Scarred(Never After #2)(76)

“Welcome, Paul.” I clasp my hand on his back. “I’m so happy to see Sheina convinced you to come.”

“It’s you,” he whispers. “You’re the rebel king?”

My grin widens. “I am many things, but right now, I’m just a friend.”

I prod him forward, and Sheina breaks away, moving to where Edward is and sinking into his arms, their lips locking in a long kiss.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say to him. “If only to see what your months of hard work, providing the food that makes its way here, has done.” My hand waves over the tables, pointing to the random faces. “If it wasn’t so late, you’d see small children getting their first meal in days. You’d see mothers holding babes to their chest while they cry in relief from what you’ve given them, when the monarchy has failed to provide.”

Turning toward him, I lock him in my stare. “I want you to know how incredibly sorry I am about Timothy.”

His eyes narrow, shoulders stiffening as he meets my gaze.

It isn’t spoken about—not out loud—but I know of him and Timothy. Of stolen moments and secret nights. Of love that would have ended in a much worse fate than a gunshot to the chest had anyone found out.

And while I don’t mourn Timothy’s passing, for one of the first times in my life, I can empathize with the thought of his death. I understand the pain of having to love in secret, and I do not wish to ever endure the agony of reuniting with the other half of your soul, only to have it unjustly ripped away.

It’s hard enough being told they aren’t meant for you when they’re the only thing that’s ever felt like yours.

I place my hand on his shoulder. “I promise you, Paul, the ones responsible will pay.”

“They won’t give him a funeral,” he hisses, his voice low and tortured.

I nod, drawing my brows down. “Then we will have one for him here.”

A single tear drips down his face and he wipes it away. I pretend I don’t see.

“I didn’t give them this order, but I bear responsibility all the same.”

“I believe you.” He clears his throat, speaking the next part in a whisper. “I don’t think for one second that you would allow any harm to come to Lady Beatreaux.”

My chest cramps, hoping we aren’t as obvious as he’s making it seem, but I smile. “And you would be correct.”

“I never came here before because I refused to pick a side,” he says. “But I can no longer stand by and watch as a corrupt monarchy destroys our people. Gloria Terra is a proud country, and we deserve a king who will bring us glory. Not shame.”

Satisfaction, heavy and thick, rolls through my blood like molasses. “Do I have your loyalty, Paul Wartheg?”

His eyes flash, and he drops on bended knee.

I hold out my hand, and he grips my fingers, kissing the top of my lion’s head ring. “I swear it.”

“Together we rule, divided we fall,” I whisper. “It’s my honor to welcome you to the rebellion.”





CHAPTER 42





Sara B.





Icy cold shock pours through my veins as I watch a roomful of people fall on bended knee, one right after the other, spurred on by Paul who was just kissing Tristan’s hand in subservience, and I’m… numb.

Tristan is the rebel king.

Of course he is.

How could I have been so blind?

I followed Sheina and Paul here, all the way to the shadowed lands; where the lights disappear from street corners, and sleek roads turn into broken pavement; potholes so big they could fit a small house. The buildings all have dirty windows, or boards in place of glass, and while Silva has been impoverished for years, this is beyond anything I’ve ever seen.

I’m not sure what I expected when I peered through the crack in the door of The Elephant Bones Tavern, but it wasn’t this.

Anything but this.

My eyes scan over the people, my heart screaming and spitting in the center of my chest, but I ignore the pain, refusing to admit to myself that the man I’ve fallen for is the one who murdered my father.

The tavern itself is dingy and dark; worn wood panels and a strong scent of mothballs and mold, but the atmosphere is upbeat. As if they know they’re on the cusp of something great. Something more.

They set a large iron-barred cage up in the far corner, and I squint my eyes, confusion running through me at the sight. Why on earth is that there? I try to get a better view, but I can’t open the door any farther without the risk of being seen, and Tristan’s tall frame blocks me.

But then he moves, and I see the hunched figure of my cousin, bloodied and chained, unconscious against the wall.

My stomach somersaults. He’s alive.

Caged like a bird and missing a hand, but still… alive.

My stomach rolls, the vengeance in my heart growing brighter.

Tristan turns then, walking away from Paul and moving toward the front of the room with a shoddy raised platform and a single high-back chair sitting in the center. He walks straight to the middle, a god among his men, and speaks.

“Friends.” His arms rise to the side. “The time is near. You’ve all put incredible faith in me, and it’s time to return the favor. A new dawn is on the horizon!”