Scarred (Never After #2)(51)

Lord Takan is first cousins with the king, which makes him a Faasa, and although not high in line to assume the throne, he is in the line. And my thirst for revenge won’t be quenched until I’ve eradicated every drop of Faasa blood from the earth.

Michael’s hand trembles as he grips my forearm, beads of sweat forming on his brow as we’re escorted by a corral of guards, led by Timothy and another man in uniform with shaggy blond hair. I can’t remember his name, but I know he was the one who restrained that woman with Lord Reginald’s head. Xander stomps in front of us, running a hand through his hair as if he can’t calm his thoughts.

We file into Michael’s office, and Timothy grips my elbow, his eyes scanning me from head to foot, as if he’s worried I too ingested poison that will paralyze my airways and have me seize until I die.

“I want to know,” Michael’s voice shakes the walls. “What the fuck that was.”

Xander paces back and forth in front of the desk.

He’s a talented actor, I’ve decided.

After all, it was him that slipped me the poison in the first place.

“The ball must go on,” Xander chirps. “This is the perfect time for you both to come together and reassure the people. Show them that in adversity we find strength…” He points between Michael and me. “In each other.”

I scoff. “Do you ever think of anything besides politics?”

His lips turn down, a sinister glaze coasting through his eyes.

The door flies open and Prince Tristan storms through, a dark energy swirling around him, making it feel like the temperature drops just from his presence.

I shiver, my heart thumping in my chest.

He does not look happy.

“Tristan,” Xander snips. “It’s always death that brings you around, isn’t it?”

Tristan’s footsteps are heavy, his long black jacket floating out behind him as he cuts across the room. Xander’s eyes widen and he backs away until he bumps into the lip of the desk.

Quick as a flash, Tristan’s hand shoots out, gripping Xander by the face until his cheeks smoosh, his glasses pushed until they’re crooked and bent on his forehead.

“Tristan, please,” Michael sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.

His jaw tenses as he lifts Xander up until his toes are kissing the ground.

There’s a tendril of worry for my cousin, but I’m so surprised by the sheer energy radiating from the prince that I’m frozen in place, a heady sensation flooding through me as he dominates every other man in the room just by choosing to be in it.

My eyes track along the rings on his fingers, moving over the thick veins in his hand. My thighs press together when I remember that same hand dipping between my legs while dozens of people watched, none the wiser.

I regret not taking the opportunity of feeling how much I affected him when I had the chance.

“A family member has just been poisoned in our home, yet you still speak to me as if I won’t slice up your body and feed it to the mutts for dinner,” Tristan spits.

Nausea rolls through me at the visual his words create.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, Your Highness,” Xander stutters out, wincing when Tristan’s grip tightens. “I’d be so gamey, not an appetizing meal at all.”

The prince sneers, dropping Xander to the ground, and I rush over, crouching beside him and helping him to stand.

“Be civilized,” I snap, glaring up at Tristan.

His eyes rage like a wild storm, all of his playful banter gone as if I made it up in my head. My heart stutters against my ribs as I hold his stare, and for the first time, I get why they fear him. My uncle’s warnings blare through my brain.

“The scarred prince is unhinged, Sara. Stay away from him until necessary, do you understand?”

“How do you know it was poison?” Michael questions.

“Because I’m not an idiot.” Tristan breaks our connection and spins toward his brother. “Did you not see the convulsions? The struggle to breathe? The quick and torturous death?”

Michael sucks in a breath. “He’s dead?”

Tristan chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“Hyenas,” Xander hisses.

My brows rise to my hairline, irritation at the disgusting name bleeding through my pores. I get what he’s doing; pinning the murder on the rebels. It wasn’t the plan, but I see the appeal of using them as scapegoats to help us hide in plain sight. Still, the thought of innocent people being hurt drops in the center of my chest, weighing me down until my legs tremble. Hopefully, I can finish the job before it comes to that.

Michael huffs. “Here? In the castle?”

“They’ve made it in the castle before,” I speak up. “Is it so far-fetched to believe they could again?”

Tristan leans against the wall, the muscle in his jaw tensing and releasing. He pulls a joint from behind his ear and rolls it over the cupid’s bow of his lips before slipping it in his mouth, and even though it isn’t an appropriate time or an appropriate reaction, my stomach tightens, desire pooling between my legs.

After our night under the stars, I don’t know that I’ll ever look at smoking the same.

He grabs a match from his pocket, a few wayward strands of his jet-black hair falling over his scar as he leans forward to light the end; the flame making his features glow a warm shade of orange. His eyes flash when they flick to me, and he straightens, allowing the fire to burn down the wooden stick until I’m sure it’s grazing against his skin.