Scarred(Never After #2)(75)

Again, I follow, stepping into the chill of the cloudy night, and realizing we’re in the middle of the forest. And I have no idea where they’re about to go.





CHAPTER 41





Tristan





It’s a very interesting turn of events to have my brother listening to my words as though they’re gospel, and it’s just more proof that he’s truly lost his mind.

If I wasn’t so fixated on the memory of how my little doe felt wrapped around my cock, maybe I’d find some humor in the irony of the boy who spent his life telling me I wasn’t worth the dirt on his shoe, asking me what he should do.

Granted, all of this is from my careful manipulation of his hallucinations. I saw a weakness, and I pounced. The rebels are large and growing every day. I have many factions hidden in plain sight. We’re everywhere, even in the spots you wouldn’t suspect. But I’m not an idiot, and if there’s opportunity to strengthen our odds, I will always take it.

Which is why I lightly suggested last night that Timothy not have a proper burial—something that Edward could use to sway opinions of the king. People don’t do well when one of their own isn’t treated with respect.

“Brother, I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know where else to turn.” I shake my head, pacing as though the thoughts are plaguing my mind.

“Out with it, Tristan. I’m busy,” he snaps, leaning back in his chair and puffing on a cigar.

“It’s about father,” I whisper, glancing around the room as though someone will overhear.

This gets his attention, and he sits forward, his brows rising. “Has he told you something else? Come to you in a dream again?”

I hesitate for a few long moments. “He has. But… I don’t know.”

“Tell me,” he hisses.

“In my dream… the king of Andalaysia was sending troops to our southern border.”

Michael grips the roots of his hair. “What? You think they mean to wage a war?”

Blowing out a deep breath, I shake my head. “I don’t know, Michael. It’s probably nothing. Fuck!” I kick the wooden chair leg. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“No.” He shoots to his feet, walking around the desk until he’s in front of me. He grips my shoulder tight. “You’re not crazy. We are not crazy.”

I nod, running my palm over my mouth.

“Did he say when?”

Shrugging, I glance up at him from under my brows. “I can’t be sure.”

Michael chews on the inside of his lip. “We can’t tell the council of this, they won’t believe it.”

“Michael, you’re the king. This is an absolute monarchy, not a democracy,” I say. “Don’t let others make decisions as if Faasa blood runs through their veins. It doesn’t.”

His eyes flare, his chest puffing out as my words sink into his psyche. “We’ll send troops to the southern border. Just to be safe.”

“Brother, I think that’s the right choice.”





Edward stares at me as I lean against the tavern’s bar top, lighting a joint and bringing it to my lips, saddened that I can’t still smell Sara on my fingertips.

Every cell in my body is craving to hunt her down and chain her to my side. It’s unhealthy; this obsession, but it’s here all the same, and I’ve never been known for my solid state of mental health.

“You seem different,” Edward states, sipping from a pint of ale.

“Do I?” I smirk. “Must be because we’re on the verge of everything I’ve ever wanted. My brother has gone mad, Edward. He believes I see the ghost of our father, who whispers warnings in my ear. And this time tomorrow, much of the king’s military will be on their way to the southern border, to guard against a fictitious threat of war.”

Edward’s grin stretches across his face. “And in the end?”

I smile. “In the end, I shall wear the crown either way. Preferably with a brand-new council, not filled with people who disrespected me as sport my entire life.”

“Victory is ours, Your Highness. I can feel it. Several of my men are already teetering on the edge. They aren’t happy with how things are.” He claps his hands together before taking another sip of his drink. “And the boys in the basement who attempted to kill Lady Beatreaux? What would you have me do with them?”

My blood boils as I think of the rebels who took it upon themselves to stage an assassination. “Keep them locked up. I plan to give them as a gift.”

“To who?”

I smile. “To Sara, of course.”

His eyes alight in recognition, but before he can say anything else, the door to the tavern bursts open and Sheina walks in, her eyes skimming the area until they land on us. A smile breaks across her face when she sees Edward, and he straightens from where he was leaning against the bar. And then, just as I instructed, Paul Wartheg follows behind her, his gaze growing wide as he takes in the three-dozen people eating and drinking at the tables, and his mouth dropping open when they snag on the iron cage constructed in the far corner with an unconscious Xander chained to the wall and on display.

I stub out the end of my joint and saunter over to them, adopting a warm grin on my face.