Page 15 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

“I wonder why he didn’t summon the Divine Beast earlier,” another mused. “Could have saved a lot of lives.”

“Divine? There was nothing divine about it!” a third exclaimed, his voice trembling slightly. “It was unholy, I tell you.”

“Give me a good, honest sword any day over that… that abomination.”

“Shut up, you fools!” one of them hissed, fear evident in his tone. “It’s dangerous to talk like that. What if someone hears?”

Skylar’s steps faltered. She wanted to confront them, to defend herself, to explain… but what could she say? They weren’t entirely wrong.

She ducked into her tent, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The canvas walls seemed to close in around her, suffocating in their familiarity. She paced the small space, mind whirling with dark thoughts.

What were her ancestors thinking, making a pact with the devil? Did they know the true cost of the power they sought?

A life less than human. A will bound to the royal bloodline.

Skylar’s hands trembled as she reached for parchment and quill. She needed to write to her mother, to inform her of her impending visit. But as she stared at the blank page, the words wouldn’t come. How could she explain everything that had happened? The horrors she’d witnessed, the horrors she’d committed?

Her mother had her own burdens to bear. Being pregnant for nearly ten years was its own kind of hell, and Skylar couldn’t bring herself to add to that weight.

6

Skylar’s ears throbbed, her back ached, and she’d lost all feeling in her bottom. Smile, wave, smile. Just a few hours more and this would be over. She could do this.

The crowd’s roar threatened to drown her, its deafening enthusiasm pressing in from all sides. Flower petals rained down from balconies above, a fragrant storm of reds, whites, and golds that clung to her wig and clothing. The air was thick with the scent of victory—sweat and incense, spilled ale and roasting meat.

A petal tickled her nose, and she fought the urge to sneeze. Her fingers tightened on Noire’s reins, the leather warm and supple beneath her gloved hands. The warhorse snorted, and she felt his muscles tense beneath her. “Easy, boy,” she murmured, patting his glossy neck. “We’re almost through this.”

Regalton’s grand gates loomed ahead, and Skylar’s heart raced as she guided Noire through the threshold, the sounds swelling to near-painful levels. The gatehouse’s shadow offered a brief respite from the harsh sunlight before they emerged into the dazzling brightness of the main thoroughfare.

Banners bearing the royal gryphon crest fluttered in the breeze, their crimson and gold hues stark against the clear blue sky. The silk rippled and snapped in the wind, creating a hypnotic dance of color and movement. The steady clip-clop of hooves on cobblestones anchored her, a counterpoint to the chaotic cheers. Everywhere she looked, faces beamed from windows and doorways. Children perched on shoulders, waving tiny flags like fluttering butterflies.

Everyone seemed happy.

Everyone except the Crown Prince.

“Duke Anathemark!”

Arye’s hissed whisper barely reached her. Skylar hid her grin behind a yawn, pretending not to hear. She’d been ignoring his attempts to get her attention for the past few minutes, finding a childish sort of amusement in his growing frustration.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” Arye muttered, his tone a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

Skylar bent to pet Noire’s neck, using the motion to hide her snort of laughter. She straightened, gaze moving past Arye to where King Lyinell rode at the forefront. The King was resplendent in his golden armor, flanked by his most skilled guards. Arye and Skylar followed close behind, their horses’ hooves striking a steady rhythm against the cobblestone streets.

But they weren’t riding side by side, and that was the source of Arye’s irritation—and Skylar’s delight. There was nothing he could do to change that unless he wanted to embarrass himself in the middle of the victory procession.

Or so she thought.

Suddenly, Arye slowed Blanche’s tempo, causing confusion among the guards beside him. The white mare tossed her head, clearly annoyed at the change in pace. Skylar couldn’t do the same without risking a pile-up in the procession. Withinseconds, she found herself alongside him, unable to hide her laugh.

“Take your place beside me, Sky,” he whispered, victorious.

Skylar’s brow furrowed, a protest forming on her lips. “Your Highness, I can’t. Protocol dictates?—”

“To hell with protocol.”

“What?” Skylar looked around, checking if any of the guards had heard him. But if they had, they showed no reaction—probably valuing their lives over proper etiquette.

“You ended this war,” Arye continued, his gaze never leaving her face. “You deserve to be seen.”

---