Page 57 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

The words hit Skylar in the gut, striking deeper than she cared to admit. Her chest tightened as the truth of the Princess’s observation sank in. She didn’t have friends, never wanted them. It was selfish enough to let one person into her heart, despite her very existence being a lie. The realization left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, a sensation she despised.

Princess Quince pressed on, her voice carrying to the growing crowd of onlookers. “Or perhaps… it’s more than friendship you want?” Her eyes narrowed, a predatory glint in their depths. “The way you look at him, it’s not exactly platonic, is it? Tell me, Duke, do you prefer the pleasures of men?”

A ripple of shocked gasps and tittering laughter spread through the assembled nobles. Lady Emma, wearing a crimson gown that hugged her curves, leaned in to whisper to another noblewoman with an amused expression. The hunger for gossip was palpable, a living thing pulsating through the crowd.

“I assure you, Your Highness, my relationship with the Crown Prince is nothing more than that of a loyal subject to his future King.” Skylar’s jaw clenched, the muscles working beneath her skin as she fought to maintain her composure.

The Princess smirked, her teeth flashing white against her painted lips. “Oh, come now. There’s no need to be coy. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?” She turned to the small crowd, her voice rising. “Wait, that made me think… Duke Anathemark, I believe you’ve yet to show me the proper respect. Care to kneel before your future Queen?”

The implication was clear—Princess Quince was trying to humiliate her, to expose what she perceived as Skylar’s weakness. Excitement and discomfort warred on the faces of the gathered courtiers, some clearly anticipating entertainment, others shifting uneasily at the Princess’s blatant power play.

Lady Alison, her severe black gown a stark contrast to the colorful silks surrounding her, stepped forward. “Your Highness, perhaps this isn’t the most appropriate?—”

“Silence,” Princess Quince snapped, her eyes never leaving Skylar’s face. The older woman flinched visibly, her jeweled necklace clinking softly as she retreated. “Well, Duke? I’m waiting.”

For a moment, Skylar felt a flicker of panic. The Gryphon stirred within her, responding to her distress. Then, a strange thought struck her.

Why was she holding back?

Arye’s future Queen wouldn’t be Princess Quince—she was merely a temporary guest, an enemy in allied territory. There was no reason to be subservient. How had she not realized this before? A surge of confidence flowed through her, shattering the constraints that bound her. The Princess had forgotten her place. Perhaps they all had. The moment had come to show them the monster they’d always imagined.

A cold smirk curved her lips, offering a glimpse of the predator she had long suppressed beneath her courtly facade. Her eyes hardened as she met the Princess’s gaze.

The time for measured diplomacy was over.

“Your Highness.” Skylar’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. The crowd stilled, tension crackling in the air. “I must decline. My duty is to Regalclaw, not to entertain visiting royalty’s… whims.”

Princess Quince’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting such resistance.

“Furthermore,” Skylar continued, her tone sharp enough to cut glass, “I would advise you to choose your words more carefully in the future. Haven’t you heard? The Anathemarks are not toys for you to play with.”

The Princess’s face flushed with anger, two spots of color blooming high on her cheeks. “How dare you speak to me like that? I am a Princess of Thorncrest!”

“And I am Duke Skylar Anathemark,” Skylar replied, her voice steady and cold. Several nobles took involuntary steps back, their eyes wide with fear. “Do you want to know how many of your soldiers I have killed? How many of them my Gryphon has devoured?”

Princess Quince looked around, panic flashing in her gaze. The courtiers avoided her gaze, suddenly finding the intricate floor patterns fascinating. She called to the guards standing at attention nearby, their armor gleaming in the afternoon light streaming through the high windows. “Are you blind to this insolence? Seize him at once!”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances, clearly torn between their duty to protect visiting royalty and their fear of the monstrous Duke Anathemark. Their hands tightened on their weapons, but they made no move to intervene.

Skylar stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that nonetheless carried in the hushed silence. “I bend my knee only to those who have earned my respect or to whom I am bound by ancient pacts. You, Your Highness, fall into neither category.”

Princess Quince’s face contorted with rage and humiliation, her cheeks flushing an angry red that clashed horribly with her gown. “You insolent—” she hissed, stepping closer. “Listen to me carefully, Duke. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll distance yourself from Prince Arye. A strategic marriage far outweighs whatever… friendship you believe you have with him.”

Skylar’s protective instincts flared, both for Arye and for the bond they shared. She leaned in, her voice a gentle whisper but dripping with poison. “You really think you can intimidate me? I’ve been playing this game since I could walk. Underestimate me at your own risk, Princess.”

Before she could respond, a familiar voice broke through the tension. “Duke Anathemark, Princess Quince. What a rare sight.”

Skylar turned to see Arye approaching, wearing his formal attire, his presence immediately commanding attention. His raven hair was neatly styled, the golden embroidery on his black coat catching the light with each movement. His storm-gray eyes met Skylar’s, a silent question passing between them.

But it wasn’t Arye who caught Skylar’s eye—it was the man walking beside him.

He was stunning.

Tall, with an otherworldly grace that seemed to defy his apparent age, probably just a few years older than Arye. His hair was as black as the darkest night, falling in perfect waves around a face as if chiseled by the gods themselves. And his eyes… A jolt ran through Skylar as she met his gaze. They were golden, ancient, filled with wisdom and power transcending time itself.

“Your Majesty,” Skylar bowed deeply, her mind racing. This could only be one person—the Thousand-Year King of Aequilibrium. “We are honored by your presence.”

Skylar heard the frantic whispers of the courtiers before they bowed, curtsied, or stood tighter like the guards. The rustle of fabric filled the air as nobles hastily adjusted their attire, desperate to make a good impression.

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