Scarred(Never After #2)(2)

It’s no secret there’s no love lost between her and me.

I grin, allowing my lips to peel back from my teeth as I look from one person to the next. The air thins and Lord Reginald, one of the council members, shifts in his velvet-backed chair.

“Relax.” I roll my eyes. “I won’t do anything untoward.”

Lord Reginald scoffs, and my attention falls to him. “Something you’d like to share, Reginald?”

He clears his throat, his cheeks growing ruddy, showcasing the nerves he’s trying so very hard to hide. “You’ll forgive me for not believing you, Tristan.”

I cock my head. “I think you mean Your Highness.”

His mouth purses before he bows his head. “Of course, Your Highness.”

My jaw tics as I take him in. Reginald has always been one of the weakest members of the council; bitter and jealous of everyone else. He attached himself to my brother’s side when they were young, and he stayed through every moment of torture inflicted on me through the years at Michael—and his pack’s—hands.

But I’m no longer a child, and they can’t bully me like they used to.

Xander pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sire, please. You need a wife. Your people need a queen.”

“They have one,” Michael booms, his head nodding toward our mother. “I do not wish to marry.”

“No one is asking you to stop your dalliances.” Xander sighs. “But these laws have been in place for generations. To not take a wife, it will make you look weak.”

“If you’re not up to the duty, brother, by all means, do us a favor and disappear.” I wave my hand through the air.

Michael’s eyes narrow as they snap to mine, the corner of his mouth twisting into a mocking grin. “And leave Gloria Terra to who, you?”

Chuckles burst from around the table, and my muscles tighten beneath the surface of my skin, the urge to show them all just how easily I could make them bow streaming through my insides.

The wooden clock snicks as its long hand moves, drawing my attention away.

It’s nearing supper.

My fingers tense as they run through the disheveled black strands of my hair, and I back up a pace toward the large double oak doors. “Well, this has been a treat,” I start. “But sadly, I’ve grown bored.”

“You’re not dismissed, Tristan,” Michael snaps.

“You do not dismiss me, brother,” I sneer, anger snapping at my chest. “I could not care less about which unfortunate soul will have the torment of you rutting into them for eternity.”

“So disrespectful,” Xander spits, shaking his head. “Your brother is the king.”

A grin spreads across my face and I lock my gaze on Michael’s, anticipation thrumming through my veins.

“Well then.” I incline my head. “Long live the king.”





CHAPTER 1





Sara B.





“You’ll leave in the morning.”

My uncle sips on his wine, his dark eyes like arrows soaring across the table and filleting the flesh of my chest. He’s never been an affectionate man, but he’s my family all the same, and we have the same goal.

To seek vengeance on the Faasa family for the murder of my father.

We have slotted many moving pieces carefully into place, ensuring that when the crowned prince was in need, I would be the one there to accept his hand. It’s only been one year since the death of my father, and two since that of the king, but finally, we’ve received word.

It’s time.

Arranged betrothals, while not uncommon, have gone slightly out of fashion in recent years. After all, it’s 1910, no longer the 1800s, and in all the storybooks, and even here in the poverty-ridden streets of Silva, people marry for love.

Or their idea of it, anyway.

But I’ve never been one with ideas of grandeur, thinking some white knight will ride in on his steed and save me like some helpless damsel in distress.

There may be distress, but I’m no helpless damsel.

Besides, sometimes the only way to enact genuine change is by becoming part of the machine and ripping out the broken pieces yourself. So, if I have to smile, flirt, and seduce my way into the new king’s good graces, that’s what I intend to do.

It’s my duty, after all.

To both my family and my people.

Silva, which was once known for its abundant lands and groundbreaking industrialization, has now become barren and lame. Cast to the side like an ugly redheaded stepchild, unworthy of the crown’s time or attention. Now we’re not known at all; drought and famine mixing with the despair that runs through the city streets like cracks in the pavement.

I suppose that’s what happens when you’re situated deep within a forest nestled high in the clouds. You become hard to see and easy to forget.

“You understand what’s at stake?” Uncle Raf asks, bringing me out of my reverie.

Nodding, I wipe my mouth with a white cloth napkin, placing it back in my lap. “Yes, of course.”

He grins, his skin crinkling as he taps his fingers on the bulbous top of his wood cane. “You’ll bring honor to our name.”

The heady sense of his approval lights me up like a cannon and I sit a little straighter in my chair, smiling back at him.