Page 90 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

But she could move.

Even with the Gryphon summoned, she retained control of her body. How was this possible?

No time to question.

King Lyinell’s shock gave way to rage, face contorting as he raised a hand to strike Arye.

Slowly, carefully, Skylar pushed herself up. Legs trembled, unused to supporting weight after stillness. But she forced herself to stand tall, placing herself between Arye and the King, gaze blazing with fury to match the Gryphon’s.

“Your Majesty,” she said, voice low and dangerous. “I wouldn’t.”

King Lyinell froze, gaze darting between Skylar and the looming Gryphon. His hand remained raised, trembling slightly. Then his eyes flickered, taking in the sea of watching faces.

Something in the King’s demeanor changed. Spine straightened, a mask of regal indifference slipping over features.

“Indeed,” he said at last, tone carefully controlled, “this requires a more… intimate conversation.”

Skylar felt Arye step up beside her, his presence solid and reassuring. “No matter the battlefield,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear, “I’ve got your back.”

Her heart pounded, fear and exhilaration coursing through her veins. This was it. No going back now. Her secret out, true identity laid bare for all. But for the first time in her life, she felt truly, completely herself.

The Gryphon’s screech split the air once more, drawing attention back to battle. Skylar’s head whipped around, following the beast’s intense gaze.

The ground beneath their feet trembled. For a heartbeat, Skylar thought it the Gryphon’s doing, but tremors intensified, growing into violent shakes. Remaining chandeliers swayed dangerously overhead. Cracks spider-webbed across once-pristine marble.

Then she saw it.

Emerging from splintered remains of the grand entrance was a monstrosity defying description. Its lower half a writhing mass of vines and roots, twisting and pulsing with unnatural life. But where a flower should have bloomed sat a torso—unmistakably human, yet horribly wrong.

The scent of rotting vegetation filled the air, so potent it made Skylar’s eyes water. Retching sounds echoed as the stench overwhelmed weaker constitutions.

As the creature fully entered the ballroom, Skylar’s breath caught in her throat. The human half was familiar—terrifyingly so.

38

Princess Quince. Or what was left of her.

The thing that had once been the Thorncrest princess fixed its gaze on Skylar. Lips peeled back in a grotesque smile, revealing rows of jagged, thorn-like teeth. Skylar’s stomach churned.

Thorns erupted from its skin. Green fluid oozed from the protrusions, sizzling as it hit the floor. The acrid stench of burning marble filled the air.

“Spinewood,” Captain Knox breathed. His face, usually stoic, was ashen. Blood splattered his armor, a stark crimson against the polished steel.

Skylar’s mind raced. The Gryphon stirred within her, ancient instincts recognizing a formidable threat. Talons and feathers wouldn’t be enough. Not for this.

Her eyes swept over the chaos. There—a fallen Thorncrest soldier. His sword gleamed dully in his lifeless grip.

She moved. Silk billowed around her legs as she darted forward. The wet squelch of flesh as she wrenched the blade free made her gag. But its weight felt right. Familiar. A small comfort in this nightmare.

“How did she escape?” Skylar turned to Arye, brow furrowed.

His face darkened. “There was a mole. I took care of it.”

A grin tugged at her lips, unbidden. “Of course you did.”

Their eyes met. Suddenly, the gravity of her deception crashed down. This was the first time she’d truly looked at him as herself. As a woman, not the Duke she’d pretended to be. Heat rose to her cheeks. She averted her gaze, shame and embarrassment warring within her.

“Sky—” Arye started to say, his voice soft.

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