Page 46 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

Skylar nodded, lost in thought. So much of her life had been carefully orchestrated, a delicate dance of protection and deception. She’d been a pawn in a game she hadn’t even known she was playing. And now…

“There’s something else you should know,” Melody said, her voice hesitant. “The king… he plans to marry Prince Arye to Princess Quince.”

The words hit Skylar like a punch in the gut. “What?” she breathed, gripping the edge of the vanity. Her knuckles turned white, the smooth wood beneath her fingers the only solid thing in a world spinning out of control.

“I’m so sorry, my lady.”

Skylar’s mind raced. Arye’s recent behavior, his sudden openness about his feelings… it all made sense now. His time was indeed running out, just as hers was. The walls seemed to close in around her, the air suddenly thick and suffocating.

Before she could think better of it, Skylar was on her feet. Her head throbbed, her mind reeling as Arye consumed her every thought. In an instant, the careful Duke, the dutiful daughter, the years of caution—all of it crumbled away. None of it mattered anymore.

All that remained was Arye and the desperate need to see him. His impending marriage to Princess Quince felt like a knife twisting in her gut, made worse by the memory of her own words urging him to do his duty. How blind she’d been, preaching responsibility while he struggled alone with the weight of his crown. The risks that had always loomed so large suddenly paled in comparison to the pain of losing him.

Guilt and longing warred within her as she strode to the balcony, throwing open the doors. The cool night air hit her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and legs. The sudden gust sent papers fluttering from her desk, scattering across the floor like fallen leaves—a fitting metaphor for her carefully constructed world falling apart.

“Your Grace!” Melody called, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

But Skylar was beyond reason. In one fluid motion, she swung her leg over the railing and looked down. The balcony wasn’t high—perhaps fifteen feet from the ground—it was manageable. Ignoring Melody’s gasps, she leapt. Her legs absorbed the impact as she landed in a crouch, the wet grass cool beneath her soles. The jolt of pain that shot through her ankles was real, tangible, unlike the ache in her chest.

Without pausing, Skylar pushed herself up and began to run. Rain pelted her face, cold and stinging, plastering her nightgown to her skin. For the first time in her life, she felt the wind whipping through her long, unbound hair. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

She sprinted through the gardens, taking every shortcut she knew. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the storm. She clutched at her robe, keeping it from flying open as she ran. Silk clung to her legs, hampering her movements, but she pushed on.

The rain eased to a gentle drizzle. Skylar’s bare feet slapped against wet stones, sending small splashes up her calves. The scent of soaked earth and night-blooming flowers filled her nostrils.

Arye’s chambers weren’t far now. Just a little further and?—

Skylar skidded to a halt, nearly losing her footing on the slippery grass. There, beneath the old willow tree where they’d sat days ago, stood Arye. His shoulders were slumped, his usual regal posture absent. In one hand, he clutched a half-empty bottle of wine.

Time seemed to stand still as Skylar took in the sight of him. Vulnerable. Broken. So unlike the proud prince she knew.

What had she done?

20

Her heart thundered against her ribs, each frantic beat a desperate plea to run, to hide, to protect the secret she’d guarded for so long. But her legs refused to move, rooted to the spot by a force stronger than fear—desire. Raw, unrelenting feelings surged through her akin to molten silver, precious and searing.

Arye stood before her, disheveled and beautiful. His white shirt, soaked through by the earlier downpour, clung to his body as if it were a second skin. The fabric had turned nearly transparent, revealing the lean muscles beneath—muscles Skylar had admired from afar for years, never daring to imagine she’d see them this close. Wet strands of raven hair framed his face, raindrops adorning his eyelashes like delicate crystals.

The soft drizzle continued, creating a misty veil between them. It was as if the world itself was trying to shield them from reality, to create a bubble where only they existed. Skylar’s breath caught in her throat, her lungs burning with the need for air she’d forgotten to take.

She was exposed, vulnerable—everything she’d fought so hard to hide now on full display. Her long silver-white hair,usually concealed beneath a short wig, cascaded down her back in wet tangles. The silk nightgown her mother had sent clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination. She’d never felt more naked, more terrified, more alive.

As Arye lifted his head, his storm-gray eyes locking onto hers, Skylar knew it was too late. There was no going back now. The pale moonlight barely illuminated his face, casting deep shadows that accentuated his sharp cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. His gaze, usually so guarded, burned with an intensity that made her knees weak.

The wine bottle slipped from his fingers, landing with a dull thud on the wet grass. The sound echoed in the stillness of the night. Arye blinked slowly, as if trying to clear his vision, his eyes never leaving her face.

Skylar’s mind raced. She should run, flee before he recognized her. But she couldn’t. She watched, breath held, as Arye took an unsteady step forward.

He moved with a deliberate care that puzzled Skylar, his movements slow and measured in a way that seemed at odds with the situation. Her heart leapt into her throat as he reached for his coat, which lay carelessly over the nearby bench.

With surprising gentleness, he shook it out and draped it over her shoulders. The warmth of the fabric enveloped her, a stark contrast to the cool night air. His unique scent filled her senses, making her head spin.

Arye’s fingers brushed her damp strands from her face, tucking them behind her ear. It was the first time he’d ever touched her hair—her real hair. The gentle caress sent shivers down her spine, goosebumps erupting across her skin despite the coat’s warmth.

It was clear as day. He must have mistaken her for someone else.

That noble lady, perhaps—the one he had his sights set on.

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