Scarred (Never After #2)(5)

Standing straight, I pick up my sketchbook and stare down at her, enjoying the view of her cowering at my feet.

“You may rise.”

She sniffles as she stands, brushing the dirt from her clothing, and keeping her eyes pointed toward the ground.

“Go.” I flick my hand. “Don’t let me see you out here again.”

“Sir,” she whispers.

I turn before she finishes speaking, walking to the shade of the weeping willow and leaning against its trunk, the bark scratching against my back. Xander, my brother, and his personal guard, Timothy, walk out of the castle doors and into the courtyard, making their way to where an automobile is rolling through the gates.

Curiosity holds me in place like my feet are encased in lead, and I watch from the shadows, my grip tightening on my notebook as Xander moves toward the auto and opens the door. A thin woman with blonde hair peeking from under a purple hat exits first, smiling, before moving to the side.

And then a dainty hand reaches out, and another woman places her palm in Xander’s.

My stomach rises and falls like an avalanche, knowing that I should take my leave but not being able to move away.

Because there she is.

The new queen consort has arrived.





CHAPTER 3





Sara B.





I’ve seen paintings of the Saxum kingdom my entire life. There’s one hanging above the mantle in my uncle’s great room back home; a dreary picture, with thunderous clouds looming over a darkened castle, one that was built in the sixteenth century and has blackened with age. I’ve always assumed the sight was exaggerated for the artwork. Turns out, the paintings don’t come anywhere near the reality.

The king’s driver winds the automobile through the Saxum city streets, passing by women as they laugh in the arms of men as if there isn’t a care in the world. Blissfully unaware that five minutes down the road, the cobblestone turns into dirt, and the wide-brimmed hats turn into dirty bonnets and torn clothing over skin and bone.

Or maybe they are aware, and they simply don’t care.

“Nothing does justice to the real thing, does it?” Sheina, my closest friend turned lady-in-waiting, sighs as she gazes out of the window, her blonde hair peeking from beneath the brim of her hat. “You spend your whole life hearing tales, but it is an eerie sight.”

Her head nods toward the castle, perched on a cliff at the end of a long winding road, lush green forestry surrounding either side.

Paintings don’t do it justice, indeed.

This part of the country seems to lend itself to more of an overcast gloom—a stark difference to the sunshine that used to help grow the crops in Silva—and an anxious energy eats its way through my middle as the buildings that line the streets give way to sycamore and pine; the smell of evergreen permeating through the automobile and stinging my nostrils.

The road narrows and my anxiety grows, my stomach rising and falling with the quickened beats of my heart as I realize the castle backs up to the angry Vita Ocean and this is the only way in. And the only way out.

“Do you think what they say is true?” Sheina asks, twisting her body toward me.

I lift a brow. “Depends on what part you’re referring to.”

“That the ghosts of the fallen kings haunt the castle corridors.” She wiggles her fingers in front of her face.

I laugh, even though truthfully, I’ve wondered the same thing. “Sheina, you’re too old to still believe in ghost stories.”

Her head tilts. “So, you’re saying you don’t?”

A shiver notches its way down my spine. “I believe in superstition,” I say. “But I’d also like to imagine that when someone leaves us, their soul moves on to rest in the Kingdom of Heaven.”

She nods.

“Or Hell,” I add, the corner of my mouth tilting. “If they deserve it.”

A giggle escapes, her hand coming up to smother the sound. “Sara, you shouldn’t say such things.”

“It’s just us, Sheina.” My grin spreads as I shrug, leaning into her. “Can’t you keep a secret?”

She scoffs. “Please. I’ve kept every single one of your wicked deeds to myself since we were little girls.”

I adjust against the back of the seat, the steel bones of my corset digging into my ribs. “Would they make a wicked girl a queen?”

Her lips purse, her blue eyes sparkling. “With you, Sara, anything is possible.”

Warm contentment settles in my chest, happy that my uncle allowed me to bring her along. Having a familiar face helps to ease the tension knotting its way through my shoulders.

I’ve known Sheina since I was a little girl, us having grown up together on my family’s estate. Her mother is a maid, and Sheina and I used to spend our summer days sneaking into the fields and picking fresh berries, making up stories about how we’d find the poisonous ones and bring them back to the boys who gave us trouble.

But one of the first things my father taught me was to keep your friends close and your secrets even closer. So while I love Sheina, I don’t trust her with the heavy burden of my truths.

Even to her, I play the part, and she’s none the wiser.

Slowly, the landscape stops whizzing by as our automobile stalls, my gaze snapping to the dual towers housing the entrance to the castle’s courtyard. The stone itself is a dark gray, wet from the earlier rain—or maybe just stained from years of wear—deep ivy winding up the sides until it reaches the steepled tops and disappears into the small, glassless windows.