Scarred (Never After Series)
Scarred: Chapter 25

“Most of you already know that tomorrow evening is the engagement ball for my brother and his bride.”

Boos ring out from the sneering faces inside the tavern, and someone spits on the ground in obvious disgust.

I bring up my hand, picking at a fingernail as I sigh. “They will most likely not expect me to show. But we all know how much I enjoy doing the unexpected.”

Laughs trickle through the room.

“We’re on the cusp of a new dawn; one where you aren’t limited based on circumstance. Where you aren’t thrown to the lions because you’re a little different.”

I pause, my gaze meeting the eyes in the crowd, feeling the blaze burn through them as surely as if it was licking against my skin. “The king has gone mad, although he wishes for no one to know.” My lips pull back from my teeth. “But I know.”

“Why can’t we just storm the castle now?” a young woman in the front screeches, her stringy hair falling in her sunken face. “We have the numbers!”

Rumbles spread through the crowd. I raise a hand in the air, silencing them. “I understand the plight. But instant gratification rarely satisfies the need, and my desire, with your help, is to ensure freedom for us all. Ending Michael’s reign is not enough.”

“But if he dies, the crown belongs to you!” she presses, her fist smacking her other hand. “Where it belongs.”

“That’s true, and it will look extraordinary upon my head.” I smile. “But our end goal is much greater than just me.”

I reach down, lifting up the hem of my tunic until it exposes my chest, showcasing the fresh tattoo, still tender from where the ink pushed into my skin. It’s of a hyena; teeth bared and spit dropping from its mouth, perched on top of bones, and flames reflected in its dark eyes.

Together we rule, divided we fall is scrawled underneath.

“I know most of you despise the name hyena. And who could blame you? Filthy, they say. Disgusting. Uncouth.”

The faces in the crowd grow dark, scowls marring their features, and heavy energy wafts through the room from their tangible anger.

“But power only lies in the hands of those who we let have it,” I continue, dropping my shirt and walking back and forth across the raised platform. “It’s time for us to take our power back.”

I meet the stare of the woman with her idiotic questions, shocks of pleasure surging through my veins when I see the admiration in her eyes. She shoots to her feet before dropping to both knees, bowing before me. Just the way I like it.

“They call us feral animals?” I stop pacing, a grin creeping along my face. “We’ll give them so much worse.”

Mugs slam on tables, a steady cheer growing like a tidal wave.

“For now, feast on the provisions I’ve brought. Go home with full bellies and kiss your families good night, knowing you’ve chosen to be on the right side of history.”

Plates of food are carried from the back area of the tavern and placed on the tables, people scrambling to grab their share.

I step off the platform, weaving my way through the benches until I reach the back corner where Edward stands, his jaw set and his eyes wild; most likely still recovering from the psychological ramifications of the punishment he received. His new woman leans against his front, his arms wrapped around her waist.

“You’ve done well, Sheina, bringing food from the castle,” I say when I reach them.

She inclines her head. “Thank you, sire.”

“Did Paul give you any issues?”

“Not at all.” She smiles, her eyes leaving mine and scanning over the tables of everyone surrounding us, no doubt taking in the rail-thin frames of people shoveling bread and beans into their mouths.

“They eat like it’s their first meal in days,” she says.

I place my hands in my pockets, my thumb brushing against the rough edge of my matchbox. “For most of them it is.”

“What you’re doing here…” Her eyes grow glassy as she meets my stare. “You’re very different from what they say.”

Edward’s arms stiffen around her waist. It’s subtle, but I catch the movement, filing it away for later.

I smirk down at the girl, unable to decide if she’s too naive or stupid—or maybe she’s already forgotten that I threatened to let the town rape her while I killed everyone she loved.

Either way, her words strike a chord. One that sits in the center of my gut, its reverberation vibrating through every part of me until the echoes make me ill. I lean in. “I am everything they say, and many things they don’t.”

Her fingers tighten where they’re wrapped around Edward’s arms. “If Sara knew what you were doing, she would help,” she whispers.

“Do not speak her name to me,” I snap, my chest pulling tight.

“I just—”

“Shh.” Stepping forward, I press my hand against her mouth, smashing her lips until they mold around my fingers. “Do you remember what I told you? About what would happen if you were to betray me?”

Her eyes shutter and she nods.

“Good.” I smile, although nausea burns in the pit of my gut. “Don’t speak of her again in my presence.”

I step back, spinning toward the crowd.

“Have you met her then?” my mother asks, her hands running down the front of her deep-purple gown, her gray hair strung up so tightly it pulls back her face.

The dowager queen never looks anything less than perfect, after all, regardless of the fact she just spent hours traveling here from our country estate.

“I have,” I reply, a cloud of smoke puffing from my mouth and swirling into the air from where I lie on the couch.

“And?” she continues, leaning forward in her chair.

“What would you like me to say, mother?” I sigh, running a hand through my hair and sitting up to meet her gaze. “That she’s everything you’re not? She is.”

She scowls and my insides tingle with glee, happy that I’m wedging a grudge before they’ve even met. I can’t wait to see how my little doe fares against her.

“I wish you’d stop smoking that hashish,” my mother quips. “It’s a disgusting habit. You don’t need anything else to mar your reputation.”

A chuckle works its way through my throat, the scabbed-up wounds from when I was a child and still yearning for my mother’s love throbbing as if they’re new.

“I’m having a hard time caring about your wishes, mother, considering you never took the time to care for mine.”

“That’s not fair,” she huffs. There’s a tense pause in the air, and just when I’ve decided she’s actually going to shut up and allow me silence, she speaks again. “I know you’re sad about your father. We all grieve and if anyone understands, it’s me. But it’s been two years, it’s time to move on, and—”

I stand from the couch and move toward her, my jaw clenching so tight my teeth crack. “Do not pretend to know about my grief.”

Crouching down once I’m in front of her chair, I flick the ash from the end of my joint and rest my hands on her knees, staring up at her. “Where were you the night of his death?”

She lifts her chin. “That’s none of your concern.”

Bile burns the back of my throat, my anger so palpable I can taste it in the air. “You surely weren’t sharing his bed, since that’s where he was found—his skin tinged blue and all alone.”

Her spine straightens just as a knock sounds.

One of her ladies moves into the room and walks toward the door before opening it. Timothy walks in, clearing his throat and bowing deep. “Your Majesty, may I present Lady Beatreaux. She’s here for tea.”

My chest pulls tight at her name, and there’s a sudden urge to stay, if only to protect her from my mother’s sharp tongue and claws. Ridiculous, considering I was just fanning the flames, wanting to create the destruction myself.

My mother pats my hands. “Tristan, darling, I’ll speak with you later.”

I grab her palm and kiss the back. “We’ll continue this conversation later, mother.”

Spinning around, I meet the eyes of Lady Beatreaux, looking beautiful as always and strong-willed as ever.

Good.

She’ll need it.