Page 74 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

Skylar struggled to maintain her expression, to suppress the disgust. The memory of her mother’s warnings about the King’s interest flashed through her mind, bringing with it a wave of nausea. “I will let her know, Your Majesty,” she managed, her tone carefully neutral.

As the King turned his attention back to the assembled courtiers, Skylar found herself reeling. What was Arye planning? She wanted to question him, to demand answers, but she knew this wasn’t the time or place. Instead, she stood silently by his side, her mind racing with possibilities and fears. The weight of her impending departure pressed down on her, threatening to suffocate her with each passing moment.

As the audience dragged on, Skylar found her gaze drawn again and again to Arye’s profile. The strong line of his jaw, the intensity in his storm-gray eyes, the way his fingers absently traced the hilt of her sword at his hip. Each detail seared itself into her memory, a bittersweet reminder of all she was leaving behind.

When at last the final petitioner was dismissed, Skylar was overcome by a wave of dread. This was it. The end of an era, the close of a chapter in her life she could never revisit. Her entire body ached with the finality of it all.

She turned to Arye, her thoughts heavy with all the things left unsaid between them. But he was already moving, striding purposefully towards the exit. The soft thud of his boots on the marble floor seemed to echo the beating of her heart.

He paused at the threshold, glancing back at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher.

“Duke. I expect your letters. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

31

The silk dress hit the floor with a soft whisper, a puddle of periwinkle and lace at Skylar’s feet. Her chest heaved as she glared at the offending garment, her fists clenched at her sides.

“I swear by all that’s holy, if one more simpering fool calls me ‘Lady Skye,’ I’ll run him through myself,” Skylar snarled, her voice low and dangerous.

She was Skylar Anathemark. A Duke. The protector of this kingdom. How dare they address her by her first name, especially one that was too close to the one Arye always used? It felt wrong in her ears, wrong on her tongue. It made her heart clench with longing every time she heard it.

“My lady, please.” Melody wrung her hands. “You’ll become accustomed to it. The dresses, the shoes, the… the etiquette. It just takes a while.”

Skylar whirled on her, eyes flashing. “It’s been two weeks, Melody,” she spat. “Two weeks of suffocating corsets and insipid conversation. Two weeks of men leering at my body while spouting vapid compliments.” She yanked open a drawer, pulling out a pair of familiar trousers. “I’m done.”

As she shimmied into them, relishing the freedom of movement, Skylar caught sight of her reflection in the window. Her silver-white hair hung loose around her shoulders, no longer confined by the elaborate updos her mother insisted upon. Without the bindings that had been her constant companion for years, her chest strained against the thin fabric of her shirt.

She looked… different. Softer, perhaps. But her eyes were the same—fierce, determined, brooking no argument.

Melody’s reflection appeared behind her, worry etched across her features. “The Dowager Duchess won’t approve,” she said softly.

Skylar’s jaw clenched. “The Dowager Duchess can—” She cut herself off, taking a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to take out her frustrations on Melody or speak ill of her mother. “Mother will understand.”

“But the noblemen you’ve been meeting?—”

“Those preening peacocks?” Skylar’s lip curled. “They’re not worth the effort it takes to smile at their pathetic jokes. Did you see Lord Brigman yesterday? The way he stared at my chest while prattling on about his hunting exploits?”

“He did seem rather… fixated.”

“I wanted to grab his chin and force him to look me in the eye,” Skylar growled, pacing the room. “Or better yet, to press my sword to his throat for daring to touch my back.”

“My lady!” Melody gasped, scandalized but unable to hide her amusement entirely.

Skylar’s smile faded, replaced by bitter resignation. She slumped into a nearby chair, suddenly drained. “But I couldn’t, could I? I’m a distant relative now. No power, no authority. Just another pretty face for them to dismiss.”

“Don’t say that…” Melody moved to Skylar’s side, her hand hovering uncertainly, as if unsure whether to offer comfort or maintain the proper distance between servant and mistress.

Skylar waved her off, changing the subject abruptly. “How is Noire?” The question came out more vulnerable than she intended, betraying her longing for her faithful warhorse.

Melody’s expression softened with sympathy. “Lonely, my lady. The stable hands say he barely eats.”

“I see.” Skylar’s throat tightened. She knew how he felt, being back in a place called home that didn’t feel like one.

A tentative knock at the door made them both jump. Skylar nodded to Melody, who moved to answer it.

“It’s Her Grace, my lady,” Melody announced, stepping aside to reveal Skylar’s mother, resplendent in a gown of deep blue that shimmered in the afternoon light. In her arms, she cradled Conley, the infant’s tiny fist curled against her chest.

Skylar’s heart tightened when she saw him. Her replacement. The true heir.

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