Scarred (Never After #2)(44)

The voice makes my heart dive into my stomach and I spin around, coming face-to-face with a broad chest and a sparkling smile.

“Uncle Raf,” I gasp. “What are you doing here?”

His icy blue eyes gleam as they trail me from head to toe, his weight leaning heavily on a dark wooden cane. “Hello, sweet niece.”

“And who are you?” Simon interrupts, having walked forward to stand in front of me, his sword pointing at Raf’s chest.

My uncle glances down, his smile withering away as he takes in who’s questioning him. My eyes narrow, the need to protect Simon surging through my blood like a fire.

“This is my uncle, Rafael Beatreaux.” I place my hand on Simon’s shoulder.

“And this is His Majesty,” I say to Raf, my eyes widening.

Simon glances up at me, his amber eyes sparkling. My breath whooshes from me as I look at him, realizing for the first time that his eyes bear a striking resemblance to Michael.

My chest caves in on itself.

No. Is he?

Uncle Raf laughs. “Surely, you jest.”

I shake my head. “No, he’s the king. Don’t you know how to greet royalty with respect?”

Simon’s chest puffs out. “Yeah. I’m the king.” He shoves the tip of his sword into uncle’s leg, and I stifle the laugh that wants to burst from me. “Bow before me.”

Raf glances between us, and with every second he doesn’t play along, my ire grows.

“Little lion.”

Two words and my insides flare to life.

My spine stiffens, hating the way my body reacts to the simple sound of his voice.

Simon spins on his heels, dropping his sword and tripping over himself to run and greet Tristan, and I can’t help it when my heart squeezes, seeing the genuine affection in Simon’s gaze.

He loves him.

And he might be the only one who does.

I glance up from Simon, meeting Tristan’s eyes. Butterflies explode in the pit of my stomach, and dread follows, wishing that I could force them away. I don’t want them.

“Is that…” Uncle Raf’s hand reaches out to grip my forearm, but his touch is cold compared to the heat from the prince’s gaze.

“It is.” I step away, removing myself from his grasp.

“The scarred prince,” he whispers.

My chest twists.

“Don’t call him that,” I snap, turning to glare at him.

“Why is he staring at you like that?” he asks.

I blow out a breath and force a smile. “Probably wondering why I still exist. He isn’t my biggest fan.”

“Good,” he spits. “Keep it that way.”

He places out his arm, and I slip my hand through the crook, trying to ignore the way Tristan’s stare is burning a hole through my back.





CHAPTER 24





Sara B.





Marisol flits around me, making sure my gown flares in the appropriate spots and cinches where it’s supposed to. This is the last fitting before I wear it tomorrow night to the ball. And it’s stunning. Black lace overlay on cream silk with ruffled fabric that pulls in the waist, and a slight train trailing behind. The quartered sleeves are accented by black gloves that rest just over my elbow, and I’ve never felt more beautiful.

It’s what I would choose for myself, if I had ever scrounged together the funds for such an ostentatious dress. But until recently, that hasn’t been my life. I have plenty of gorgeous gowns, but they’re all hand-me-downs from my mother, from a time when we had the type of money to thrive. The ones I came here with have all been provided handily by my cousin, so we don’t alert people that despite being the daughter of a duke, I’m actually quite broke. King Michael wouldn’t take kindly to finding out the only regality left is in name.

Even more, he’d refuse to believe it’s his fault.

“Milady, you look gorgeous,” Ophelia swoons, her hands resting over her chest as she takes me in.

“Thank you, Ophelia.” I smile at her.

Her innocence is something I long for. She’s only three years younger than me; a fresh-faced eighteen, but it feels as though we’re worlds apart.

I suppose that’s what happens when you experience the harsh cruelties that this world and the people within it offer. And as I stare at Ophelia, her soft features looking up at me in awe, I send up a quick prayer, hoping she’s able to hold on to that innocence for as long as possible. Once it leaves, you can never call it back. It just dangles as a memory you long to reach, but one that’s always out of grasp.

“Do you have family here, Ophelia?” I ask.

She smiles, nodding. “I do. Mama, Papa, and an older brother.”

I grin at the love that seeps through her tone. “And what do they do?”

“Papa works with your cousin on the Privy Council. And mama spends her time keeping the house.”

“Everyone lives here in the castle?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, no, milady, my parents live in Saxum, but not here in the castle. And my brother is in France.”

Sheina sashays into the room with a tray of tea and stops short as she looks at me.

“Sheina, stop it.” I laugh. “You’re staring at me like you’ve never seen a nice dress before.”