Scarred(Never After #2)(98)

“Your mistake, brother, was turning your back on me.” My nails dig into the skin of his hand. “I’d say long live the king, but we both know that would be a lie.”

And then I let go, watching his arms and legs flail, his eyes growing wide with terror as he falls, his body crashing on the rocks at the base of the cliff.

When it’s high tide, the water will rise and sweep away his remains, and we can go on, pretending as though he was never here. I blow out a deep breath, searching inside of myself for something to feel. Expecting maybe happiness, or relief, or some type of enlightenment. But all I feel is disappointment. I had hoped to torture him for what he did. But I suppose I’ll settle for taking his crown.

I spin around, the heat of the fire getting much too close for comfort, Sara and Edward both staring with wide eyes. Moving away from the cliff, I jog over to my little doe, wrapping her in my arms and slamming my mouth to hers, sucking her tongue inside of me, my hands groping anywhere they can reach, wanting to assure myself that she’s here, and she’s real, and she’s mine.

“I should kill you for making me leave you here.”

She grins against my mouth. “If we don’t move, you probably will. What were you thinking burning everything like this?”

I glance at the Saxum castle, my home for the last twenty-six years, and my family’s legacy for the last three centuries, and shrug. “They wouldn’t give you back.”





Sara B.

Against all odds, we made it.

It’s been several weeks since Michael’s death. The Queen Mother’s execution is next week, and while normally that would be news, it’s overshadowed by the Saxum fires.

They lasted for two weeks before we were able to put them out. The entire city is decimated, half of the forest is burned, and the castle itself is destroyed. But the people are resilient, and most of all desperate for a leader; someone to step in and rejuvenate their hope. Tristan slid in effortlessly after spinning a tale of his brother, the mad king, who framed him and burned down the city from insanity.

And when Tristan speaks, people listen. They believe.

Not that they’d have a choice. The throne defaults to him either way, now that Michael is dead.

None of them need to know it was him who started the flames.

Now, we’re at the edge of town, ash still covering the streets, while Tristan holds on to my hand and weaves whispered words of promise to our people.

I look out over the crowd as he speaks and see a flash of red from the corner of my eye. Tilting my head, I squint, realizing there’s a young girl standing in the back, a hood over her face, and bright red hair peeking from the edges.

Ophelia.

Breaking away from Tristan, I make my way to the back, feeling his eyes on me the entire way, even as he continues to preach to the people. I follow her down a back alley and to the edge of the Fiki River. It runs along the border of Saxum, and is used for fishing and leisurely swims, although right now it’s infested with soot, a black layer floating on top of the normal crystal-clear surface.

“Ophelia,” I say.

I search for my anger when she turns to face me, but I find only sadness. Sorrow that this young girl wasn’t who I assumed, and empathy for the way her face looks drawn and pale. “Are you alright?”

Tears burst over the lid of her eyes, streaming down her face, her fingers gripping a large boulder to her chest. “I was pregnant,” she whispers.

Shock flows through me. “With Michael’s child?”

She nods, hiccuping as she covers her mouth with her hand. “But he made me cut it out, sai-said one bastard child was enough.”

Simon. My heart aches, and I take a step toward her.

She glances up at me. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

And then she throws herself over the ledge and into the water, her body sinking to the bottom.

My heart jumps into my throat, and for just a moment, I think of trying to save her life. But then I remember all I went through because of her and I peer over the ledge, watching to make sure she drowns instead.

Eventually, the bubbles stop popping on the surface.

Spinning around, I jump when I run into Tristan’s broad chest.

“Everything alright?” he asks, wrapping me in his arms.

I smile up at him. “Everything’s perfect.”

He leans down and kisses me before moving his lips to my ear. “Is she dead?”

Nodding against him, he thrusts his erection into me, and I scoff, shoving him in the chest.

He chuckles, his hand smoothing from my waist down until he grips my ass. “Such a bad girl, watching a woman drown while I’m steps away promising the people their future.” He presses his lips to mine again, and I moan into his mouth, happiness suffusing through my every pore.

Through it all, we survived. Even though we’ve suffered substantial loss, and even though our souls are stained in black, Tristan somehow makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

And I guess, in a way, I am.

Because my heart belongs to the scarred prince.

The rebels’ savior.

The crowned king of Gloria Terra.

And he made me queen of the ashes.





Epilogue





SEVEN YEARS LATER