Scarred (Never After #2)(18)

I grin back, leaning across the metal surface. “Well… I think you’ll find I’m not quite like the other royals.”

“Technically,” a smooth voice cuts in. “You’re not a royal at all.”

My spine bristles, every single hair follicle standing on end as Prince Tristan appears out of nowhere, his lips tipped up in that infuriatingly lazy grin, his eyes zoned in on me.

Paul gasps, dropping to a knee. “Your Highness.”

“Hello, Paul. Keeping our soon-to-be queen company?”

Surprise flickers through me. I hadn’t expected him of all people to be on a first name basis with the servants. Most people aren’t.

“So what if he is?” I cut in.

He turns to me, his eyes flashing. I sit straighter in my chair.

“Then I suppose he’s the lucky one today, isn’t he?”

My stomach flips as he steps in close. “Always in places I shouldn’t find you, aren’t you, little doe?”

My shoulders straighten. “There’s nothing wrong with getting to know the people who breathe life into the castle walls.”

His brows rise. “I agree.”

A muffled thud from the opposite side of the room soars through the air, breaking our eye contact as I twist to face the wall. “What was that?”

No one answers me.

Scooting back from the table, I stand, grabbing the front of my skirts as I walk toward where the noise came from. Another thud, this time louder, and I’m sure it’s coming from inside the walls. I spin around, my eyes locking on Tristan. “What’s behind here?”

He doesn’t respond, leaning against the corner of the table, crossing his feet and smirking.

My jaw tenses. “Paul?”

Paul wrings his hands together in front of his oversized belly. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

I quirk a brow when another thud hits. “You don’t hear that?”

“Maybe there’s something wrong with your ears,” Tristan suggests.

“My hearing is just fine, thank you.” My eyes narrow. “Stop making me feel crazy.”

He straightens off the table and moves closer until he’s standing in front of me, his shadow dwarfing mine. “Do I have that much power over you already?”

“I haven’t given you any power,” I seethe, my hand itching to reach out and smack the grin off his face.

He tsks, shaking his head. “That’s the thing about power, ma petite menteuse. It’s never given freely. You have to take it.”

“You speak French?” I don’t know what he just called me, but the way it flowed off his tongue like silky chocolate makes my insides quake.

He smirks. “I’m a prince.”

His arm rises, and my breath sticks in my lungs, waiting for the searing heat of his touch, but it never comes. Instead, he presses his hand next to my head. There’s a loud creak and then the wall is moving, an entryway appearing as if it’s formed out of thin air. My eyes grow wide as I twist to face it, staring into a darkened tunnel; its walls made of rock as if the castle has melded its insides within the mountain it sits on.

“Lady.”

My hand moves to my chest, my mind whirling with questions. Do the tunnels only exist within the buildings? Do they go underground to town? Who all knows of them?

“Hey lady, you’re stepping on my sword.”

I’m jolted into the present, my eyes swinging down into the light-brownish-orange gaze of a child.

“Oh.” I step back, my foot releasing the toy sword trapped beneath me. “I’m so sorry.”

My corset digs into my ribs as I lean down to pick it up, staying crouched as I hold it in my hands. “Are you a knight?” I ask.

His chest puffs out, a small smudge of what looks like black soot streaked across his brown skin. “I’m the king.”

“Oh.” My eyes widen, and I raise my hand to my head. “Of course, I should have known. You look the part of a mighty king.”

Bowing my head, I hold out his toy. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”

A smile tips the corners of his lips as he reaches out, taking the sword back from my hands. “Who are you?” he asks. “I’ve never seen you before, and my mama knows all the people who work here.”

“This is Lady Beatreaux,” Tristan says from behind me. “Milady, this is Simon.”

Simon’s head cocks, his eyes trailing up and down my form as if he’s judging whether I’ll get to live or die.

“Do we like her?” he asks.

Tristan chuckles, and the sound sends confusion tinkling through my insides, twisting up the narrative of him I’ve had painted in my head. He seems genuine with this child, as if he cares for him.

His stare burns through me as he places his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “We do.”

My breath catches, butterflies erupting until my stomach soars.

Simon scrunches his nose as he looks at me. “You’re still a girl though, so I can’t like you too much.”

I laugh, standing upright and running my palms down the front of my dress, trying to shake off the unsettled feeling brewing inside of me. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, Your Majesty, but there’s not much I can do to help that.”