Page 75 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

“Mother.” Skylar inclined her head. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

The Dowager Duchess’s eyes widened slightly at Skylar’s attire, but she recovered quickly. “Clearly,” she said, a trace of amusement in her tone. “Melody, would you be so kind as to fetch us some tea?”

“Tea for Mother, wine for me.”

As Melody scurried off, Skylar gestured to a pair of plush chairs near the window. “Please, sit. You shouldn’t be on your feet so soon after…” She trailed off, her eyes falling to Conley.

Her mother settled into one of the chairs, adjusting Conley in her arms. The infant stirred, tiny fists waving in the air before settling back into sleep. “After giving birth to your brother?” she finished, a wry smile playing at her lips. “I’m not made of glass.”

Skylar perched on the edge of the other chair, her posture rigid. “Of course not.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as Melody returned with the tea and wine. The servant moved with practiced efficiency, pouring a cup for the Dowager Duchess before presenting Skylar with a glass of rich, red wine. Skylar took a long sip, savoring the complex notes that danced on her tongue. The Eulogiant Red was a bittersweet reminder of simpler times.

“I haven’t heard from Fern,” Skylar said, breaking the silence. “Was she able to bring her family across the border safely?”

Her mother nodded, her expression grave. “Yes, thank the gods. But it was a close thing. The situation with Thorncrest grows more volatile by the day.”

Skylar’s fingers tightened around her glass. “There will be war,” she said, her voice flat and certain.

The Dowager Duchess studied her daughter for a long moment. “You sound so sure,” she murmured. “If it comes to that… you may need to return. As the Duke.”

Images flashed through Skylar’s mind—the glint of steel, the acrid smell of smoke, the thugs looming over her. She shrugged, forcing nonchalance into her voice. “If that’s what’s needed, I’ll do it. I don’t mind anymore.”

Her mother’s sharp intake of breath drew Skylar’s gaze upward. The Dowager Duchess was staring at her, concern etched in her face.

“You’ve changed,” she whispered.

Skylar’s shoulders slumped, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the rim of her wineglass. “I was always like this, Mother. I know this isn’t what you wanted for me.”

Her mother reached out, clasping Skylar’s hand in her own. Her touch was warm, comforting in a way Skylar hadn’t realized she’d been craving. “Oh, my darling girl. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. Are you? Truly?”

The question hung in the air. Skylar looked to the crumpled dress on the floor, then to the stack of letters on her desk. Arye’s missives stood out among them, each one a dagger to her heart.

Come back.

I need you at my side.

Don’t do something you might regret.

“I’m… adjusting.”

Her mother followed her gaze, her eyes lingering on the pile of silk. “You don’t like them, do you? Dresses, I mean.”

Skylar opened her mouth to lie, to reassure her mother that everything was fine. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she found herself transported back to that night in the palace gardens. The cool grass under her feet, the scent of jasmine. Arye’s hand on her waist, sliding beneath her nightgown, fingertips tracing fire along her bare thigh.

“There was one time.” Skylar’s gaze dropped to her hands. “When I felt like the woman I was meant to be.”

Understanding dawned in her mother’s eyes. “Oh, Skylar?—”

“I know,” Skylar cut her off, unable to bear hearing the words aloud. The pity was too hard to endure. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s in the past. Maybe it was just a dream.”

The Dowager Duchess was quiet, absently stroking Conley’s downy hair. “You know,” she said finally, “dresses can be a form of armor too. They protect us, in their own way. They keep men from seeing too much, from taking liberties.”

Skylar couldn’t help the derisive snort that escaped her. She glanced down at her chest, acutely aware of how it was noticeable against the contours of her shirt. “I don’t mind if they look,” she said, challenge in her voice. “And I’d rather have a sword than armor. I prefer to attack, not defend.”

A soft chuckle from her mother caught Skylar’s attention. The Dowager Duchess was shaking her head, a fond smile on her face. “You are so like your father,” she mused, her tone tingedwith nostalgia. “He never could stand to be on the defensive either.”

“Tell me about him,” Skylar said suddenly, surprising herself with the request. “What would he think of… all this?”

---