Scarred (Never After #2)(50)

She smiles, tipping her head, but I see the flash of irritation swirling through the deep brown of her irises. “Thank you, Your Highness. That’s very kind.”

“I know your manners are rusty,” Michael cuts in, his eyes blazing. “But be careful how you speak of my soon-to-be wife.”

His hand reaches out and grabs hers, and she turns toward him, her features softening as she tangles their fingers together on top of the table.

Green gusts whip through my middle, and my jaw clenches so tight it cracks. I tear my eyes away, worried that if I don’t, I’ll storm the dais and rip his fingers clean off his body, making sure he can never touch her again.

I make my way up onto the raised platform and walk behind the backs of every chair, until I come to stand behind my cousin, Lord Takan, who sits next to my little doe. The treacherous witch.

Bending down, I press a hand on his shoulder, the diamonds of my rings glinting as I squeeze. “Cousin, it’s been a long time.”

His body stiffens, wine goblet freezing halfway to his mouth. “Tristan, what a delightful surprise.”

I lift a brow. “Is it? When was the last time I saw you?” I ask. “At my father’s funeral?”

He clears his throat, placing his cup on the table, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the top. “I believe so.”

“Wow.” I whistle. “Two years. Incredible.” A servant interrupts, a large chair being hoisted between their arms, and amusement dances through my middle when Takan is forced to move out of the way to make room for me.

Once my chair is in place, I sit down, my legs stretching underneath the long white linen tablecloth that covers my lap. I turn my body toward my cousin, but I reach out with my right arm, placing my hand on Lady Beatreaux’s thigh. Her entire body stiffens, her fork clattering when it falls on the plate.

“Are you alright?” Michael asks her.

My palm grips her tighter.

“What?” She laughs. “Oh, I’m just fine. Thought I saw something, is all.”

“Tell me, cousin.” I grin at Takan. “What have you been up to since I saw you last?”

My fingertips create small figure eights against the fabric of her dress, crawling up her leg, pausing when I feel something bulky.

Her muscles tense, and I realize she has what feels like a dagger strapped to her. Smirking, I glance at her from my peripheral.

Such a devious little minx.

The vision I create in my head makes me harden, imagining her bound and naked, nothing touching her skin except the silver of her blade and the heat of my lips. My palm skims upward until I press into the crease of her inner thigh, my knuckles hitting the bottom of her corset, as I force the fabric of her dress to meld to her skin.

I can feel the heat of her cunt, and I bite back a groan, my hand kneading her flesh.

My stomach flips when her fingers slam down on top of mine.

Takan wipes his mouth with a napkin, but his movements are jerky, beads of sweat forming on his brow, his jaw grinding back and forth. “Your brother has made me the viceroy of Campestria.”

“A viceroy.” I raise my brows. “How... quaint.”

I tighten my grip, the tops of my rings pressing against my little doe’s palm. Her hand moves off mine, and I dip my fingers in farther, leaning back in my chair and grabbing the wineglass from the table to bring to my lips.

She skims across my thigh, fingertips brushing against the edge of my erection. A cough whips through me, the wine burning as it races down my throat. My cock throbs, desperate for her touch. I’m half tempted to pick her up and throw her on top of this table, pushing up her dress and planting my tongue in her pussy, just to hear what her moans sound like in the beautiful acoustics of the hall.

I surge forward, my lips parting as she teases the side of my length with the back of her palm, the fabric jostling and creating a friction that has me close to coming without her even fully touching me.

Liquid oozes from my tip and my fingers grip the meat of her thigh so tight, I’m sure I’ll leave a bruise.

“Sara, sweetheart.” Michael’s voice cuts through the fog, and her hand disappears as quickly as it came. “I’d like to have some time with you, alone, before the ball begins.”

She blushes as she gazes at him. I clench the edge of the table, my knuckles lancing white from the harsh grip.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she croons.

She places her palm in his, and they rise, but before they can move, a large crash clatters through the hall.

I turn to my left, shock spiraling through me when I see my cousin collapsed on top of the table, grasping at his neck. His body spasms as if he has no control over his muscles. Red capillaries burst in his eyes, and I’m frozen in place, transfixed at the sight of him.

A scream sounds from somewhere beneath the dais, and someone rushes forward, pushing me out of the way as they aid him. I allow them to move me, a sense of dread winding through my middle, recognizing that my cousin is poisoned, and not by me.





CHAPTER 28





Sara B.





Strychnine.

Not the most subtle of poisons, but I didn’t need subtlety. I needed something that had no known remedy and would work quickly.

Lord Takan is harmless—a sacrifice for the greater good—but somewhere in the deepest part of me, I could feel a piece of my soul wither and chip when I slipped the powder in his drink and watched it dissolve, knowing I was serving him nothing but death.