Page 63 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

She was still on the ground, her body trembling uncontrollably. The torn remnants of her shirt did little to conceal the bindings that had kept her secret for so long. The rough cobblestones bit into her flesh, cold and unyielding. She tried her best to cover herself, curling into a ball to block everyone’s looks, the chill of the night air raising goosebumps on her exposed skin.

Shame washed over her as she realized silent tears were streaming down her face. She, who had faced down armies and controlled a Divine Beast, reduced to this quivering mess. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

Protector of the kingdom? Hah. Some protector she was, cowering in an alley, unable to even defend herself.

A whimper escaped her lips, barely audible over the sounds of violence. But it was enough to catch Arye’s attention.

In an instant, he was at her side, his cape settling around her shoulders. The heavy fabric enveloped her, warm and comforting. It smelled like him, felt like an embrace she didn’t deserve.

Hesitantly she looked up at him. His pale face was smeared with blood, his white shirt stained crimson, and his eyes seemed to burn with an otherworldly intensity. But it was impossible to tell if he had seen her bindings or not. The uncertainty gnawed at her, adding to the churning mess of emotions in her gut.

“Sky,” he murmured, his voice low and intense. His gaze raked over her, searching for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

She tried to speak, to reassure him, but her voice failed her. All she could manage was a sad smile and a small shake of her head. The movement ignited a fresh burst of pain through her battered body, but she did her best to hide it.

Arye’s expression hardened as he faced the remaining men. He gently caressed her cheeks, removing a tear strand. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence he’d just unleashed. The soothing warmth of his fingers against her cold skin sent a shiver down her spine.

“May I?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm.

It took Skylar a moment to realize what he was asking. Even now, in the midst of chaos and brutality, he sought her approval. Her permission to unleash his full fury. The weight of that trust, that deference, nearly overwhelmed her.

She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to work. “Yes,” she croaked, the word barely audible.

That single syllable transformed Arye. He rose, a predator uncoiling, ready to strike. What followed was a display of ruthless efficiency that both awed and terrified Skylar.

Arye moved with deadly grace, his sword flashing in lethal patterns. Each stroke was precise, calculated to inflict maximum damage and pain. The alley echoed with screams of agony and the wet, meaty sounds of steel meeting flesh.

One man tried to raise his dagger, but Arye was faster. His blade cleaved through the man’s wrist, sending the attacker’s hand flying through the air. It hit the wall with a sickening thud before falling to the ground. Blood spurted from the stump, and the man screamed, high and piercing, before Arye’s blade located his heart. The scream cut off abruptly, replaced by the wet, sucking sound of steel being withdrawn from flesh.

“Please!” one of the attackers begged. “I was just followin’ orders!” The man’s eyes were wide with terror, his earlier confidence completely evaporated in the face of Arye’s wrath.

Arye paused, his sword poised at the man’s throat. A single drop of blood formed at the tip, slowly rolling down. “Whose orders?” he asked, his voice dripping with cold fury.

“P-Princess Quince! I’ll tell ye everythin’!”

For a moment, Arye was perfectly still. Then, with a snarl of rage, he drove his sword through the middle of the man’s neck. The attacker’s eyes went wide with shock, a gurgling sound escaping his lips as Arye slid the blade free. The man clutched at his throat as if trying to stop the inevitable, blood seeping between his fingers. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, life draining from him in a disgusting, wet mess. Arye didn’t look away; he waited, watched, until the man stopped breathing, until his gaze lost focus and glazed over with the finality of death.

Skylar couldn’t watch anymore. She squeezed her eyes shut, but it did nothing to block out the sounds of terror that filled the alley. The squelch of blade piercing flesh, the crack of bones breaking, the gurgling gasps of the dying. The uneasy shifting of the soldiers behind her, their armor creaking with each movement. Each noise sent a fresh wave of nausea through her.

Breathe. In and out. Slow and steady.

She focused on the rhythm of her own heartbeat, trying to drown out the carnage around her. She needed to regain control, to be the Duke that everyone expected her to be. She couldn’t allow herself to fall apart, not so close to the end.

The Gryphon’s presence swelled within her, feeding off the violence and her own turbulent emotions. It took every ounce of Skylar’s willpower to keep the beast contained. She didn’t need its power anymore. She was safe.

The clamor of battle died down, replaced by one lone whimper.

“Wait!” Captain Knox’s voice cut through the chaos. Skylar felt the wind of movement when he passed her. “Your Highness, we need him for questioning. We must?—”

Skylar’s eyes snapped open just in time to see Arye whirl, his sword arcing towards Knox’s neck. The Captain’s gaze widened in shock, his hand flying to his own weapon. But he was too slow. The torchlight glinted off Arye’s blade as it sliced through the air.

“Stop,” Skylar rasped, her voice hoarse but firm. “Don’t move.”

Arye froze, his blade a hair’s breadth from Captain Knox’s throat. A bead of sweat rolled down the Captain’s face, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Arye’s eyes, wild with bloodlust, found Skylar’s. For a moment, she feared he was too far gone, lost in his rage. But then recognition flickered in his gaze.

“It’s enough,” Skylar said, softer this time. She forced herself to her feet, ignoring the way her legs trembled. The cape slipped slightly, and she clutched it tighter, wrapping it around her body. “See. I’m okay.” The words were as much for herself as for Arye, a desperate attempt to bring normalcy back to this nightmarish situation. “I’m safe now. Thanks to you.”

Slowly, as if waking from a trance, Arye lowered his sword. With a practiced motion, he cleaned the blade on his sleeve before sheathing it. The clang of steel sliding home seemed to break the spell that had fallen over the alley.

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