Scarred (Never After #2)(66)

“An outing?” Simon asks. “Can I come?”

Paul walks back from the stove, placing a plate in front of Simon, his gaze briefly locking on Timothy’s before turning away. “Simon, your mama will whoop you black and blue. You know you can’t go into town.”

His face drops. “I’m never allowed to go anywhere.”

“Never?” Sara grins down at him, cupping her hands over her mouth and whispering loudly. “One day, I’ll take you.”

Paul and I share a look, but we say nothing.

The royal bastard of Gloria Terra is the castle’s best-kept secret.

I don’t tell her the reason he doesn’t go anywhere is because no one can know he exists. That, whether we want to admit it or not, if word got out about a brown boy with the same striking eyes as the king, chaos would follow.

Or how, if my brother simply acknowledged him, Simon would be the rightful heir to the throne.





CHAPTER 37





Sara B.





This has been my first official event––besides the ball––as the king’s betrothed, and I’ve been instructed that there’s certain decorum I’m expected to maintain.

Do not stop and talk to people.

Do not leave the guards.

Do nothing other than smile and wave, cut the ribbon for the grand opening of the new medical center, allow photos to be taken, and then straight back to the castle.

And I do all of that. I follow the rules spectacularly. It isn’t until later, Timothy and all three of my ladies surrounding me, that my good intentions turn to dust. Because there’s a boy standing at the edge of the street, in torn and dirt-ridden clothes, his hair buzzed close to his head as he stares directly at me.

There’s something off about his face, although from this distance it’s difficult to see. But either way, his gaze slams into the center of my gut, and I’m turning before I can help myself.

“Timothy,” I say, keeping my eyes on the child. “Do you see that boy?”

He moves to stand next to me, looking to where I point and nodding.

“Bring him here.”

“No,” Marisol cuts in. “In and out, milady.”

My insides spit fire like a dragon, and I pull my shoulders back, walking over to her until we’re nose to nose. “You are not my master. And you do not get to tell me what I may or may not do. I’ve been very nice to you up to this point, Marisol. Don’t make me show you how cruel I can be.”

“Milady.” Ophelia steps next to us. “What Marisol means is we need to tread carefully. That boy… he… well, he doesn’t look like one of us.”

Sheina snaps her head to Ophelia at the same time as I do. “And what does he look like, Ophelia?” I hiss.

Her cheeks blossom a deep red and she turns her face toward the ground until the brim of her hat hides her eyes from my view.

“He’s deformed,” one of the guards spits. “It’s easy to see from here. Most of them are—if not physically, then mentally.”

I close my eyes to calm the raging storm brewing in my gut. “Most of who are?”

He waves his arm toward the child. “The hyenas, of course. Rebels. Whatever you want to call them.”

“He’s most likely a trap, milady,” Marisol adds, her eyes squinting as she stares at the boy.

“I’d like to speak with him.”

Nobody moves, and the longer they stand stagnant, the heavier the disappointment gets, like bricks being dropped in the center of my chest.

My heart twists. How can they be so callous?

“Fine.” I force a smile, my eyes meeting Sheina’s. A small grin breaks across her face, her gaze sparkling with mischief. It reminds me of when we were girls, figuring out ways to break the rules so we could sneak out past our bedtime. She moves until she’s standing between Timothy and me, allowing easier access for me to escape down the road.

I spin, racing down the street, the material of my shoes rubbing the sides of my feet raw.

“Milady!”

“Sara!”

Glancing behind me as I run, I laugh at Sheina trying to block their paths. She won’t be successful for long, seconds at most, but it fuels me, allowing me to ignore the burn of my legs or the way my lungs ache for deeper breaths of air.

Finally, I reach him. He hasn’t moved this entire time, and as I kneel, my knees dusting along the dirt road, I admit to myself that maybe this wasn’t the smartest choice. He looks to be in need, but it’s odd for him to stand and stare the way he is, especially with the spectacle I just put on.

“Hi,” I say, staring up at him.

This close, I can confirm the guard was correct. He has a cleft lip, the center of his mouth missing. His dark eyes are big and round, and bones protrude from his skin.

The injustice of it all makes me want to scream. It isn’t fair that he stands here on a road lined with thriving businesses and groundbreaking technology, yet this is how he lives. And everyone ignores him, cringing away when they see him, assuming that because he’s different, he’s somehow less than.

Anger bubbles like a cauldron deep in my chest, reigniting the fire that burned while I was in Silva, when my father and I used to sneak rations of food and any money we could find to the people. How I used to sneak money even after his death, stealing it from my uncle’s safe and slipping it into Daria’s hands.