Scarred(Never After #2)(37)

“Will you show me?” I press.

He’s silent for long, strained moments, the muscle in his jaw tensing over and over. Finally, he nods.

A smile creeps on my face, satisfaction worming its way through my veins.

He reaches to his side, placing his hand on a wall sconce. I watch his movements, fascinated, my heart pumping in my ears.

I wonder if when I look back, I’ll think of this moment as the one where I realized everything hides in plain sight. Because the wall I was just staring at disappears, revealing a dark and narrow passage in its place.





CHAPTER 20





Tristan





When Michael and I were children, my father was often too busy to spend time with us, and my mother didn’t care. Even if she had, that’s not how it works in the monarchy. Queens aren’t meant to raise their offspring; they’re only meant to birth them.

As a result—and as was expected—nannies were the ones who brought us up. The other kids who roamed the halls were families of the servants, ones who we either weren’t allowed to play with, or they weren’t allowed to play with us. But Michael somehow always had his group of friends, and they would never miss an opportunity to come find me and rain down terror.

I was easy prey. I had no interest in being the center of attention, and much preferred staying on the sidelines with my sketchbook, watching how everyone else interacted.

You can learn a lot about human nature when you observe from the outside looking in.

For some reason, my brother didn’t enjoy that about me. He’s enjoyed nothing about me, nor I him. We’re connected only by blood, and even as a child, I would imagine chaining him up by his limbs and draining him of every drop, if only to sever our connection.

Back then, of course, I didn’t have the wherewithal.

And it only takes so many times of being thrown in the dirt and told you’re a freak for you to believe it. That because you’re a little different, you’re somehow less than.

It was beat into me by angry fists and brushed off as “kids will be kids.” And the fact that when it came down to family, I was unseen and unimportant, compounded the feeling. Being the second-born son gave me freedom, yet they forced me to live it in Michael’s shadow.

But at least for a time, my father cared.

He would take me to the cliff’s edge, showing me the constellations and how even in the darkest of nights, they light the way home. I treasured the quiet evenings with him because it was the only time I felt like I belonged. He saw me, and he loved me.

But as I aged, the late-night meetings grew further and further apart, his time for me replaced with preparing Michael to be king.

Just like with everyone else, eventually, I was forgotten.

And the stars don’t shine as brightly when you stare at them alone.

Michael was the crowned prince, and I was just… me. So, I never understood why, when he had everything, he always made sure I had less than nothing, too.

I thought maybe as we grew older, things would get better, but the opposite turned out to be true. The shoves turned to prolonged torture, and bruised ribs turned into fractured bones. I slunk away into the secret tunnels of the castle just to get away.

It was then I realized they led through the mountains and into the middle of the forest. And it was also there I first decided to stop being Michael’s victim, spending hours visualizing the day I would take everything from him, and everyone else who wronged me, or stood by silently and watched.

That’s the thing about resentment. It grows and wraps around every piece of you like ivy, feeding off the anger until it’s so enmeshed that it becomes you. A living, breathing, pulsating incarnation of hatred.

And for me, the boy who was tossed to the side like garbage, I had nothing but time to pour water on the weeds. Let it fester and grow until it blotted out everything else.

Michael has always been stronger physically.

But I’m vastly more intelligent.

And he doesn’t deserve to sit on the throne.

The scar on my face twinges, and I shake it off, gritting my teeth as I focus back on the dark wood of the chest that I keep beneath my bed. My insides dance as I close the metal lock on the front and place it back in its hideaway spot, before grabbing a lit candle and making my way out of my room and into the hallway.

I move through the corridors until I make it into the tunnels. It’s the only way I can get to my brother’s office without being detected, and since it’s the middle of the night, no one will be around. The tunnels are dark and narrow, the chill from the stone seeping through the walls and settling in my bones. I pick up my pace, unadulterated joy trickling through my veins as I imagine his face when he sees what I’ve left for him.

Something makes a noise from around the corner, and I slow my footsteps, cocking my head to listen for it again.

Who would be in the tunnels at this time of night?

Few people even know of them.

A deep sigh reverberates off the walls, and as soon as I hear it, I relax, grabbing the rolled joint from behind my ear and leaning against the cold stone, bringing the candle to my lips to light it.

I blow a cloud of smoke into the air, one foot crossing over the other as I wait, sparks biting at the lining of my gut. Suddenly the footsteps stop, and besides the choppy sound of breathing, silence presses in around me.