Page 59 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

Arye steered the conversation to more immediate concerns, his voice taking on the authoritative tone he used in war councils. “Your Majesty, given the current tensions with Thorncrest, can we count on Aequilibrium’s support should conflict arise?”

The Thousand-Year King’s expression grew serious, the burden of countless years etched on his features. In that moment, despite his youthful appearance, Skylar could almost see the millennia reflected in his gaze. “Aequilibrium standswith Regalclaw, as it always has,” he said. “You have my word that we will fight by your side if the need arises.”

A knock at the door interrupted their discussion. A servant entered, bowing low. His livery was impeccable, but Skylar noticed a slight tremor in his hands. “Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness, Your Majesty. His Majesty King Lyinell is ready to receive the Thousand-Year King in the throne room.”

Arye’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. “How generous of my father to make time in his busy schedule,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Louder, he addressed the servant, “Thank you. Please inform His Majesty that we’ll be there shortly.”

As the servant left, they all rose to their feet. The air in the room seemed to shift, the brief respite from court politics fading away. The Thousand-Year King clasped Arye’s hand warmly, his expression filled with genuine affection. “I will miss our conversations when my time comes to an end, Crown Prince Arye.”

Arye’s expression softened. “And I will miss your guidance, Your Majesty.”

The Thousand-Year King’s eyes twinkled with amusement, a youthful mischief that clashed with his ageless appearance. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. We’ll meet again, I’m sure. Same face, same role, same memories—just younger.”

As he turned to leave with Arye behind him, the Thousand-Year King paused at the door. He looked back at Arye, his expression serious. “I wish you a future free from worries.” Then his gaze shifted to Skylar, a mysterious smile on his lips. “To both of you.”

With that cryptic farewell, they left Skylar alone in the suddenly quiet study.

25

The lock’s sudden click shattered the night’s silence, jolting Skylar from her fitful sleep. Her heart thundered against her ribs as she recognized the sound, instinct taking over before conscious thought. In one fluid motion, she was on her feet, her long silver-white hair a ghostly cascade down her back as she pressed herself against the wall behind the heavy oak door.

Fear gripped her thoughts. No bindings. No wig. Exposed. Vulnerable. If the wrong person entered now, years of deception would crumble in an instant. The door creaked open, and Skylar’s fingers twitched, yearning for the familiar weight of her sword.

The scent of lavender wafted into her chambers, a comforting aroma that momentarily eased the knot in Skylar’s stomach.

“Your Grace?” Melody’s urgent whisper filled the room, and Skylar felt a wave of relief wash over her, followed by a surge of self-loathing at her moment of weakness.

Stepping out from behind the door, Skylar saw her servant’s face etched with worry in the dim candlelight. Melody’s usually impeccable appearance was disheveled, her brown hair escapingits severe bun, her plain dress wrinkled as if she’d been sleeping in it.

“Melody, what’s wrong?”

Melody’s eyes widened at the sight of Skylar in her nightgown, her tresses unbound. “My lady, forgive the intrusion, but there’s news from the Anathemark Estate. Your mother… it’s happening.”

The words crashed into Skylar like a wave, momentarily drowning her. She stumbled back, leaning on the door frame, the smooth wood cool against her palm. “It’s time?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sudden roaring in her ears.

Melody nodded, already moving to retrieve Skylar’s clothes and sword. “Yes, my lady. We must hurry.”

Reality crashed down around Skylar as she allowed Melody to help her into her bindings. The familiar pressure against her chest brought a strange comfort, a last vestige of the identity she had worn for her entire life. As Melody worked to secure her short silver-white wig, Skylar’s mind raced.

“This is it,” she murmured, more to herself than to Melody. “After tonight, everything changes.”

Melody’s hands stilled for a moment, resting on Skylar’s shoulders. Their eyes met in the mirror, a silent understanding passing between them. “It will be alright, my lady,” Melody said softly. “Soon, you’ll be free.”

Skylar nodded, unable to voice the turmoil of emotions swirling within her. Freedom, yes, but at what cost? The life she had built, the relationships she had forged—all of it would be irrevocably altered.

“What if he finds me?” She didn’t know if she meant Arye or King Lyinell.

“That won’t happen, my lady.”

It sounded final. Excruciating.

Skylar swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.

As they hurried through the dimly lit corridors of the palace, Skylar’s mind turned to Arye. “Wait,” she said urgently. “I need you to inform the Crown Prince of my departure.”

Melody’s steps faltered, her disapproval evident in the set of her shoulders. “Your Grace, surely that can wait until morning. It’s not proper to disturb His Highness at this hour.” There was an edge to her voice, a hint of the disdain she held for the royal family.

Skylar shook her head firmly. “No, he needs to know. Tell him about mother.”

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