Page 60 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

“Are you sure you can trust him?”

“Yes.” Skylar’s response was immediate, unwavering.

With a resigned sigh, Melody nodded. “As you wish, Your Grace. I’ll inform him once you’re safely on your way.” Her tone was clipped, professional, but Skylar could hear the underlying concern.

They passed a pair of guards standing at attention, their armor gleaming dully in the torchlight. The stinging smell of oil used to keep the metal from rusting mingled with the earthy scent of leather and sweat. Skylar nodded to them, noting the way their eyes widened slightly at her presence, a mixture of respect and fear flashing across their faces.

“Your Grace,” the taller guard murmured, bowing his head. “Is everything alright?”

“All is well. Carry on.”

They reached the palace gates, where a plain carriage waited, its black horses stamping impatiently in the cool night air. The driver, a grizzled man with a weather-beaten face, touched his cap in deference as Skylar approached.

“Your Grace,” he murmured, his voice gravelly. “Where to?”

“The Anathemark Estate. And make haste.”

He nodded, a flicker of unease passing over his features at the urgency in her tone. Skylar turned to Melody, suddenly reluctant to leave. This moment felt monumental, as if by stepping into that carriage, she would be leaving behind more than just the palace.

Melody seemed to sense her hesitation. In a rare display of affection, she pulled Skylar into a tight embrace. “It will all be over soon,” she whispered fiercely. “Go. I’ll join you in the morning.”

Skylar hugged her back, drawing strength from the familiar scent of lavender that clung to Melody’s clothes. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

With a final nod to Melody, Skylar climbed into the carriage. As it lurched into motion, she leaned against the plush velvet seat, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. The Gryphon stirred within her, a low rumble of unease vibrating through her core.

The carriage rattled through Regalton, the sound of its wheels on cobblestones a steady rhythm in the quiet night. Each jolt and bump sent a shiver of anxiety through Skylar, her nerves stretched taut as a bowstring. She peered out the window, her eyes searching the dimly lit areas. The streets were eerily empty, save for the occasional patrol of guards led by Captain Knox. The orange glow of their torches pierced through the darkness, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to reach for the carriage as it passed.

Normally, the sight of the Captain and his men would have brought Skylar comfort. Tonight, however, their presence only served to heighten her anxiety. Every uniform she saw made hershrink back into her seat, paranoia creeping in at the edges of her mind.

What if they knew? What if word had somehow spread about her mother, about the impending birth? The thought of anyone discovering that the cursed Anathemarks were about to bring another “devil” into the world sent a chill down Skylar’s spine.

As the carriage turned onto a narrower street, the buildings looming closer on either side, Skylar’s thoughts drifted to her confrontation with Princess Quince. The memory of the Princess’s furious face flashed in her mind, and a twinge of savage satisfaction coursed through her, quickly followed by unease. She had let her guard down, allowed her true nature to shine through for a moment. It had felt good, freeing even. But had she gone too far?

The Gryphon’s presence swelled, its agitation a gathering storm beneath her skin. Skylar pressed a hand to her chest, wincing as the Gryphon’s beak worried at her insides.

“Calm down,” she hissed, her breath fogging the carriage window. “We’re almost there.”

The beast keened, the sound reverberating through her head. Its talons raked her ribs, no longer restless but desperate.

Something was wrong.

Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a violent halt. Skylar’s body slammed forward, her head nearly cracking against the opposite seat.

The Gryphon’s screech tore through her mind, a piercing warning that set her teeth on edge. Its wings thrashed against her rib cage, talons scraping her insides raw.

Outside, a wet gurgle. The sickening thud of a body hitting cobblestones.

The driver.

Damn it.

Her hand flew to her sword, but too late. The carriage door wrenched open. Rough hands grabbed her, yanking her into the frigid night air.

The stench hit her first. Unwashed bodies. Stale ale. Feces.

Her stomach heaved.

Skylar lashed out, muscle memory kicking in. Her elbow connected with a satisfying crunch. A howl of pain pierced the night, echoing off narrow alley walls.

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