Scarred (Never After Series)
Scarred: Chapter 17

News of Michael’s proposal has spread, and things are happening in the castle. Almost everyone in the king’s inner circle already knew why I was here, but now, their heads bow a little deeper, their spines notch a little straighter. Respect that I have done nothing to earn is handed to me on a silver platter, simply because a man with the “right” blood in his veins asked for my hand.

Marisol came barging in at the crack of dawn, whipping open curtains and laying out color swatches, droning on about the engagement ball and how it was my duty to plan it.

She knows nothing of duty.

Her blonde hair is coiffed and her gray eyes spear through me as she shows me the thirtieth shade of purple and asks me to compare it to the last twenty-nine, as if I’ve been paying attention.

“Marisol, I hate the color purple.”

“What?” She half chuckles. “It’s the color of royalty, my lady.”

“Great. Pick your favorite and we’ll go with that.” I groan, standing up from my place on the couch. “I need some air.”

Marisol’s eyes narrow as she stares at the two fabric swatches in her hands, but my words make her look my way. “How come?”

My chest burns at her question. “Do I need to have a reason other than it’s something I wish?”

Pursing her lips, she shakes her head. “You have a very busy schedule coming up. You won’t always be able to run off and do as you wish. Especially once you’re queen.”

The bite in her tone doesn’t go unnoticed, and my nerves bristle. “More of a reason to take advantage now, then. Besides…” I pull my lips back into a thin smile. “I have every faith that you and Ophelia can handle the rest of the ball arrangements. Am I mistaken?”

Marisol’s shoulders draw back. “Of course not, milady. It would be our pleasure.”

“Fantastic.” I stretch my neck to the side, the resounding crack unraveling all my pent-up tension. “Have you seen Sheina?”

Marisol averts her eyes. “I haven’t.”

My stomach twists. We’ve been here for days and ever since my new ladies showed up, it seems like she’s disappeared completely. I’m curious to know what she’s doing, but more than that, I miss my friend.

“I think I’ll go try to replace her.” I move toward the door.

“Wait!” Marisol screeches. “You can’t just go running around the castle on your own.”

Tension knots up my spine and I turn, taking calculated steps until I’m standing in front of her. We lock eyes and she sucks in a breath, holding my stare, but I don’t say a word.

Her fingers clench the swatches she’s still holding, and she drops her gaze.

I lean in close, my voice quiet and sharp. “I wasn’t asking permission, Marisol. You are not my keeper, and I will do as I please.”

“I—apologies, milady.”

Anger works its way through my middle and up my throat, but I push it back, allowing the uncomfortable air to sit stagnant for long moments.

Eventually, I step away, smiling. “It’s settled then. I’m going for some air, and you’ll stay here and plan the ball.” I reach out, placing my hand on her shoulder and squeezing, my nails digging ever so slightly into her shoulder. “I trust you’ll do an incredible job representing me. After all, it’s not every day a king chooses you to be his wife, and I need a stellar reputation.”

Her shoulders stiffen, and affirmation of what I suspected trickles through my insides. She’s envious.

Spinning around, I make my way to the door and turn the handle, stepping into the dimly lit hall. Someone appears in front of me, making my heart slap against my ribs.

“Oh,” I gasp, my hand rising to my chest. “Timothy. I didn’t expect you here.”

He doesn’t respond, just stands there, his dark eyes watching me.

“Still not allowed to speak?” Sighing, I rest a hand on my hip. “If you’re always here, who’s with His Majesty?”

This time he reacts, but only barely, lifting his brows as he takes a step closer.

“So, you’re my guard dog now, I take it?” I run a hand down the sleeve of my dress. “Very well, let’s go for a walk.”

I turn away and move forward, hearing the clank of his footsteps behind me.

It must be five or ten minutes before I try to speak to him again. I’m sure I’m lost inside the maze that is the castle halls, but if Timothy isn’t willing to step in and help a girl out, then I won’t ask him to steer me in the right direction.

“Have you seen Sheina?” I ask, trying for the thousandth time to get him to crack.

I’m not surprised when there isn’t a response.

“Who’s Sheina?” A loud voice booms from around the corner. My footsteps stutter at the voice and I stop walking when Paul appears, dressed down in tan corduroys and a light shirt, a monstrous grin on his face.

“Paul, I was hoping I’d see you again.” I smile.

His gaze falls behind me, landing on Timothy before they come back. “Were you?”

“Do you know Timothy?”

“Better than anyone.” Paul’s grin widens, his auburn hair bouncing as he places his hands in his pockets. “Timmy’s my best mate.”

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.

Tristan doesn’t even falter from his movements, ignoring that there was any noise at all.

“Hi, lady.” Simon beams. “What are you doing here?”

My heart pounds in my chest, making my hands clammy and I clear my throat as I make my way closer, my eyes flickering between the two of them.

“Exploring,” I reply, smiling. “What are you doing?”

Simon’s grin widens, his toy sword lying at his side.

As I look closer, I notice one of his eyes has a dark hue marring the light brown of his skin and making it look welted and purple.

I inhale a deep breath but don’t allow my gaze to linger, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, even though the thought of something or someone striking this boy makes my blood boil like a volcano about to burst.

Glancing down, I realize Tristan is, in fact, drawing on Simon. And he hasn’t acknowledged me at all, which makes my insides itch. I move even closer and my foot snags on yet another branch. A slight twinge radiates through my ankle, and I hiss at the pain.

“Perhaps next time you decide to traipse through forests you should dress for the occasion,” Tristan says, his voice soothing my skin like a soft caress.

I scoff and narrow my eyes. But he still isn’t looking at me, keeping his focus on Simon’s arm.

“I’m not traipsing, I heard a laugh and came to investigate.”

Now he stops, glancing up at me. “You’re out here all alone?”

“Yes.” I lift my chin. “Well, technically, Timothy and Paul are back in the garden.” I twist around to glance behind me. “They’re probably searching for me.”

Simon snickers. “I bet they’re happy you left.”

“That’s not very nice.” My hands drop to my hips. “I’ll have you know I’m fantastic company.”

“Well, yeah, but Timmy and Paul love each other.”

My brows draw in. “What do you…”

“Simon.” Tristan’s voice is sharp.

My eyes bounce between them, but I let it go, filing away the information for later. Instead, I drop down, ignoring the way my corset digs into the very tops of my thighs from the maneuver. I don’t want Tristan to know that he’s right, that it is uncomfortable to be here with what I’m wearing.

“What are you drawing?”

Simon chews on his lip. “I wanted a tattoo, but he said no.”

“So, it’s a temporary one then?” I lean in closer to look.

And when I do, my lungs compress as if someone reached inside my chest and stole my very breath. I’ve seen artwork before. Hundreds of paintings hang in the castle, and dozens more at my home in Silva. But I’ve never seen art like this. My eyes widen, heart thudding as I scoot forward to get a better look.

It’s stunning, and a knot lodges its way into my throat, the simple act of looking at it causing emotion to surge through my middle and lock itself into the cracks of my soul. The way Tristan’s hand glides across his skin like a boat on top of water sends tingles trickling through me, as if he’s touching me with every stroke. It’s incredible, the way he commands the pen; intricate lines and shading from a device I can’t even get to bleed right onto paper.

The drawing itself looks as though Simon’s skin has torn—like shredded fabric marred with gashes and holes. And behind it; the face of a lion, with such depth in its features that part of me is convinced it will tear through his arm and leap out to devour me whole.

My mouth gapes as Tristan continues to draw, mind blown at his talent. He glances at me again, and I snap my jaw closed so fast my teeth smash together. A grin tics the corner of his lips as he looks back down.

“What made you want tattoos, Simon?” I ask, ignoring the way my stomach feels like a thousand butterflies are taking flight. It’s an unwelcome feeling. I’d much rather stay here on the ground.

Simon shrugs, chewing on his bottom lip as he stares at Tristan’s face. “He has them.”

My eyes flick to Tristan, whose jaw clenches as he continues to work.

“And they’re too scared to hurt him,” Simon continues. “I thought maybe if I had some… they’d fear me too.”

My mouth dries, a balloon expanding in my throat.

Tristan leans back, flicking the hair from his face. “You’re all done.”

Simon’s gaze widens. “I love it. You think it will work?”

He blows out a breath. “This is for you, not for them. Forget about them.”

“I don’t know how.” Simon sniffles, moving his arm back and forth, the eyes of the lion following the motion. “What happens when it washes away?”

“Then I’ll draw it again.”

“Lady Beatreaux?” A loud voice rings out from behind us, and I snap my head up, locking eyes with Tristan, so many unsaid words floating in the space between us.

I have despised no one more than I do him. He’s vile, and crude, and everything they warned me he would be. And yet, right now, I don’t hate him at all.

Timothy appears through the foliage, his brows drawn down and a scowl marring his face.

I sigh, standing. “Hi, Timothy. What took you so long?”

“You should not run off.”

A smile breaks across my face. “I would have done it sooner if I knew that’s all it took to hear your voice. Besides…” I lift a shoulder. “I’m not a child and I don’t appreciate everyone pretending I am.”

His jaw tenses before his gaze moves to Simon and Tristan, his back straightening. “Your Royal Highness.” He bows.

Tristan’s features harden into stone as he stands, and I swear the air grows cold as he morphs from the man he just was into what everyone else gets to see.

The scarred prince.

He doesn’t speak, but as he moves to walk by me, his hand brushes against mine, our fingers tangling for the smallest moment. And the way it makes my heart stutter out of rhythm should be the biggest warning I’ve ever had.

But like I’ve done with almost every emotion that concerns the prince, I ignore it.