Scarred(Never After #2)(32)

It’s a shocking sight. I was convinced he didn’t know how to laugh at all. A hollow ache spreads through the center of my chest as I take them in, envious of the ease with which they enjoy each other’s company. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced that. I rack my brain, trying to come up with a single, solitary memory of letting my guard down and just being with another person, but I come up blank.

The ache grows, wrapping itself around the chambers of my heart and squeezing.

A muffled laugh soars through the trees, but it’s enough to call my attention away and pique my curiosity. It’s coming from the edges of the forest, and without thinking it through, I follow the noise, walking straight into the pine.

Twigs break beneath my feet, and I fist the fabric of my skirts, hiking them up as I make my way through the trees, searching for the laughter. And then two figures at the base of a thick evergreen appear, and my footsteps stutter as I grasp at the trunk in front of me, shrouding myself in the shadows of its leaves.

Simon sits cross-legged, his eyes wide and his mouth spread in a giant smile. But it’s the man he faces that steals my breath. Prince Tristan sits on the dirt ground, mirroring Simon’s position, his back hunched and his disheveled black hair falling over his forehead as his brows furrow in concentration. He holds Simon’s arm steady in one hand, his other one moving back and forth, the tip of a fountain pen pressed against Simon’s limb.

He’s the most casual I’ve ever seen him, wearing black trousers with matching suspenders over a cream tunic, rolled up at the sleeves. My core spasms, heat rushing through every vein.

They haven’t noticed me yet, so I take the opportunity of being invisible, my eyes glossing over Tristan’s body, the drawings on his forearms coming to life with his movements, as if they’re living, breathing things instead of artwork inked into his skin.

He looks unguarded, his features softer than normal as he leans over, the corners of his mouth tilting up while Simon continues to giggle next to him.

“Stay still, little lion.” His voice is low and raspy, and the memory of his whispered words in the cathedral sends goose bumps sprouting along my neck.

“It tickles,” Simon says back.

I blow out a heavy breath, trying to control the ridiculous way my body is reacting to a simple thought, and I shift on my feet. A twig breaks and Simon’s head snaps up, his eyes squinting as they land on mine.

Tristan doesn’t even falter from his movements, ignoring that there was any noise at all.

“Hi, lady.” Simon beams. “What are you doing here?”

My heart pounds in my chest, making my hands clammy and I clear my throat as I make my way closer, my eyes flickering between the two of them.

“Exploring,” I reply, smiling. “What are you doing?”

Simon’s grin widens, his toy sword lying at his side.

As I look closer, I notice one of his eyes has a dark hue marring the light brown of his skin and making it look welted and purple.

I inhale a deep breath but don’t allow my gaze to linger, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, even though the thought of something or someone striking this boy makes my blood boil like a volcano about to burst.

Glancing down, I realize Tristan is, in fact, drawing on Simon. And he hasn’t acknowledged me at all, which makes my insides itch. I move even closer and my foot snags on yet another branch. A slight twinge radiates through my ankle, and I hiss at the pain.

“Perhaps next time you decide to traipse through forests you should dress for the occasion,” Tristan says, his voice soothing my skin like a soft caress.

I scoff and narrow my eyes. But he still isn’t looking at me, keeping his focus on Simon’s arm.

“I’m not traipsing, I heard a laugh and came to investigate.”

Now he stops, glancing up at me. “You’re out here all alone?”

“Yes.” I lift my chin. “Well, technically, Timothy and Paul are back in the garden.” I twist around to glance behind me. “They’re probably searching for me.”

Simon snickers. “I bet they’re happy you left.”

“That’s not very nice.” My hands drop to my hips. “I’ll have you know I’m fantastic company.”

“Well, yeah, but Timmy and Paul love each other.”

My brows draw in. “What do you…”

“Simon.” Tristan’s voice is sharp.

My eyes bounce between them, but I let it go, filing away the information for later. Instead, I drop down, ignoring the way my corset digs into the very tops of my thighs from the maneuver. I don’t want Tristan to know that he’s right, that it is uncomfortable to be here with what I’m wearing.

“What are you drawing?”

Simon chews on his lip. “I wanted a tattoo, but he said no.”

“So, it’s a temporary one then?” I lean in closer to look.

And when I do, my lungs compress as if someone reached inside my chest and stole my very breath. I’ve seen artwork before. Hundreds of paintings hang in the castle, and dozens more at my home in Silva. But I’ve never seen art like this. My eyes widen, heart thudding as I scoot forward to get a better look.

It’s stunning, and a knot lodges its way into my throat, the simple act of looking at it causing emotion to surge through my middle and lock itself into the cracks of my soul. The way Tristan’s hand glides across his skin like a boat on top of water sends tingles trickling through me, as if he’s touching me with every stroke. It’s incredible, the way he commands the pen; intricate lines and shading from a device I can’t even get to bleed right onto paper.