Scarred (Never After #2)(31)
Genuine shock ripples through my chest and I twist to look at the guard behind me. “Oh?” I turn back around, bringing a hand up to cup my mouth as I speak to Paul. “He doesn’t like to talk to me, you know? I think he’s intimidated.”
Paul smirks. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
Amusement floats through my chest, light and airy, and I grasp on to the feeling, hoping if I hold tight enough, it will stick. “We’re going on a walk. Would you like to join us?”
Paul hesitates, rocking back on his heels. “I’m not sure it’s wise to be seen with me around the castle, milady.”
I raise a brow, irritation bleeding into my skin. “Why don’t you let me worry about that.”
A beautiful grin takes over his face, teeth gleaming as he nods and walks right up to me, stretching out his arm. “Well, in that case.”
I hook my hand in the crook of his elbow and allow him to escort me down the hallway, expecting him to lead me in the right direction since clearly Timothy is content to allow me to walk around in circles. But he doesn’t take us to the front of the castle like I expect. Instead, he leads us through narrow hallways and past countless rooms before we reach a small enclave with a dark wooden door.
“Is this a secret room?” I glance at him.
Paul smiles as he walks to the door and pushes it open. “Better.”
The cool September air whips across my face as I walk toward him and into the open space, clouds looming over the skies and hiding the sun; as usual in Saxum. Waves crash in the distance, letting me know we’re close to where the Vita Ocean meets the cliff’s edge near the back of the castle.
But in front of us is a gorgeous garden, full of deep purples and stunning whites, small droplets of water beading on the petals, leftover from the early afternoon rain. Gargoyles and sculptures are scattered throughout, dark-green moss spreading across their sides and blending in with the gray of their structure, and a stunning three-tiered fountain sits in the center, two black benches with gold trim on either side.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“The queen’s garden,” Paul says.
I quirk a brow.
“The Queen Mother spent many days out here when she was pregnant with His Majesty, and then again with His Royal Highness.” Grass crunches beneath Paul’s feet as he moves to stand beside me. “No one really comes here anymore. But it’s a nice place to relax.”
“It’s beautiful.” I walk away from him and closer to the fountain, my chest warming with every step. And then I look past it, to the forest that surrounds us. Dense trees. A thousand different shades of green towering in the distance, reminding me of just how secluded the Saxum castle is.
Spinning around, I open my mouth, about to ask if it’s safe to walk through, but the words stick on my tongue when I see Paul and Timothy huddled close together, my mute guard throwing his head back in laughter, his hand coming up to rest on Paul’s shoulder.
It’s a shocking sight. I was convinced he didn’t know how to laugh at all. A hollow ache spreads through the center of my chest as I take them in, envious of the ease with which they enjoy each other’s company. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced that. I rack my brain, trying to come up with a single, solitary memory of letting my guard down and just being with another person, but I come up blank.
The ache grows, wrapping itself around the chambers of my heart and squeezing.
A muffled laugh soars through the trees, but it’s enough to call my attention away and pique my curiosity. It’s coming from the edges of the forest, and without thinking it through, I follow the noise, walking straight into the pine.
Twigs break beneath my feet, and I fist the fabric of my skirts, hiking them up as I make my way through the trees, searching for the laughter. And then two figures at the base of a thick evergreen appear, and my footsteps stutter as I grasp at the trunk in front of me, shrouding myself in the shadows of its leaves.
Simon sits cross-legged, his eyes wide and his mouth spread in a giant smile. But it’s the man he faces that steals my breath. Prince Tristan sits on the dirt ground, mirroring Simon’s position, his back hunched and his disheveled black hair falling over his forehead as his brows furrow in concentration. He holds Simon’s arm steady in one hand, his other one moving back and forth, the tip of a fountain pen pressed against Simon’s limb.
He’s the most casual I’ve ever seen him, wearing black trousers with matching suspenders over a cream tunic, rolled up at the sleeves. My core spasms, heat rushing through every vein.
They haven’t noticed me yet, so I take the opportunity of being invisible, my eyes glossing over Tristan’s body, the drawings on his forearms coming to life with his movements, as if they’re living, breathing things instead of artwork inked into his skin.
He looks unguarded, his features softer than normal as he leans over, the corners of his mouth tilting up while Simon continues to giggle next to him.
“Stay still, little lion.” His voice is low and raspy, and the memory of his whispered words in the cathedral sends goose bumps sprouting along my neck.
“It tickles,” Simon says back.
I blow out a heavy breath, trying to control the ridiculous way my body is reacting to a simple thought, and I shift on my feet. A twig breaks and Simon’s head snaps up, his eyes squinting as they land on mine.