Scarred(Never After #2)(21)
Why would I touch her at all?
She’s right. If anyone knew, it would be disastrous. My brother would jump on the chance to arrest and put me to death. He wouldn’t actually be able to kill me, of course. I’d be gone before he could announce the trial but being outcast to the shadowed lands isn’t helpful to my goals at the moment.
Anger whips through me like a windstorm and I turn a glare on Lady Beatreaux. Is she bewitching me on purpose?
“Stop looking at me like that,” she hisses.
“Such a smart mouth,” I snap. “Watch how you speak to your prince.”
Her lip curls. “You are absolutely insane, aren’t you?”
My teeth grind, irritation slashing against my skin.
“Your Highness,” a deep voice booms off the stone walls, a royal guard walking toward us. He stops a few paces away and bows.
“What?” I hiss, twisting toward him.
His gaze bouncing between us. “Am I interrupting?”
Annoyance licks at my spine, but before I can reply, Lady Beatreaux steps forward, her energy having changed in the blink of an eye into something harsher. Something more regal.
Her head rises high, her back is straight, and she looks every bit like the queen she’s about to become. “Who are you to question him?”
My cock throbs so violently I have to bite back the groan.
The guard’s eyes narrow and he points to his chest. “I’m a commander in the king’s army.”
“And she is your new queen,” I snap, moving so she’s behind me.
The guard’s gaze widens as he looks back and forth between us, and it’s only then I realize he may have seen more than I thought.
I brush my hand down the sleeve of my black tunic, annoyed that I have to take time out of my day to solve this issue. “What’s your name?”
“Antony,” he replies.
“Antony.” I smile. “Is anyone expecting you?”
He shakes his head, caution waving like yellow flags in his eyes.
“Wonderful. You’ll come with me then. I was just on my way to collect a guard about a pressing security matter.” I tip my head toward Lady Beatreaux. “Milady, I trust you can find your own way to my brother?”
She stares at me for so long, I become convinced she knows what I’m about to do, and I expect her to step in and put a stop to it, the way anyone else would.
But instead, she drops into the slightest curtsy, her eyes never leaving mine. “Your Highness.”
And then she walks away.
CHAPTER 12
Tristan
It continually surprises me how easy it is to end a person’s life. Even as a boy, I never felt the type of attachment others do, and there’s only been one death that’s affected me.
Everyone else can rot.
Still, I’ve always known that I’m just a bit different. Smarter than most? Unspeakably. More fit to rule? Undoubtedly.
When you’re forced on the fringes of society, yet required to be there, you notice things that go missed when you’re paraded in the middle of the stage like a puppet.
And most people, I find, are imbeciles.
Face value is the only truth, and blind trust is something often found in spades. Which, I suppose, explains the popularity of my brother. He isn’t particularly charming, and he doesn’t have the brains to be clever or witty. But he’s conventionally attractive and spent his life being the crowned prince, and for the masses, that’s enough.
Even though Michael excelled in nothing but pushing down others in order to feel strong, people often want to believe the ones placed on pedestals deserve to be there.
But you don’t need to have brawn to subdue and exert power.
True power lies in the ability to harness energy and wield it like a sword, becoming the puppeteer that masters all the strings instead of the marionette being forced to dance. Years of being tortured under Michael’s hands taught me that; him and his pack of friends, laughing as they pushed my face into dirt and told me I wasn’t worth the mud being caked in my cuts.
They stole my power every day.
It wasn’t until many years later that I learned to take it back, and it wasn’t until my father’s death that I craved to take theirs too.
Something sharp pricks at my chest and I shake off the thought, placing my hand on the shoulder of the royal guard as we reach the entrance to the dungeons. He glances back at me, his nerves so potent I can taste them in the air. I wave my arm toward the narrow staircase.
“The security issue is down here, sir?” His voice pinches.
“Please, give me some credit.” I chuckle. “Would I bring you here for any other reason?”
He shakes his head. “No, of course not, I just… this isn’t really my area.”
“Your area is wherever I tell you it is.”
He swallows, his eyes growing large. “Of course.”
I follow behind him as we move into the dungeons, our footsteps reverberating off the dark walls as we walk down the concrete steps. The air is moist, and it smells like mold and despair, although there are no prisoners rotting away in the cells. Drips of water splash in the background from the castle’s plumbing, and the only other sound is the harsh breathing coming from the guard himself.