Page 68 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

Skylar shook her head, stepping back. “I can’t,” she said, hating the words even as she spoke them. “I have responsibilities to my duchy.”

Arye’s eyes searched her face. “Is there anything you want to tell me,” he asked softly, “before you leave?”

She looked at him, her heart quickening. His piercing gaze seemed to see right through her and for a moment she wondered what he wanted her to say. “Thank you,” she managed. “For today.”

Something flashed in Arye’s eyes—pain, frustration, resignation. He turned away, then suddenly spun back, unsheathing his sword. Skylar tensed, but he only offered it to her, hilt first.

“Take it,” he said. “To remember me by.”

Skylar stared at the weapon, her throat tight. The blade gleamed in the dim light, the intricate gryphon on the hilt seeming to come alive. “It sounds like we’ll never see each other again,” she joked weakly, trying to lighten the mood.

Arye didn’t answer immediately, and Skylar felt panic rising in her chest. “It feels that way,” he said finally, his voice low. “But I’ll never allow that to happen.”

Swallowing hard, Skylar accepted the gift, her fingers tracing the ornate gryphon. It was the sword he had used when they fought side by side in countless battles, the one with which he had accepted her oath of protection. The weight of it in her hand felt right, as if it had always been meant for her. She understood the depth of Arye’s gesture—this wasn’t just a weapon, but a piece of himself to carry with her. Then, making a decision, she retrieved her own blade and held it out to him.

“I can’t take the Crown Prince’s blade and leave him defenseless,” she said, managing a small smile.

Arye took her sword, his fingers brushing against hers. The touch sent a jolt through her, and for a second, she thought he might pull her close. “We’ll trade them back,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “Once Thorncrest is nothing but a memory.”

Skylar nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She didn’t know when—or if—that day would come. By then, she might be long gone, her life as Duke Skylar Anathemark will become just a distant dream. A wave of guilt washed over her, but she reminded herself why she had to leave, why she could never tell him the truth. She couldn’t bear to see his world crashing down around him, to see the betrayal in his eyes.

A knock at the door startled them both. “Your Highness,” Captain Knox’s voice called. “We’re ready.”

Arye’s expression hardened briefly before softening as he looked at Skylar. “The Captain and his men will escort you to your estate,” he said. “I want to make sure you arrive safely.”

Gratitude and sorrow warred in Skylar’s chest. She was thankful for Arye’s care, for his constant protection. But it only made the impending separation more painful. Her time with him was running out, slipping through her fingers like sand.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she managed.

Arye nodded, his jaw clenched. For a heartbeat, it seemed like he might say something more. But then he turned, striding toward the door with purpose.

“Safe travels, Duke Anathemark,” he said formally, though his voice cracked slightly on her title.

As the door closed after him, Skylar felt a piece of her heart leaving with him. She looked down at the sword in her hands, its weight a tangible reminder of everything she was leaving behind. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and indicated to Captain Knox to go.

29

The sky was just beginning to lighten, the first hints of dawn painting the horizon in shades of pink and gold. But for Skylar, it felt like the darkest night of her life. Her physical wounds had healed, the bruises faded, but the memories remained etched in her consciousness like acid on metal. How ironic that medicine could mend the body, yet leave the mind in tatters.

She paused at the estate’s wrought-iron gates, her fingers ghosting over the unfamiliar weight of Arye’s sword at her hip. The guards snapped to attention, their eyes widening as they recognized her.

“Your Grace,” one stammered, bowing deeply. “We were expecting you.”

“At ease. Has there been any news?”

The guards exchanged glances before the older one spoke. “The Dowager Duchess. She’s…”

“Out with it,” Skylar demanded, her patience wearing thin.

The guard swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “We’ve been told it could be any moment now, Your Grace.”

Without another word, Skylar pushed past them, her feet carrying her swiftly across the grounds. The lavender-scented air felt even more suffocating than usual, each breath a struggle against the growing knot in her chest.

As she burst through the main doors, Skylar nearly collided with Melody, who was hurrying down the stairs with an armful of bloodied linens.

“My lady!” Melody gasped, her eyes widening as she took in Skylar’s appearance. “We’ve been so worried. Why are you arriving so late?”

Skylar forced a smile, grateful that news of the attack hadn’t reached the estate. “Just some unexpected business at the palace.” She gestured toward the upper floors, her heart hammering against her ribs. “How is she?”

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