Page 89 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

“P-please,” he stammered, dropping to his knees. Snot and tears mingled on his face, dripping onto once-pristine armor. “Mercy!”

Skylar’s lips curled into a snarl, mirrored by the Gryphon’s fearsome beak. Mercy? Where was their mercy when they attacked her kingdom? Her people? When they threatened everything she held dear?

The Gryphon’s talons closed around the soldier, crushing slowly. With a sickening crunch, it squeezed. Ribs splintered. Organs ruptured. Bones snapped like twigs. Blood and worse spattered the floor.

Skylar’s gaze swept over assembled nobles, cowering behind overturned tables or pressed against walls. Horror in their eyes, revulsion as they watched the Gryphon drop the mangled corpse. Several retched, stomach contents joining the carnage on once-pristine marble.

Good. Let them see. Let them remember.

Briefly, silence fell. Thorncrest’s men lay dead or dying, blood seeping into floor cracks. Skylar allowed a moment of satisfaction, the Gryphon preening bloodstained feathers.

But victory was short-lived.

The grand doors burst open, wood splintering as a fresh wave of enemies poured in. Eyes wild, filled with fanatical light beyond mere loyalty.

“For the glory of Thorncrest!” one of them roared.

The Gryphon’s head snapped around, gaze locking onto the new threat. Through their bond, Skylar felt its muscles coil, ready to spring.

But something was wrong.

He wasn’t heading for her or Arye. His gaze fixed on a different target.

King Lyinell.

The King stood frozen on his dais, eyes wide with terror. For all his bluster and cruelty, he looked pathetically small in that moment.

Skylar’s instincts warred within. Part of her—remembering every slight, every cruel word—wanted to let the King fall. But the Gryphon’s nature, bound by ancient pact to protect the Clawborne line, surged forward.

With a thunderous sweep of its wings, the Gryphon catapulted across the room. But even as they moved, King Lyinell’s panicked voice rang out.

“Duke Anathemark, I command?—”

The words died in his throat as cold steel pressed against it.

But it wasn’t Thorncrest men he faced.

Arye stood before his father, Skylar’s sword—his sword—held steadily at the King’s neck. His eyes blazed with fury.

“Father,” Arye’s voice dripped venom, each word precise and cutting. “She knows she is supposed to protect your pitiful existence. She didn’t just start doing that today.”

The Gryphon’s talons lashed out, catching the attacker mid-leap and slamming him against the wall with a nauseating snap. But Skylar barely noticed. All her attention focused on the tableau before her.

Arye leaned in close, lips nearly brushing the King’s ear. “So don’t you ever dare command her again.”

King Lyinell’s face drained of color, gaze darting between his son and the monster looming over them. Never before had Skylar seen real fear in those cold eyes.

“This is treason!” he hissed, voice trembling.

Arye’s laugh was cold and brittle. “Treason? It doesn’t look like the Divine Beast cares about that.”

He was right.

The curse didn’t react, forcing Skylar to protect the King. The Gryphon didn’t seem tensed at all. It just looked at them, curious, interested even. Like a cat observing a particularly fascinating mouse.

With a jolt, Skylar’s consciousness slammed back into her body. She gasped as sensation flooded her limbs, disoriented for a heartbeat. The world spun, colors blurring and sounds distorting as her mind struggled to reconcile two separate existences.

For the very first time since summoning the cursed beast, Skylar became aware of her physical form. On her knees, silk gown and countless hairpins pooled around her. Silver-white hair hung in tangles, blood on her lips.

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