Scarred(Never After #2)(40)

I wish to know that you’re dead.

Tapping my nails on the table, I lean in. “I want to know what will make you a great king.”

His smile drops, and anxiety plugs in the center of my chest until it feels as though my air has run stale.

“Are you insinuating I am not already great, Lady Beatreaux?” His voice is deeper, a sharp edge lining the tone.

I shake my head. “I’m simply asking what the people will remember you for. As your wife, it’s my duty to highlight those features, to accent them. I must know your plans if I’m to be a suitable complement at your side.”

His head cocks, his thick fingers rubbing against his jaw.

My heart thrums against my ribs and I lean in closer. “What makes you great, King Michael Faasa III?”

His eyes flare, but before he can continue, a knock sounds on the door and my cousin, Xander, walks in, a thin smile spreading across his face.

“You two look cozy.”

Michael breaks our stare and sits back in his chair, his gaze flashing to me one more time before he grins at my cousin. “She is to be my wife, Xander. Did you think we wouldn’t enjoy each other’s company?”

“One can never be too sure, sire. Marriages aren’t always about compatibility.”

Michael stands, walking over to his oversized oak desk and flipping open the container of his cigar case that sits on the edge. “Well, lucky for us, my bride is beautiful and pleasant at conversation. We’re more than—”

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his face draining of all its blood until it’s a ghastly white, his eyes growing as large as cylinders.

“Sire?” Xander says, his face pulling tight with tension.

“What is it?” I ask, standing up from my chair, alarm circling through my veins. “Are you alright?”

Michael’s jaw tenses, his hand wrapping around something in the box before he drops it and backs away, shaking his head.

“Your Majesty,” Xander tries again.

Michael’s face pinches as he turns to me, his eyes narrowed and panic swirling through their depths. “Did you do this?”

The sudden shift in his personality throws me off guard, my defenses rising.

“Do what?” I move toward the desk and peer in the case.

There are half a dozen cigars arranged perfectly, and right on top is a black handkerchief with gold lining, the initials MFII engraved in the corner.

Realizing they’re his father’s, I reach out to touch, but Michael flies forward, smacking my hand back. “Don’t touch it, stupid woman.”

I gasp, bringing my palm to my chest.

“Sire, please.” Xander moves up next to me, his brows drawn as he reaches out to touch my arm. “Are you alright?”

I nod, my mind racing a thousand miles a minute as I watch Michael pace back and forth behind the desk, his fingers pulling at the strands of his hair.

“Xander, look at this.” He throws his arm toward the open case. “What are we going to do about this? I’m not crazy, I told you I wasn’t crazy.”

My stomach tightens as I watch the scene unfold. Xander walks forward, peeking into the box, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. His shoulders stiffen the slightest amount, and his head snaps up, staring at me just like Michael did. As if I’m the one who somehow put his father’s handkerchief in the case.

He sighs, looking over at Michael. “There’s an easy explanation for this, I’m sure.”

“Then explain it,” Michael snaps, his fist slamming on the desktop, making the foundation tremble.

Xander’s eyes flick between us, his voice coming out controlled and slow, as if he’s trying to tame the beast before it leaps from its cage and tears us to shreds. “Your Majesty, perhaps it’s time we sent Lady Beatreaux back to her quarters before continuing this conversation?”

My jaw stiffens. I don’t want to leave. I want to know what’s happening. “I think if there’s an issue that’s worrying to His Majesty, it’s imperative I stay, if only to provide support.”

Michael takes large, quick steps over, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. His energy is manic; it winds through the air and wraps around me, vibrating until it sinks into my bones. And while his touch is warm, there’s no comfort there.

No spark.

There is, however, a slight tremble.

“You are a treasure,” he says, his eyes flicking from me to the wall and then back. “And I’ve overreacted. That handkerchief is... important to me. I thought I had lost it forever.”

His thumb tips up my chin. “Maybe you’re my good luck charm.”

I force a smile. “I hope to be more than that.”

He grabs my hand then, pulling it to his chest. I let him and notice how quickly his heart is racing beneath his clothes. If I were a naive girl, I’d think it had to do with me.

But I know the truth.

Something has spooked him.

And it’s something to do with his dead father.





CHAPTER 22





Tristan





When I mentioned the abandoned cabin to Antony before I snapped his neck, I wasn’t lying.

I found it one day after escaping from my brother and his pack. I’m not sure who originally owned the place, and I know even less about who inhabited the inside, but I do know in the ten years since I found it, there hasn’t been another living soul that’s known of its existence, or been inside the shoddy, crumbling walls.