Scarred (Never After #2)(36)

Her features stiffen, and the change in her energy spikes through me like an arrow.

Something is off.

“I’d love that,” she says.

But her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.





“I want to go back to the queen’s garden. Will you remind me how to get there?”

I peer up at Timothy from behind the top of my poetry book. He sits in the chaise by the fireplace in my sitting room, his body the most relaxed I’ve seen. Ever since he was forced to speak to me in the forest, he’s loosened up, and as long as we’re in my private quarters—which he actually steps into now as long as other people are present—he graces me with his beautiful voice.

Turns out, he’s not such a dead fish after all.

“Why?” he questions.

My brows rise and I set down my book. “Well, I’d rather leave the castle entirely, but I’m sure you won’t allow that, since apparently becoming engaged is akin to regressing into an adolescent who needs a nanny.”

His forehead scrunches. “Are you calling me your nanny?”

I shrug. “What else would you call it?”

He purses his lips. “I requested to be your guard.”

“You did?” My stomach flips. “I don’t know if I should be offended you think I need one or honored that it’s you.”

He tilts his head. “You’re going to be the queen. If anyone needs protection, milady, it’s you.”

The way he says it sends a chill racing down my spine, as if he knows something—something that he isn’t letting on.

“From whom?” I prod.

His eyes move from where they were settled on me to Ophelia, who is peeking at us from over her needlework. When I twist to face her, she drops her eyes back down, pretending as though she isn’t paying us any mind.

“Never mind,” I say, standing up. “If you don’t know how to get to the garden, just say that.”

He scoffs, rising from his seat. “I know every corridor in this castle.”

“Oh?” My brows rise. “All of them?”

Anticipation lights up my insides. “Ophelia, we’re going for a walk. Would you like to come?” I ask to be polite, but everything within me is hoping she says no.

“No, milady, Marisol is supposed to meet here to go over the dinner menu for the ball.”

I crinkle my nose. “That sounds awful.”

She smiles. “That’s why you’re having us do it instead.”

Walking over to Timothy, I link my arm in his. His jaw tics as he stares at where we’re connected, and I grin up at him, moving us toward the door. The second it opens, he drops my arm, adopting a glacial look; the man from moments earlier disappearing into the air.

I’m silent the entire way, memorizing our steps so I can sneak away and come back alone, but once we’re at the garden’s door, I spin around, pointing my finger at his chest. “You said you know every corridor.”

“I do.”

“Even the hidden ones?”

His dark eyes peer down at me as if he’s deliberating on how to answer, and that alone is enough to send excitement sparking through my insides. He knows what I’m talking about.

“Will you show me?” I press.

He’s silent for long, strained moments, the muscle in his jaw tensing over and over. Finally, he nods.

A smile creeps on my face, satisfaction worming its way through my veins.

He reaches to his side, placing his hand on a wall sconce. I watch his movements, fascinated, my heart pumping in my ears.

I wonder if when I look back, I’ll think of this moment as the one where I realized everything hides in plain sight. Because the wall I was just staring at disappears, revealing a dark and narrow passage in its place.





CHAPTER 20





Tristan





When Michael and I were children, my father was often too busy to spend time with us, and my mother didn’t care. Even if she had, that’s not how it works in the monarchy. Queens aren’t meant to raise their offspring; they’re only meant to birth them.

As a result—and as was expected—nannies were the ones who brought us up. The other kids who roamed the halls were families of the servants, ones who we either weren’t allowed to play with, or they weren’t allowed to play with us. But Michael somehow always had his group of friends, and they would never miss an opportunity to come find me and rain down terror.

I was easy prey. I had no interest in being the center of attention, and much preferred staying on the sidelines with my sketchbook, watching how everyone else interacted.

You can learn a lot about human nature when you observe from the outside looking in.

For some reason, my brother didn’t enjoy that about me. He’s enjoyed nothing about me, nor I him. We’re connected only by blood, and even as a child, I would imagine chaining him up by his limbs and draining him of every drop, if only to sever our connection.

Back then, of course, I didn’t have the wherewithal.

And it only takes so many times of being thrown in the dirt and told you’re a freak for you to believe it. That because you’re a little different, you’re somehow less than.

It was beat into me by angry fists and brushed off as “kids will be kids.” And the fact that when it came down to family, I was unseen and unimportant, compounded the feeling. Being the second-born son gave me freedom, yet they forced me to live it in Michael’s shadow.