Scarred(Never After #2)(96)

“I mean, the entire main strip of Saxum is gone, sire,” he whispers. “And now they’ve moved on to the eastern end. And the fires… water isn’t working. They’re spreading fast.”

Michael roars, flipping the table next to him, the lamp sliding off the top and smashing to porcelain pieces on the ground. He turns to face me, pointing his thick fingers at me. “This is all your fault.”

I grin, my blood heating in my veins. “You reap what you sow, Michael Faasa. May God have mercy on your soul when Tristan gets his hands on you.”

Yells sound from down the hall, and Uncle Raf stands from where he was still sitting against the bed. Marisol appears in the open doorway, her cheeks flushed. Hope springs alive in my chest. I wasn’t sure if she had survived after freeing me.

She drops into a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

“Speak, woman.” Michael paces back and forth, wearing a hole through the deep burgundy carpet.

“The castle is on fire.”





My arm jostles as Michael throws open the front doors to the courtyard, dragging me along with him.

I glance around, my nerves jittery, but I don’t have to look for long.

Because there he is.

Standing like a god in the middle of the court, his hands in his pockets, suspenders hanging off his waist, black sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a joint between his lips.

My beautiful, scarred prince.

His eyes lock on mine, and a calm takes over. He came back.

“Brother,” Michael growls from next to me, his fingers tightening on my arm.

Tristan ignores him, his gaze sweeping up and down my body like he’s checking for a single scratch. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” I reply. “But I wish for you to kill them, anyway.”

He laughs—a genuine laugh—throwing his head back and cackling, smoke puffing out with his breaths.

“How did you get through the gates?” Uncle Raf steps forward, his cane slapping against the ground as he stops next to me, a few of the military guards following behind him.

“Well, we tried to use the tunnels last time, and that didn’t work very well.” Tristan smirks.

Raf’s knuckles tighten around the top of his cane, and he glances to the few guards scattered around the entrance. My eyes move past them, and I can see smoke clouds pluming behind the gates, licks of fire flickering with the wind.

“Call the guards, you imbeciles!” Uncle Raf spits at the soldiers who stand still.

“You could try,” Tristan drawls. “But the dead don’t often answer calls.”

Michael slams me on the ground, and I roll forward, my face smacking against the concrete as my body flings down the cold stone steps until I’m splayed on the grass.

I cry out from the surprise, and when I breathe deep, a sharp pain splices through my side. I glance up and see Tristan’s grin drop, his eyes turning feral.

“I warned you once what would happen if you touched her,” he says. “I’ve come to collect.”

Michael yells, “I am the king! Seize him!”

A few guards start to move, but hesitate before stalling once again.

“They no longer answer to you.” Tristan’s voice is lethal, and as inappropriate as it is, my body heats, arousal curling through me at the power that bleeds through his tone. “And the few who do are smart enough to realize when they’re fighting a losing battle. You see, brother,” he continues, moving closer toward us, as if he’s taking a casual walk through the court. “While you’ve spent your years throwing parties and rubbing arms with the men in high places. While you’ve planned, and plotted, and murdered our father.” He pauses, and Michael stiffens. “I was in towns, in people’s homes, and in their ears. Showing them a better way. Showing them what would happen if they just pledged their loyalty to me.”

Michael scoffs. “We killed your pathetic hyenas. Their corpses rot in the tunnels as we speak.”

Tristan chuckles, twisting as he looks behind him. “You’ve always underestimated me.” And then, he raises his hand in the air and flicks his wrist, and the heavy wooden gates come tumbling down, dozens of people storming through them, with fury on their face and hyenas patched onto their sleeves.

My chest swells with hope. Rebels.

Tristan moves forward, and I surge to my feet, ignoring the pain in my side. He takes giant steps, and he doesn’t stop until he reaches me.

The second he touches me, my body comes alive, his arms smoothing up my sides and cupping my face, ignoring everyone. “Let me show you what a true revolution looks like,” he whispers.

And then he kisses me.

Yells and hollers sound from behind, and chaos breaks out, although I couldn’t tell you who was fighting who. I’m too lost in Tristan’s mouth to care.

He breaks away, and I turn just in time to see the castle doors fly off their hinges, Edward, Sheina, and Marisol carrying torches, flames crawling up the walls behind them.

My heart pounds in my chest when I see them, and I bite back a sob, knowing there will be time for emotion later. Because I can feel it even now, we will win.

Tristan runs a hand down my hair before breaking away and moving toward his brother. “Where is our mother, is she still here? Will I be burning her alive, or do I get the pleasure of chasing her down and snapping her neck?”