Scarred(Never After #2)(13)

His dark hair blows in the nighttime breeze as he looks over at me. “You and your brother need to set aside your differences. Faasa blood runs through your veins as surely as it does his. Together we rule, divided we fall. Remember that.”

I scoff, rubbing my swollen wrist, remembering how just a few hours earlier Michael shoved me into the dirt and called me a freak. “Tell him that.”

He chuckles. “Michael is still trying to find his place in this world.”

“And I’m not?” I ask, my voice rising in defense.

“From the moment you were born, you’ve been different.” He reaches out, tapping the center of my chest. “In here.”

Different.

My chest twists. I don’t want to be different. I just want to be left alone.

“You learned to talk faster,” he continues. “Walked sooner. And you were drawing as soon as you could hold charcoal in your little hands.”

I glance down at my fingers, flexing them in my lap, hissing as sharp pain shoots through the tendons of my throbbing wrist. Anger at Michael and his friends bubbles like a simmering pot in the pit of my stomach.

“It’s an admirable trait—to be so sure of yourself in a world without answers. An enviable one.”

My brows dip in confusion. “Why would Michael be envious of me? He gets all this.” I wave my arm over the forest and the darkened city streets just beyond, lit only by the full moon hanging above us in the sky.

My father sighs, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me in tighter to his side. “Sometimes, it’s hard to know who you are when there’s pressure to be something else. Your brother will be king one day.”

Pride coasts through the tone of his voice and my heart deep dives into my stomach, something heavy and green whipping through my insides.

“And you, my little lion, are free to roam.”

But I’m not free. I never have been—not really. Years later, and I’m still here in Gloria Terra. Glory of the earth.

Flicking the ash from my smoke, I raise the tips of my fingers to my scar, running them along the raised edge, something sour tightening my gut.

The moon is full, and it casts a glow on the darkened forest, the groans of wind the only sound other than the occasional howl from feral wolves, and the hoots from owls that frequent the observatory windows at night.

Pushing myself off the wall, I drop the burned paper and herb to the ground and crush it between my boot, before walking into the trees and away from the safety of the castle.





I scan the dilapidated room, taking in several dozen faces crammed together at the long tables and benches, all eyes focused on me. The air smells dank, as if the frequent rainstorms have weakened the foundation and sank its way through the interior, growing and rotting the wood from the inside out.

But The Elephant Bones Tavern isn’t a place known for its prosperity or its upstanding patrons.

It’s dangerous and exists amid the shadowed lands; a place they warn even the strongest soldiers to keep far away from. And until recently, it’s where I’ve spent most of my time, cultivating the watering hole as the home base for the rebels. Its owners are Belinda and her husband Earl, both of them faithful followers of my cause.

If you spend time within the inner circles of Saxum, however, you’ll hear the shadowed lands referred to by a different name.

The hyena battlegrounds. Where the rebels roam.

Although it’s said in jest by those with gold lining their pockets. The ones who have never had to suffer under the cruel hands of fate. People who allow ego to be their crutch, never taking the less fortunate seriously. Whispers of “rebels” mean nothing to them. And why would it? No one is stupid enough to go against the crown.

The Faasa family has reigned for centuries. We’re too strong. Too powerful. Too bold.

But with greed and power comes boastful ignorance and blind eyes to threats. Chinks in the armor that erodes until a chasm forms; big enough for someone to slip through and fracture the core from within.

Which isn’t a bad thing. I’d rather live in chaos, ruling over the rubble, than spend a second longer watching my brother sit on the throne.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“Sire,” a trembling voice breaks through the crowd, Belinda rushing through and throwing herself at my feet. Her bony hands snake out, her body bowing forward as her lips meet the top of my boot.

“You may rise.”

She moves to her knees, her dark eyes glimmering with unshed tears. I reach out to tip up her chin, and her palms wrap around my wrist. I swallow back the disgust at having her touch me, focusing on the fact that I gave her Reginald’s head, and she delivered, just the way I asked.

“You’ve pleased me,” I say.

“Anything for you, sire,” she whispers, staring up at me with clear adoration.

My hand moves from her face up to the top of her head, petting her hair and gazing out at the crowd.

“Let this be a lesson for all of you. While the roads ahead will be difficult and treacherous, they will also be paved with success. Stay prepared. There will be great sacrifice, and I will accept nothing less than absolute obedience. I know the gravity of the situation—of what I’m asking. But if you do for me, I swear.” I pause, moving my palm to rest over my heart, attempting to show sincerity through my movements and hoping it bleeds through my tone. “I will do for you.”