Scarred (Never After #2)(74)

Michael’s eyes are wide at my outburst, his jaw muscle tensing.

I cover my mouth with a trembling hand, nausea surging through my throat. “I’m sorry, if you’ll excuse me. I’m feeling rather ill. I think I need to go lie down.”

“Sara,” Uncle Raf starts again.

I put a hand out to stop him. “I’m fine, Uncle. Nothing a midday rest can’t fix.”

Shoving from my chair, the wood legs scraping against the floor, I toss my napkin on the ground and flee from the room, worried that if I stay even a moment longer, I’ll say things I can’t take back. And that’s the last thing I want.

But I needn’t worry, because no one follows.





The fire has long since been put out and I’m sitting in front of it, yet another layer of sadness drops in my chest.

Sheina never came.

I’m angry. And honestly, a little afraid that the girl I thought I knew is actually a woman I know nothing of. Serves me right, I suppose, considering she doesn’t know much of me.

Glancing at the brown floor clock as it ticks against the far wall, I sigh, deciding to focus on something I can control—learning more of the tunnels.

The couch cushions groan as I stand, walking from the sitting area over to my freshly made bed. Dropping to my knees, I peek beneath the mattress’s frame, my arm stretching until I grasp the corner of a small chest. I pull it toward me and open the top, breathing a deep sigh as I pull out the black ensemble I used to wear when sneaking out at night in Silva to take the stolen money from my uncle’s safe and put it in Dalia’s hands.

I strip out of my nightgown, slipping on the black pantaloons and the long-sleeved black tunic, before sitting down on the edge of the bed and lacing up the boots. When I move to the mirror to place my curls back into a bun at the nape of my neck, a sense of calm cascades over my shoulders, feeling like myself for the first time since I arrived in Saxum.

Not all women are meant for frilly dresses and fancy crowns that sparkle in the light.

Some of us prefer the anonymity that comes along with shadows.

Slipping my arms in the black cloak, I put the hood over my head, gripping the edges with my fingers and pulling until it hides my face from view. And then I’m out of the door, already knowing there won’t be a new guard there to keep watch. With Xander gone, I’m nothing but an afterthought.

My stomach tightens as I make my way to the nearest secret door, and my stomach jolts when voices filter around the corner, sounding as though they’re heading in the same direction. I spin around and run as quietly as I can to the end of the hall, hiding behind the far wall so they don’t see me.

Sheina. My heart falters. And Paul.

My brows draw down, and my insides curdle with confusion, wondering what it is they’re doing together and why they’re lurking through the hallways late at night.

When they open the secret passageway and step into the castle’s tunnels, my stomach drops to the floor. I follow behind them, trailing far enough away where they won’t notice I’m there. It takes ten minutes to reach the end of the tunnels, a small stone staircase leading to a small door that opens to the outside, and they exit, whispering words too low for me to hear.

Again, I follow, stepping into the chill of the cloudy night, and realizing we’re in the middle of the forest. And I have no idea where they’re about to go.





CHAPTER 41





Tristan





It’s a very interesting turn of events to have my brother listening to my words as though they’re gospel, and it’s just more proof that he’s truly lost his mind.

If I wasn’t so fixated on the memory of how my little doe felt wrapped around my cock, maybe I’d find some humor in the irony of the boy who spent his life telling me I wasn’t worth the dirt on his shoe, asking me what he should do.

Granted, all of this is from my careful manipulation of his hallucinations. I saw a weakness, and I pounced. The rebels are large and growing every day. I have many factions hidden in plain sight. We’re everywhere, even in the spots you wouldn’t suspect. But I’m not an idiot, and if there’s opportunity to strengthen our odds, I will always take it.

Which is why I lightly suggested last night that Timothy not have a proper burial—something that Edward could use to sway opinions of the king. People don’t do well when one of their own isn’t treated with respect.

“Brother, I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know where else to turn.” I shake my head, pacing as though the thoughts are plaguing my mind.

“Out with it, Tristan. I’m busy,” he snaps, leaning back in his chair and puffing on a cigar.

“It’s about father,” I whisper, glancing around the room as though someone will overhear.

This gets his attention, and he sits forward, his brows rising. “Has he told you something else? Come to you in a dream again?”

I hesitate for a few long moments. “He has. But… I don’t know.”

“Tell me,” he hisses.

“In my dream… the king of Andalaysia was sending troops to our southern border.”

Michael grips the roots of his hair. “What? You think they mean to wage a war?”

Blowing out a deep breath, I shake my head. “I don’t know, Michael. It’s probably nothing. Fuck!” I kick the wooden chair leg. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”