Scarred(Never After #2)(44)

I laugh in disbelief, the blades strapped beneath my dress calling me, making me itch to stamp out his ignorance forever. “Oh, Alexander. I think it’s you who’s the abomination.”

Spinning around, I storm away, my insides seething.

How dare he.

Simon stands beneath the large weeping willow in the back corner of the court, his front leg stomping forward as he thrusts out his arm. “En garde!”

Warmth spreads through my chest and extends through my limbs as I make my way toward him, and I wonder, not for the first time, how anyone can be so cruel to such an innocent soul.

Stopping a few meters away, I watch him sword fighting with the air. My heart squeezes when I remember the bruising of his eye and the tears in his voice, and I wonder if he’s by himself because he doesn’t have anyone else to play with.

“Keep your wrist straight,” I call out.

He spins around, his eyes squinting as he zones in on me.

“Hey, lady.” He beams. “What d’you know about fighting?”

“More than you think.” I smirk. “Come here, let me show you what to do.”

I wave at him, and he skips over, gracing me with a beautiful, toothy grin. I spin him around by his shoulders, placing his hands in front of me, and straightening out his form. Then I brush my fingers along the tops of his arms, jostling him just a little. “You can’t be so tense, Simon. Your body will never obey you if you’re stiff like a board.”

His tiny muscles relax, and I move my hand down to cover his as he grips the base of his sword.

“Be like water. Fluid and quick.”

“Water?” He scrunches his nose, and I move his arm, showing him what my father taught me when I was his age.

I step away, allowing him to continue the movements on his own.

“That’s right,” I say. “Water is the most powerful element in the world. Calm when needed and ferocious when tried. Never assume you know something’s power because of how it appears.”

He nods, his eyes wide. “How’d you get so smart?”

I brush off invisible lint from the sleeve of my arm. “You’d be surprised what a lady knows, Simon.”

“That’s right, you should never underestimate a woman. Especially this one,” someone booms from behind me.

The voice makes my heart dive into my stomach and I spin around, coming face-to-face with a broad chest and a sparkling smile.

“Uncle Raf,” I gasp. “What are you doing here?”

His icy blue eyes gleam as they trail me from head to toe, his weight leaning heavily on a dark wooden cane. “Hello, sweet niece.”

“And who are you?” Simon interrupts, having walked forward to stand in front of me, his sword pointing at Raf’s chest.

My uncle glances down, his smile withering away as he takes in who’s questioning him. My eyes narrow, the need to protect Simon surging through my blood like a fire.

“This is my uncle, Rafael Beatreaux.” I place my hand on Simon’s shoulder.

“And this is His Majesty,” I say to Raf, my eyes widening.

Simon glances up at me, his amber eyes sparkling. My breath whooshes from me as I look at him, realizing for the first time that his eyes bear a striking resemblance to Michael.

My chest caves in on itself.

No. Is he?

Uncle Raf laughs. “Surely, you jest.”

I shake my head. “No, he’s the king. Don’t you know how to greet royalty with respect?”

Simon’s chest puffs out. “Yeah. I’m the king.” He shoves the tip of his sword into uncle’s leg, and I stifle the laugh that wants to burst from me. “Bow before me.”

Raf glances between us, and with every second he doesn’t play along, my ire grows.

“Little lion.”

Two words and my insides flare to life.

My spine stiffens, hating the way my body reacts to the simple sound of his voice.

Simon spins on his heels, dropping his sword and tripping over himself to run and greet Tristan, and I can’t help it when my heart squeezes, seeing the genuine affection in Simon’s gaze.

He loves him.

And he might be the only one who does.

I glance up from Simon, meeting Tristan’s eyes. Butterflies explode in the pit of my stomach, and dread follows, wishing that I could force them away. I don’t want them.

“Is that…” Uncle Raf’s hand reaches out to grip my forearm, but his touch is cold compared to the heat from the prince’s gaze.

“It is.” I step away, removing myself from his grasp.

“The scarred prince,” he whispers.

My chest twists.

“Don’t call him that,” I snap, turning to glare at him.

“Why is he staring at you like that?” he asks.

I blow out a breath and force a smile. “Probably wondering why I still exist. He isn’t my biggest fan.”

“Good,” he spits. “Keep it that way.”

He places out his arm, and I slip my hand through the crook, trying to ignore the way Tristan’s stare is burning a hole through my back.





CHAPTER 24





Sara B.





Marisol flits around me, making sure my gown flares in the appropriate spots and cinches where it’s supposed to. This is the last fitting before I wear it tomorrow night to the ball. And it’s stunning. Black lace overlay on cream silk with ruffled fabric that pulls in the waist, and a slight train trailing behind. The quartered sleeves are accented by black gloves that rest just over my elbow, and I’ve never felt more beautiful.