Page 69 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

“This way, Your Grace. Quickly now.”

They ascended the stairs in tense silence, the only sound the soft padding of their feet on the plush carpet and the distant, muffled groans of pain. As they neared her mother’s chambers, the cries grew louder, interspersed with urgent voices.

Melody pushed open the door, revealing a scene of controlled chaos. Skylar stepped into the dimly lit room, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and the unmistakable metallic tang of blood that made her stomach churn.

Fern, the family’s healer, stood at the foot of the massive four-poster bed, her brow furrowed with concentration. Two younger apprentices flitted about, fetching water and clean linens.

And there, in the center of it all, was her mother. The Dowager Duchess lay propped up against a mountain of pillows, her face flushed and contorted with pain. Her silver-streaked hair clung to her sweat-soaked brow, and her hands gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

“Mother,” Skylar breathed, rushing to her side.

The Dowager Duchess’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on Skylar with difficulty. “My darling,” she gasped, reaching out with trembling fingers. “You’re here. I was so afraid you wouldn’t make it.”

Skylar clasped her mother’s hand, wincing at the strength of her grip. “Of course I’m here.”

A particularly strong contraction wracked her mother’s body, and she cried out in pain. Fern’s voice cut through the tension. “It’s time, Your Grace. Push now!”

What followed was a blur to Skylar. She heard agonizing cries and urgent instructions, felt the crushing grip on her hand, and found herself whispering prayers to trees, roots, gods, and other deities she wasn’t sure she believed in, begging for her mother’s safety.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a new sound filled the room—the piercing wail of a newborn.

“Here he is!” Fern announced, her voice brimming with emotion. “A healthy boy!”

The room erupted in a flurry of activity. Fern quickly cleaned and swaddled the infant while her apprentices tended to the Dowager Duchess. Skylar stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the little Duke in Fern’s arms.

“Would you like to hold him, Your Grace?” Fern asked gently, offering the baby to Skylar.

Skylar hesitated, her hands trembling slightly as she reached out. The precious bundle in her arms was both foreign and strangely familiar. She gazed down at the tiny face, taking in the button nose, rosebud lips, and wisps of silver-white hair—so like her own.

“Hello, little Duke,” she whispered, her voice catching. “Welcome to the world.”

As if in response, the baby’s eyes fluttered open, revealing irises of the most startling blue—even lighter than her own. For a moment, Skylar forgot to breathe. A confusing mix of emotions surged through her—love, protectiveness, and a sharp pang of something that resembled dangerously close to resentment.

Her mother’s weak voice drifted from the bed. “His name is Conley. After your father’s grandfather.”

“He’s beautiful,” she managed, gently rocking the baby. She tried to ignore the voice in her head that whispered that he was the one who’s taking everything from her. That he was the one who will stay at Arye’s side.

Tearing her eyes away from Conley, Skylar looked at her mother. “How do you feel?” she asked softly.

The Dowager Duchess chuckled weakly. “Like I’ve been pregnant for a decade.” Her attempt at humor was punctuated by a grimace. “Come, let me see you both.”

Carefully, Skylar made her way to the bed, perching on the edge as she cradled Conley. Her mother’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at them.

“My children,” she murmured, reaching out to stroke Conley’s cheek. “Both of you, together at last. Oh, how your father would have loved to see this day.”

A sharp gasp from her mother shattered the tender moment. Skylar looked up, alarmed, to find her mother’s gaze fixed on something at Skylar’s hip.

“That sword,” she said, her brow furrowing. “I don’t recognize it. The hilt… is that a gryphon?”

Skylar’s hand instinctively went to the weapon, her fingers tracing the intricate design. “Yes,” she admitted, her cheeks warming. “It’s… it’s from the Crown Prince. A gift.”

The Dowager Duchess’s face paled slightly, worry etching itself into the lines around her eyes. “And your father’s sword?”

Skylar swallowed hard, knowing the significance of the exchange. “It’s with the Crown Prince for the time being.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Skylar could feel her mother’s gaze bearing down on her, searching for answers she hesitated to give.

“Skylar,” she began, her words gentle but firm. “I know you care deeply for Prince Arye. But you must understand, it’s impossible for you to stay by his side. To live as a man until your dying day… it’s too dangerous.”

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