 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

Arye’s body language suggested he was about to voice his disagreement. Then he sighed, the fight draining out of him. He reached up, adjusting his vest with a sharp tug. “Fine. But I don’t have to like it.”

They began to walk, falling into step with the ease of long familiarity. Skylar glanced at Arye, noting the tension in his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. “How did the meeting with your father go?”

Arye’s expression tightened, his voice dropping to a near growl. “As well as can be expected. He’s displeased with my refusal to consider certain… alliances.”

Skylar’s heart clenched, remembering the conversation she’d overheard. “I see. Was that all?”

“No,” Arye said, his tone lightening slightly. “The Thousand-Year King will be visiting next week. Probably the last time before he dies.”

Skylar nodded, her mind already racing with the implications. The arrival of Aequilibrium’s ageless ruler would certainly shake things up at court. “That’s quite the honor.”

“Indeed,” Arye agreed. He paused, scanning the garden before gesturing to a secluded spot. A stone bench sat nestled beneath a weeping willow, its long, slender branches cascading down like a living curtain, offering a modicum of privacy. “Shall we?”

They settled onto the bench, close enough that Skylar could feel the warmth radiating from Arye’s body. The gentle rustle of leaves enveloped them, creating a secluded cocoon that seemed to shut out the rest of the world. For a heartbeat, Skylar allowed herself to imagine they were just two ordinary people, sharing a quiet moment in a garden. No crowns, no curses, no lies between them.

“There’s more,” Arye said quietly, his voice tight with frustration. “My father is pushing for an alliance with Thorncrest.”

“And what do you think about that?”

Arye’s laugh was bitter. “You know well enough. Thorncrest can’t be trusted.”

“But surely an alliance could bring peace,” Skylar argued, playing devil’s advocate even as she had a bad feeling about the whole situation.

Arye turned to her, his eyes blazing. “At what cost, Sky? Our autonomy? Our pride? I won’t allow them to dictate Regalclaw’s future. Not while I draw breath.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” Arye admitted, the words seeming to pain him. He clenched his fists, frustration evident in every line of his body. “But I won’t let them win. I can’t.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sounds were the soft rustle of leaves, the distant trill of birdsong, and their own measured breathing. Then, to Skylar’s surprise, Arye let out a deep sigh and leaned against her, resting his head on her shoulder. The gesture was so unexpectedly vulnerable that it made Skylar’s breath catch in her throat.

Without thinking, she raised a hand to stroke his hair. The silky strands slipped through her fingers, and she marveled at the softness. Every instinct screamed that she shouldn’t indulge in this closeness, this intimacy that blurred the lines between them. But for just a moment, she allowed herself to pretend. To imagine a world where she could comfort him openly, where there were no secrets between them.

Just this once.

“If only you knew what you do to me, Sky,” Arye murmured, his words barely audible.

Skylar’s heart thundered in her chest, her mouth going dry. She had to stop this, had to put an end to it before it went too far. Swallowing hard, she forced her words to remain steady even as her pulse raced. “Arye, I’m not sure if I want to?—”

But it was too late.

He lifted his head, his eyes burning into hers with an intensity that stole her breath. “You make me want to conquer the world,” he said, his voice low and raw with emotion, “just to lay it at your feet.”

The words hung in the air between them, charged with possibility and danger. Skylar’s muscles tensed, her mind reeling. She should pull away, she knew. She should laugh it off, make some joke to diffuse the tension. But she found herself frozen, captivated by the naked emotion in Arye’s eyes.

18

The weight of Arye’s words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Skylar’s heart thundered in her chest, each beat reminding her of the dire situation she found herself in. Her muscles tensed, coiled tight with the effort of restraining herself. It would be so easy to give in, to surrender to her heart and damn the consequences. For a wild, reckless moment, she wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind, to confess everything—her deception, her true identity, the depth of her feelings for him.

But the rational part of her mind screamed in protest. This was exactly what she’d feared, what she’d been trying to prevent. Arye’s desire for her—for the man he believed her to be—was growing too strong, too dangerous. She had to stop this, now, before it was too late. Before Arye’s heart became as irreparably entangled with thorns as her own.

“Sky?” Arye prompted, uncertainty lacing his voice. “Did I say something wrong?”

Skylar opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She shook her head, struggling to explain the tumult within. How could shetell him his feelings were misplaced? That the person he thought he was attracted to was nothing but a carefully constructed lie?

With every ounce of willpower she possessed, Skylar forced herself to pull away, creating a small but significant gap between them on the bench. The loss of his warmth felt like a physical ache.

Time stretched, each second an eternity as she struggled for words. Skylar watched Arye’s face, noting the subtle shifts in his expression. His usual confident mask crumbled, revealing a vulnerability that made her chest constrict. His brow furrowed slightly, and his gaze drifted to his right hand.

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