Scarred (Never After #2)(32)

“It tickles,” Simon says back.

I blow out a heavy breath, trying to control the ridiculous way my body is reacting to a simple thought, and I shift on my feet. A twig breaks and Simon’s head snaps up, his eyes squinting as they land on mine.

Tristan doesn’t even falter from his movements, ignoring that there was any noise at all.

“Hi, lady.” Simon beams. “What are you doing here?”

My heart pounds in my chest, making my hands clammy and I clear my throat as I make my way closer, my eyes flickering between the two of them.

“Exploring,” I reply, smiling. “What are you doing?”

Simon’s grin widens, his toy sword lying at his side.

As I look closer, I notice one of his eyes has a dark hue marring the light brown of his skin and making it look welted and purple.

I inhale a deep breath but don’t allow my gaze to linger, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, even though the thought of something or someone striking this boy makes my blood boil like a volcano about to burst.

Glancing down, I realize Tristan is, in fact, drawing on Simon. And he hasn’t acknowledged me at all, which makes my insides itch. I move even closer and my foot snags on yet another branch. A slight twinge radiates through my ankle, and I hiss at the pain.

“Perhaps next time you decide to traipse through forests you should dress for the occasion,” Tristan says, his voice soothing my skin like a soft caress.

I scoff and narrow my eyes. But he still isn’t looking at me, keeping his focus on Simon’s arm.

“I’m not traipsing, I heard a laugh and came to investigate.”

Now he stops, glancing up at me. “You’re out here all alone?”

“Yes.” I lift my chin. “Well, technically, Timothy and Paul are back in the garden.” I twist around to glance behind me. “They’re probably searching for me.”

Simon snickers. “I bet they’re happy you left.”

“That’s not very nice.” My hands drop to my hips. “I’ll have you know I’m fantastic company.”

“Well, yeah, but Timmy and Paul love each other.”

My brows draw in. “What do you…”

“Simon.” Tristan’s voice is sharp.

My eyes bounce between them, but I let it go, filing away the information for later. Instead, I drop down, ignoring the way my corset digs into the very tops of my thighs from the maneuver. I don’t want Tristan to know that he’s right, that it is uncomfortable to be here with what I’m wearing.

“What are you drawing?”

Simon chews on his lip. “I wanted a tattoo, but he said no.”

“So, it’s a temporary one then?” I lean in closer to look.

And when I do, my lungs compress as if someone reached inside my chest and stole my very breath. I’ve seen artwork before. Hundreds of paintings hang in the castle, and dozens more at my home in Silva. But I’ve never seen art like this. My eyes widen, heart thudding as I scoot forward to get a better look.

It’s stunning, and a knot lodges its way into my throat, the simple act of looking at it causing emotion to surge through my middle and lock itself into the cracks of my soul. The way Tristan’s hand glides across his skin like a boat on top of water sends tingles trickling through me, as if he’s touching me with every stroke. It’s incredible, the way he commands the pen; intricate lines and shading from a device I can’t even get to bleed right onto paper.

The drawing itself looks as though Simon’s skin has torn—like shredded fabric marred with gashes and holes. And behind it; the face of a lion, with such depth in its features that part of me is convinced it will tear through his arm and leap out to devour me whole.

My mouth gapes as Tristan continues to draw, mind blown at his talent. He glances at me again, and I snap my jaw closed so fast my teeth smash together. A grin tics the corner of his lips as he looks back down.

“What made you want tattoos, Simon?” I ask, ignoring the way my stomach feels like a thousand butterflies are taking flight. It’s an unwelcome feeling. I’d much rather stay here on the ground.

Simon shrugs, chewing on his bottom lip as he stares at Tristan’s face. “He has them.”

My eyes flick to Tristan, whose jaw clenches as he continues to work.

“And they’re too scared to hurt him,” Simon continues. “I thought maybe if I had some… they’d fear me too.”

My mouth dries, a balloon expanding in my throat.

Tristan leans back, flicking the hair from his face. “You’re all done.”

Simon’s gaze widens. “I love it. You think it will work?”

He blows out a breath. “This is for you, not for them. Forget about them.”

“I don’t know how.” Simon sniffles, moving his arm back and forth, the eyes of the lion following the motion. “What happens when it washes away?”

“Then I’ll draw it again.”

“Lady Beatreaux?” A loud voice rings out from behind us, and I snap my head up, locking eyes with Tristan, so many unsaid words floating in the space between us.

I have despised no one more than I do him. He’s vile, and crude, and everything they warned me he would be. And yet, right now, I don’t hate him at all.

Timothy appears through the foliage, his brows drawn down and a scowl marring his face.