Scarred(Never After #2)(14)

I wave my free hand toward the woman at my feet. “This beautiful soldier—this warrior—trusted in me.” I gaze down at her, my touch moving back to her jaw and stroking her pallid skin as my eyes meet hers. “Loyalty. The highest kind. The type that is rewarded.”

My focus goes back to the people. “Aren’t we tired of growing hungry while the noble gorge and feast?”

Angry murmurs whisper through the air, their grievances music to my ears.

“Aren’t we exhausted of being spit on and forgotten, as if we aren’t the ones keeping Gloria Terra afloat?” I slam my free hand into my chest. “Isn’t it time for us to rise up and rise against?”

Cheers erupt, fists banging on the worn tables.

“Down with the king!” someone yells.

A laugh escapes from my throat and I raise a palm in the air, quieting them, their attention rapt once again.

“Trust in me friends, and I promise… I’ll lead you home.”

Belinda cries, dropping into a bow so deep her arms splay in front of her and her nose skims the floor.

Everyone else in the crowd follows suit, lowering their bodies to the ground, their heads dipped in subservience.

Satisfaction sneaks through my veins, and a smirk tips the corner of my lips. My eyes meet Edward’s as he kneels in the back corner. I nod, pleased at the way he freed our messenger from the dungeons and brought her back.

This was important. A statement. One that shows everyone I keep my word and will keep them safe. This is but a small portion of the support I’ve garnered, but it’s enough for the message to spread.

It’s hardly the truth, but perception is reality, and not everything is a lie.

I’m the one who will storm the castle and burn it all to the ground; along with my brother, his queen, and anyone else who gets in my way.

I’m the one who will rebuild Gloria Terra. The way it should be.

And if these peons are casualties in the war?

I search for a modicum of empathy to their plight but come up blank. They’re simply tools. Plain and crude outcasts that have found safety within me.

Their Lord. Their savior.

And the leader of the rebellion against the king.





CHAPTER 8





Sara B.





I have seen no one of importance in three days. Sighing, I shuffle the playing cards, my eyes glancing around the table at my brand-new ladies-in-waiting.

Ophelia, a young girl with rosy cheeks and bright red hair, and Marisol, a woman who is here to help train me for the king. Both of them sit in front of me, whispering words of adoration any time I so much as blink.

Part of me is disgusted because I know their loyalty is false, but the other part is enjoying their attention. There’s something nice about being treated so well, even if it comes from a place of wanting to climb a social ladder.

Still, I wonder which of them are here on behalf of their families, hoping to bed my future husband and become his mistress.

I wonder how many already have.

Not that it bothers me either way. It’s well known that kings take pleasure from many sources, and it’s even more well known that King Michael prefers a buffet and isn’t particular about his tastes.

The more he gets it from somewhere else, the less he’ll have need of me.

He’ll be after my purity, of course, and he’ll wish to produce an heir. I don’t intend to let things get that far.

“This is quite boring, isn’t it?” I say, placing down the cards and tapping my nails on the table.

Sheina stands behind me, brushing through my hair as she laughs. “Milady likes to go on adventures. When we were girls, you couldn’t bribe her to stay still for a second.”

I huff out a breath, rolling my eyes as I lock my gaze on the youngest girl in the room. “Don’t listen to her, dear Ophelia. I’m perfectly fit to sit here and… drink tea all day and eat crumpets.”

Giggles burst around the table, and I smile, something warming the center of my chest when I do.

“Now...” I take advantage of the new camaraderie and lean forward. “Tell me about these rebels.”

Ophelia’s green eyes widen and Marisol shifts in her seat, fingers brushing over her blonde hair.

Interesting.

“Did I say something inappropriate?” I ask. “Apologies if I did. I overheard talk and got curious, but from your reaction, I can see it’s a sensitive subject.”

I pause, allowing my words to linger in the air before I continue. “You know… You should tell me, anyway. I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself in front of anyone, most of all the king.” I place a hand on my chest, giggling. “Can you imagine?”

Ophelia hesitates before leaning in close. “They’re the outliers.”

“Outliers?”

She nods, and Marisol purses her lips before adding, “Filth is what they are. Disgusting creatures who think they have a right to live on our level.”

My stomach tightens. “Do they not?”

Ophelia shakes her head. “They’re criminals. People say they smoke and drink until they can’t see straight, and then sneak into the upper east side and snatch people right off the streets.”

“For what purpose?” My brows draw in.