Page 3 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, grimacing at the red stains on silver-white hair. Another night of secret washing and praying it dries in time. Who needs sleep anyway? The constant vigilance wore on her, a never-ending dance of deception that left her exhausted to her very bones.

“I had that one,” Arye remarked from beside her, amusement coloring his usual cold tone.

“You’re welcome, Your Highness.” Skylar held his gaze, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. She savored these moments of lightness amidst the darkness of war.

Arye leaned in slightly, his voice dropping so only she could hear. “Always watching my back, aren’t you, Sky?”

The intimacy of her nickname on his lips sent a jolt through her body. She met his intense gaze, acutely aware of their proximity. The scent of leather, sweat, and something uniquely him filled her senses, making her head spin. “Someone has to.”

As the last of their immediate attackers fell, Skylar allowed herself a moment to catch her breath. Her lungs burned with each inhalation, the smoky air doing little to ease her exhaustion. Before her lay a nightmarish expanse of carnage and destruction. The armies of Regalclaw and Thorncrest had been locked in this deadly dance for weeks, neither side gaining a clear advantage. The futility of it all weighed heavily on her shoulders.

A piercing scream cut through the battlefield’s clamor, shattering Skylar’s moment of respite. Her head whipped around, heart pounding as she searched for the source. There, not far from where she stood, a young Regalclaw soldier lay writhing on the ground. His leg was a mangled mess of flesh and bone, blood pooling beneath him and soaking into the muddy earth. The sight turned Skylar’s stomach, bile rising in her throat.

Without thinking, she rushed to his side, her boots slipping in the gore-slicked mud. She dropped to her knees beside him, ignoring the wet squelch and the warmth seeping through her breeches. “Hold on, soldier,” she commanded, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the churning in her gut. She tore a strip of cloth from her undershirt, wincing as the movement pulled at her bindings.

“Your Grace,” the boy gasped, face ashen, gaze wide with shock. “I… I can’t feel my leg.”

Skylar worked quickly as she tied the makeshift tourniquet. The fabric turned crimson instantly, warm liquid seeping through her fingers.

“You’ll be fine,” she said.

It was a lie. She knew better. This hellish battlefield had taught her harsh truths. She’d seen too many like him. Blood loss or infection—one would claim him. The odds were never good.

“What’s your name?” she asked, buying him moments of hope. It was all she could offer.

“B-Billy, Your Grace,” he stammered, awe mingling with fear in his expression.

“Well, Billy,” Skylar said, mustering a smile that felt more akin to a grimace, “you’ve done your duty. Now let’s get you out of here.”

She signaled to nearby medics, who hurried over with a stretcher. As they set it down, Skylar heard a soft thud following by Billy’s agonized cry piercing the air. His hand shot out, grasping her sleeve. His blood-slick fingers held on like a lifeline. But it wasn’t.

“Your Grace,” he gasped, voice weak but urgent. “Where… where are they taking me?”

A wave of emotion crashed over Skylar, making it hard to swallow. She looked down at the boy, barely old enough to behere, his expression twisted with pain, eyes searching hers for comfort. She met his gaze, forcing a gentle smile.

“You’re going home, Billy,” she said softly, the lie heavy on her tongue, threatening to choke her.

Relief washed over his face, a trembling smile forming. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he whispered, his grip loosening. As they lifted Billy onto the stretcher, Skylar felt Arye’s presence behind her. The warmth of his body was a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in her bones.

“Your attention belongs elsewhere,” Arye stated coldly. She could feel his gaze boring into her back.

She turned to him, her jaw set in determination. “Every life matters, Arye. You taught me that, remember?” The words hung between them, heavy with shared memories and unspoken emotions.

Arye’s expression hardened for a split second, then smoothed into unreadable calm. “That was a long time ago,” he said, his voice cold as the wind that whipped around them. “Priorities change.”

The sound of hoofbeats grew louder, muffled by the blood-soaked earth. Skylar turned to see Captain Knox approaching at a gallop, his weathered face grim beneath the gory spatter that marked him like war paint. She noticed Arye’s demeanor shift beside her, becoming more rigid, more regal. The demeanor of the Crown Prince.

“Your Grace. Your Highness.” the Captain’s gravelly timbre carried the toll of years of service, each word seeming to age him further. “News from our spies. Enemy reinforcements are on the way. Moving through the eastern pass.”

Skylar’s stomach dropped, but her features remained composed. “Numbers?”

“At least a thousand. They’ll be on us by nightfall.”

Shit. They were already stretched thin, their forces barely holding the line. If Thorncrest managed to outflank them… Her mind raced through potential strategies, each one more desperate than the last.

“We need to regroup,” she began, her tone measured but urgent. She could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on her, threatening to crush her beneath its burden. “Pull our forces back to-“

“Captain,” Arye’s voice cut through the air, sharp and decisive. Skylar flinched at the interruption. “Prepare the men. We attack at dusk.”

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