Scarred (Never After #2)(49)

She tilts her head.

“Oh.” I laugh. “I’m curious if you enjoy not having those duties anymore? I’m sure you’re grateful that you can live your days at a cottage in the middle of nowhere, with no responsibilities left to your name.”

She stiffens, her gaze narrowing.

“It sounds very relaxing,” I continue. “Maybe one day, after I wed your son, we’ll be able to visit, and I can reassure your doubts by showing you all the ways I’ve improved on the foundation you tried to build.”

She sets down her teacup, the liquid sloshing over the sides as she turns to glance at her lady in the corner.

Tingles race along my spine when I feel a delicate brush at the nape of my neck, and I suck in a breath, my insides tangling tighter than they were before.

Tristan is touching me, his fingertips ghosting across my skin, making goose bumps pebble down the length of my body. Panic at his mother seeing mixes with the thrill of being touched, and instead of leaning away, I press back, my stomach flipping and surging until it settles next to my racing heart.

I don’t dare look his way, but I can feel him staring.

And I shouldn’t enjoy it how I do.





CHAPTER 27





Tristan





It takes skill and precision to weave magic with your words, and it’s something I discovered at a young age I had a knack for. Even as a child, I could trick people into thinking that my ideas were theirs, so I spent years fine-tuning the craft, until I was able to tell people to go to hell in a way that they enjoyed the trip.

Which is why seeing Lady Beatreaux hold her own against my mother, by using those same tactics, was intoxicating.

She’s strong-willed. She’s fire.

She’s the devil, parading as a snake, convincing people to eat the apple.

Ma petite menteuse… My little liar.

It’s what’s needed in a queen. You can’t have a fresh-faced, innocent girl ruling kingdoms.

But the thought of my brother having her at his side, when it turns out she’s so valuable, makes bile tease the back of my throat. Violence thrums in my veins, urging me to kill him now and steal her for my own.

Within a fortnight’s time, my brother and all who aid him will fall and I will step into place as the rightful heir to the throne. But having a queen was never in my plans.

“Ready?” I ask Edward, glancing at him as we walk to the banquet hall. The murmurs grow louder with every step, bleeding through the walls, and I smile, an excited energy humming beneath my skin.

“Everything will work out in the end.” He smiles.

“Of course it will,” I drawl. “Failure does not run in my blood.”

He smirks. “Technically, your brother has that blood too.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true.” I grimace. “I suppose I’ll have to drain him of every drop.”

Edward chuckles as we approach the dark wood doors, the deep-gray metal hinges creaking as he pushes them open and we step inside.

People’s attention coasts across my skin, infusing me with strength as I feed off their energy.

The banquet hall is drenched in black and gold, our family flag flying high above our heads, long tables covered in white linens running next to the walls. The largest of them is perpendicular to the rest on a raised dais, overlooking the room, and my brother sits dead center, flanked by his bride-to-be and our mother; his advisers filling the other seats.

My stomach pulls tight as I glance over the faces of all the people who have stood in my way. People who have never shown me the respect they give Michael, when he’s done nothing to earn it.

Heads turn as I make my way down the stone aisles, my boots clacking on the floor and echoing off the sky-high ceilings.

“The scarred prince,” someone murmurs.

Once upon a time that phrase cut deep, but now, I use it as fuel knowing that soon anyone who dares speak against me will have to beg for repentance at my feet.

My brother hasn’t noticed me yet, deep in conversation with my mother and Xander, but my little doe is a different story. A dangerous heat crawls up my insides, knowing that while it’s her and Michael everyone is celebrating, it’s me who has her eyes.

Edward makes his way to one of the side tables, taking his spot next to other higher-ranking military and immersing himself in conversation. It’s important to have plenty of eyewitnesses to attest that we were here.

I stop walking when I reach the platform, rocking back on my heels, my gaze never leaving Lady Beatreaux’s. Her head tilts, brows furrowing, and I smirk, my tongue swiping across my bottom lip.

She fidgets in her seat.

“Tristan,” Michael says, the deep bass of his voice bouncing off the walls. “What a lovely surprise.”

Slowly, I move my eyes from his betrothed’s to him. “Did you think I wouldn’t show, brother?”

“One can never be sure with you,” he chuckles, waving his arm at a servant. “Bring him a seat.”

“Lady Beatreaux.” I let her name slide off my tongue, my attention falling back on her. “You look devastating. My brother is a lucky man.”

A few gasps sound from behind me, no doubt surprised that I would be so bold. Excitement flutters in my stomach, wondering how she’ll react—how my brother will react.