Page 53 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a dull thud. Skylar’s fists clenched at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms. The casual way they discussed Arye, as if he weren’t a living, breathing person with his own hopes and fears, ignited a fury deep within her.

“And what other options might those be?” The King’s voice dropped lower, a predatory purr that left Skylar fighting the urge to shudder.

“Well,” Princess Quince’s tone turned coy, dripping with false innocence, “why settle for the Prince when I could aim for the King?”

“Ambitious, aren’t we?” King Lyinell’s amusement was palpable, his words punctuated by the soft, wet sounds of kisses. “And what of your desire to rule for decades?”

A high-pitched laugh. “Oh, Lyinell. I still prefer that. But who says I can’t have both? A taste of the present… and control of the future.”

The sound of ripping fabric filled the air, followed by a breathy moan. “You think you could handle us both?” the King’s voice dripped with arrogance. “I assure you, that boy is no match for me. In the bedroom or on the throne.”

Bile rose in Skylar’s throat. The darkness that had been growing inside surged forward, a tidal wave of rage and disgust. The Gryphon stirred restlessly within her, its talons scraping against her ribs, feeding off her emotions. Her vision blurred,tinting red at the edges. For a moment, she imagined storming into the alcove, sword drawn, ready to?—

No. She took a deep breath, forcing the Gryphon’s restless energy back down. This was the game of politics, where everyone was just a pawn to be moved about the board at will. But oh, how she longed to make them pay for their callous disregard of Arye, of the kingdoms they were meant to serve.

The sounds from the alcove grew more frantic, punctuated by grunts and gasps. Skylar’s stomach roiled, disgust and anger warring within her. She couldn’t stand by and listen to this any longer, but she had to pass them to leave the building.

What a nuisance.

Skylar’s mind flashed back to the nervous guards. Had they known? Were the King’s indiscretions such an open secret?

Straightening her shoulders, Skylar stepped away from the wall. She wouldn’t skulk in shadows like some common spy. With deliberate steps, she strode forward, rounding the corner as if she’d just arrived. The polished marble floor echoed her footsteps, announcing her presence.

The sight that greeted her sent fresh waves of revulsion through her body, and it took everything to maintain her mask of cool indifference.

King Lyinell had Princess Quince pressed against the wall, her skirts hiked up around her waist, his hand buried between her thighs. They sprang apart at Skylar’s approach. For a fleeting moment, their eyes widened with guilt, but they swiftly composed themselves—squaring their shoulders and lifting their chins as if nothing untoward had occurred.

“Your Majesty,” Skylar bowed stiffly, her voice carefully neutral even as disgust churned in her gut. “Your Highness. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

King Lyinell cleared his throat, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Not at all, Duke Anathemark. We were just discussing… diplomatic matters.”

“I’m sure,” Skylar replied, unable to keep a hint of ice from her tone. Her gaze flickered to Princess Quince, taking note of how she smoothed her torn skirts, the slight tremor in her hands. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to the stables.”

Princess Quince’s eyes narrowed, a flash of something dangerous in their depths. “Of course, Duke. Until next time, perhaps sooner than you might expect.”

The words echoed in the silence, a subtle promise laced with threat that set every nerve in Skylar’s body on edge. She inclined her head slightly, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. “Until then, Your Highness. I’ll leave you to your… peace negotiations.”

She brushed past them, feeling their eyes boring into her back. As she walked away, Skylar allowed herself a small, grim smile. Let them wonder what she’d heard, what she’d seen, what she might do with that knowledge.

The scent of hay and leather greeted Skylar as she entered the stables, a welcome respite from the suffocating atmosphere of the palace. She inhaled deeply, letting the familiar smells calm her racing heart.

The grizzled stable master appeared from behind a stall, wiping his hands on a rag. His weathered face creased with a smile as he bowed respectfully. “Good morning, Your Grace. How may I assist you?”

“Please prepare Blanche and Noire for a ride,” Skylar said, her voice steadier than she felt. “The Crown Prince will be joining me shortly.”

The stable master nodded, a flicker of concern crossing his features. “Of course, Your Grace. Though I’m afraid it might take a bit longer than usual. Princess Quince’s carriage—” He trailed off, glancing nervously at Skylar’s impassive face.

“I understand,” Skylar replied, forcing a small smile. “I’m in no rush.”

As the stable master hurried off, barking orders to unseen stablehands, Skylar found herself alone with her thoughts. The rhythmic sound of horses chewing hay and the occasional stamp of a hoof provided a comforting backdrop to her swirling emotions.

Skylar’s jaw clenched, tension radiating through her body. For so long, she had strived to be the perfect Duke, the loyal servant. But what had it gained her? The world remained a cesspool of cruelty and injustice. A familiar feeling stirred within her, whispering of retribution. Perhaps it was time to listen.

The encounter with the King and Princess replayed in her mind, each detail more sickening than the last. She leaned against a nearby stall, the rough wood grounding her as she fought to erase what she had seen, or at least regain her composure.

A soft nicker drew her attention. Noire, her beloved warhorse, had poked his head over the stable door, dark eyes regarding her with what seemed like concern. Skylar smiled, reaching out to stroke his velvety nose.

“Hey there,” she murmured, her words softening as she addressed her mount. “Have you missed me?”

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