Scarred (Never After #2)(21)

The guard’s eyes narrow and he points to his chest. “I’m a commander in the king’s army.”

“And she is your new queen,” I snap, moving so she’s behind me.

The guard’s gaze widens as he looks back and forth between us, and it’s only then I realize he may have seen more than I thought.

I brush my hand down the sleeve of my black tunic, annoyed that I have to take time out of my day to solve this issue. “What’s your name?”

“Antony,” he replies.

“Antony.” I smile. “Is anyone expecting you?”

He shakes his head, caution waving like yellow flags in his eyes.

“Wonderful. You’ll come with me then. I was just on my way to collect a guard about a pressing security matter.” I tip my head toward Lady Beatreaux. “Milady, I trust you can find your own way to my brother?”

She stares at me for so long, I become convinced she knows what I’m about to do, and I expect her to step in and put a stop to it, the way anyone else would.

But instead, she drops into the slightest curtsy, her eyes never leaving mine. “Your Highness.”

And then she walks away.





CHAPTER 12





Tristan





It continually surprises me how easy it is to end a person’s life. Even as a boy, I never felt the type of attachment others do, and there’s only been one death that’s affected me.

Everyone else can rot.

Still, I’ve always known that I’m just a bit different. Smarter than most? Unspeakably. More fit to rule? Undoubtedly.

When you’re forced on the fringes of society, yet required to be there, you notice things that go missed when you’re paraded in the middle of the stage like a puppet.

And most people, I find, are imbeciles.

Face value is the only truth, and blind trust is something often found in spades. Which, I suppose, explains the popularity of my brother. He isn’t particularly charming, and he doesn’t have the brains to be clever or witty. But he’s conventionally attractive and spent his life being the crowned prince, and for the masses, that’s enough.

Even though Michael excelled in nothing but pushing down others in order to feel strong, people often want to believe the ones placed on pedestals deserve to be there.

But you don’t need to have brawn to subdue and exert power.

True power lies in the ability to harness energy and wield it like a sword, becoming the puppeteer that masters all the strings instead of the marionette being forced to dance. Years of being tortured under Michael’s hands taught me that; him and his pack of friends, laughing as they pushed my face into dirt and told me I wasn’t worth the mud being caked in my cuts.

They stole my power every day.

It wasn’t until many years later that I learned to take it back, and it wasn’t until my father’s death that I craved to take theirs too.

Something sharp pricks at my chest and I shake off the thought, placing my hand on the shoulder of the royal guard as we reach the entrance to the dungeons. He glances back at me, his nerves so potent I can taste them in the air. I wave my arm toward the narrow staircase.

“The security issue is down here, sir?” His voice pinches.

“Please, give me some credit.” I chuckle. “Would I bring you here for any other reason?”

He shakes his head. “No, of course not, I just… this isn’t really my area.”

“Your area is wherever I tell you it is.”

He swallows, his eyes growing large. “Of course.”

I follow behind him as we move into the dungeons, our footsteps reverberating off the dark walls as we walk down the concrete steps. The air is moist, and it smells like mold and despair, although there are no prisoners rotting away in the cells. Drips of water splash in the background from the castle’s plumbing, and the only other sound is the harsh breathing coming from the guard himself.

Excitement winds its way through my middle at his obvious unease.

He glances back at me, and I force a grin, nodding toward the last cell as I walk past him and over to the far wall with the large skeleton keys that open the iron doors.

“Last one here,” I say as I make my way to the final one on the left and insert the key, feeling the click as the lock unlatches. It creaks as I open it and let him go in first.

The guard cocks his head. “I’m not a carpenter, I think that’s who—”

I move to where he stands, the metal key pressing into my palm as I shove at his shoulders, prodding him forward like cattle being led to slaughter. And it’s only once he’s within the cell that I drop all pretense, spinning around and closing the door behind us.

The slam echoes off the bare concrete walls and the guard tries to go back toward the door. “Your Highness? I—”

Reaching up to my ear, I slip the joint from behind it, pulling the matches from my pocket, my stomach tightening as I strike the flame and bring it to my lips.

“Antony.” I snuff out the fire and puff on the hash, my gaze taking him in from the tips of his toes up to the top of his blond head. He looks every part a commander, the black and gold of his uniform striking, and the lion in the center of his chest showcasing Gloria Terra’s coat of arms. “Antony,” I repeat. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to confuse a carpenter with a member of the king’s army?”