Page 54 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

Noire snorted softly, nudging her cheek. His presence was comforting, a steady constant in a world that slowly spiraled out of control.

“Sir, here are the—” A tentative voice broke through her reverie. “Oh! Your Grace!”

Skylar’s head snapped up, her hand instinctively reaching for her sword. Her eyes widened as they fell upon a familiar face—the young soldier she’d tried to save on the battlefield, now stood before her in stable boy’s attire.

“Billy,” she managed, her voice rougher than she’d intended, as she took Noire and Blanche’s reins from him. “What are you doing here?”

Of course, she knew exactly why he was here. But because of recent events, she had completely forgotten about him working at the stables. The sight of him caught her off guard, and she struggled to maintain her composure. She felt trapped, unable to retreat.

To her surprise, Billy didn’t seem to resent her. On the contrary, he looked… relieved?

“Your Grace, I… I didn’t expect you to remember me!” Billy’s cheeks flushed as he removed his hat, twisting it between his fingers. “I work here now, Your Grace. Thanks to you, actually.”

Confusion furrowed Skylar’s brow. “Thanks to me?”

Billy’s eyes darted nervously around the stable before settling back on Skylar. “Well, I… I saw you talking with Sir Anthony that day, after the battle. And not long after, I was offered this position. I thought it must have been your doing, Your Grace.”

Skylar’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She hadn’t realized Billy had witnessed that conversation. “You’re very observant,” she said, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “That will serve you well here.”

Billy beamed at the praise, but his smile faltered as he shifted his crutches, wincing slightly. Skylar’s gaze dropped to his empty trouser leg, guilt washing over her anew.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, the words escaping before she could stop them. “About your injury. If I had been faster, if I had summoned the Gryphon sooner?—”

“Your Grace, no!” Billy interrupted, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You have nothing to apologize for. If it wasn’t for you and the Crown Prince leading us, fighting alongside us for weeks… the King might have used us lower ranks as cannon fodder.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Billy’s face drained of color. He clapped a hand over his mouth, horror dawning in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t mean to speak ill of His Majesty. I just?—”

Skylar held up a hand, silencing him. “Your words are safe with me.” The casual way he spoke of the King’s disregard for his troops was a bad sign, as if it wasn’t the first time he talked like that with others. And it aligned too closely with her own growing suspicions. She studied the young man before her. “How are you finding your new position?”

Relief flooded Billy’s features at the change of subject. “It’s good, Your Grace. And…” he hesitated, a shy smile spreading across his face. “I’ve met someone. A girl from the kitchens.”

A warmth blossomed within Skylar, displacing the cold fury that had gripped her earlier. “That’s wonderful news.”

The stable master’s voice rang out, calling Billy back to work. The young man bowed hastily, limping away to tend to his duties. Skylar watched him go, a bittersweet ache in her chest.

One small victory in a sea of losses.

23

The sound of wheels on gravel drew Skylar from her brooding thoughts. She looked up to see Arye striding into the stables, his face set in a mask of barely contained annoyance. Behind him, a gilded carriage rolled to a stop, its door opening to reveal Princess Quince’s smug expression. The princess’s arrival brought with it a flurry of activity—servants rushing to attend to her needs, guards positioning themselves around the coach.

“Duke Anathemark,” Arye greeted her, his tone clipped. His storm-gray eyes met hers, a flicker of something unreadable passing between them. “I hope you don’t mind, but it appears we’ll have company on our ride today. Princess Quince has… graciously decided to join us.”

Skylar’s jaw clenched, the memory of the overheard conversation still fresh. She forced a neutral expression, bowing slightly to the princess. “Of course, Your Highness. Shall I have another horse prepared for Your Highness?”

Princess Quince’s tinkling laugh grated on Skylar’s nerves. “Oh, no need for that, Duke. I prefer the comfort of my carriage. I’m sure you understand.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Skylar said, her tone carefully neutral. “Shall we?”

As they set out, Skylar felt like a third wheel on what should have been a romantic outing. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her—here she was, desperately in love with Arye, forced to watch as he played the dutiful prince to a woman who saw him as nothing more than a stepping stone to power.

Skylar exhaled heavily, her gaze fixed on the distant lush greens. They inched forward at a snail’s pace, with the princess’s guards and servants trudging alongside the coach. A frown creased Skylar’s brow. She had hoped for a relaxed ride, but now she felt like an unwilling participant in a tedious parade.

Noire sensed her unease, his ears flicking back and forth as he pranced nervously. “Easy, boy,” she whispered, patting his neck reassuringly. His coat was warm against her hand, slick with a light sheen of sweat. “It’s alright.” Noire nickered softly in response, his muscles gradually relaxing under her touch.

Arye, for his part, seemed determined to ignore Princess Quince’s attempts at conversation. His attention kept drifting to Skylar, a strange intensity in his gaze that made her skin prickle with awareness. When Skylar dared to look Arye’s way, she found him fixated on her neck, where the fabric concealed the mark he’d unknowingly left nights ago.

“Are you feeling unwell, Duke?” Arye asked suddenly. “You seem uncomfortable.”

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