Scarred(Never After #2)(63)

“Is that…?” I ask, my eyes flicking from Michael to my uncle.

Raf nods, his nostrils flaring as he slams the base of his cane on the floor.

“There’s a note,” Michael whispers, his voice cracking.

He slides a piece of paper to me, but before I can see what it says, the door swings open and Tristan waltzes inside as if he owns the room and everyone in it. His piercing jade eyes land on me, his gaze flicking up and down my frame, flaring as they coast over my unpinned hair.

“Tristan, finally.” Michael blows out a breath.

“You rang, brother?” Tristan smiles, walking farther into the room. “You look dreadful, bad sleep?”

“This is no time to be joking,” Uncle Raf cuts in. “I demand we call a meeting with the Privy Council.”

Confusion drops through me like a falling piece of paper. My uncle hates the Privy Council and everything they stand for. They’re partly why my father had to beg for aid in the first place; filled with selfish men who forgot about our country and became about greed.

“Uncle, honestly, what do you think the Privy Council could do?”

Again, he slams his cane on the ground. “Silence, girl. We don’t have time for stupid questions.”

His words smack across my face as surely as if it were his hand.

Tristan’s head snaps to him, his gaze narrowing.

Michael’s fist beats down on his desk, the strands of his usually slicked-back hair falling on his forehead. “You do not make demands of me, Rafael. I am the king, and you are no one.”

“With all due respect, you are only as strong as your weakest link, Your Majesty, and clearly there are a lot of weak links if my son is so easily taken.” Rafael steps closer, jabbing his finger in the air. “Your father would have never allowed this to happen.”

Silence. Tense, heavy silence.

“Not to interrupt this fascinating show,” Tristan drawls. “But why am I here?”

“Yes,” Michael snaps, turning to Rafael. “Leave. Before I take out a pistol and shoot you where you stand.”

“Your Highness, I—”

“I said leave!” His voice booms off the furniture and echoes around the walls so loud it vibrates my eardrums.

My eyes fly back and forth between them, my stomach tangling in knots.

Raf bows at the waist before standing upright and making his way toward me. He grips my arm, jostling me along with him as he pulls us to the door. I flinch at his tight hold, but allow him to drag me forward, not wanting to start a scene in front of the people we’re trying to rise against.

It’s important to look united in front of others.

Just as we reach the door, the pressure leaves my arm, relief flowing through the muscles as the ache disappears. I twist around, my heart faltering when I take in the way Tristan has my uncle’s hand in his grasp, bent at an awkward angle.

“Tristan!” I gasp, reaching out to separate them.

“Do you always handle women in such a way?” Tristan asks, ignoring my efforts.

My uncle grits his teeth. “She is my niece and my responsibility, Your Highness.”

“Then I suggest you take better care of your family.” He dips his head, eyes staring into mine as he whispers in my uncle’s ear. “Do not put your hands on her again.”

My chest pulls, wanting to calm the situation down. The last thing I need is my uncle becoming suspicious of why the prince cares. But beneath all that, there’s another feeling blooming like a spring flower, casting a warm glow from the middle of my chest.

It’s nice to be protected. To realize that someone has your back. Even if that someone is the very person who shouldn’t.

Tristan releases him then, barely sparing me another glance, before making his way back over to his panicked brother.

My uncle’s eyes narrow as he shakes out his hand, aggressively waving toward the door. “Well…”

I blow out a shaky breath, nodding as I walk through. We’re greeted by at least five royal guards, and my brows draw in as we pass them, wondering why there are so many of them suddenly guarding the king’s private office.

Timothy steps out from the line and trails behind us. Silent as a mouse.

“Uncle, I know it’s difficult,” I start, keeping my voice low. “But try to keep the faith.”

His lips purse, and even though words aren’t said, the energy between us seems off.

The tension continues all the way back to my quarters, and when we reach the doors, I spin around, expecting Uncle Raf to take his leave. Instead, he pushes open the door and storms inside, whirling on me the second we’re alone.

“It’s the rebels.”

My brows rise. “Do you think?”

He scoffs, walking past the foyer and into the sitting room, collapsing down on one of the two dark-green couches. “You saw the emblem? A hyena. They’re mocking us. And now they’ve killed my son. My chance.”

I tilt my head. “What do you mean, your chance?”

His back straightens, fingers tapping the top of his cane like they do every time he’s in deep thought.

“Uncle,” I sigh, tucking a curl behind my ear and walking over to sit down next to him. I reach out, grasping his hand in mine, trying to provide support. “Not that it helps, but I don’t think Xander is dead.”