Scarred (Never After Series)
Scarred: Chapter 7

Lady Beatreaux is not who she seems to be.

When you live your life having to look over your shoulder, you learn to sense shifts in the air long before you ever see the change. And I felt her outside the door the moment she arrived, although I didn’t know it was her until she stood in front of me.

My fingers flex as I remember the way her curly strands of hair spun around my finger, her eyes like ice picks as she glared at me in her simple gown and pinned-back hair. She looked nothing like the regal lady who sat next to my brother.

I prefer her this way.

Leaning back against the observatory tower at the castle gates, I pull a matchbox from my pocket and strike a flame, allowing the orange heat to tease my skin as I reflect on her intrusion.

Is she spying for my brother? Is he watching me?

Possible, but improbable. Although I don’t put it past her to do his bidding; I do put it past him to think that highly of her. He’s not known for his respect for women.

Still, she’s different than I expected. More sinister, perhaps.

If it wasn’t me she was spying on, I’d be able to replace admiration in her falsities. But since it is, it does nothing but leave a bitter tang in the back of my throat; one I choose to let linger, so I’m always reminded of the taste.

That’s the difference between me and other people. They run away from the bad things, and I become them.

Reaching up, I pluck the rolled blunt from behind my ear and place it in my mouth, waiting until the fire has almost completely engulfed the match before lighting the end; the smell of hash curling up in the air, making my tightened insides unravel into a buzzing sort of calm.

My boot kicks against the wall, my head leaning against the cool stone as I gaze out over the streets of Saxum. The castle sits on a cliff, an easy vantage point to see everything even beyond the dense trees.

When I was a young boy, my father would bring me here, whispering words of grandeur, and teaching me the ways of the land.

“This is my legacy. And one day it will be yours.”

“You mean Michael’s,” I correct, glancing up at my father.

His dark hair blows in the nighttime breeze as he looks over at me. “You and your brother need to set aside your differences. Faasa blood runs through your veins as surely as it does his. Together we rule, divided we fall. Remember that.”

I scoff, rubbing my swollen wrist, remembering how just a few hours earlier Michael shoved me into the dirt and called me a freak. “Tell him that.”

He chuckles. “Michael is still trying to replace his place in this world.”

“And I’m not?” I ask, my voice rising in defense.

“From the moment you were born, you’ve been different.” He reaches out, tapping the center of my chest. “In here.”

Different.

My chest twists. I don’t want to be different. I just want to be left alone.

“You learned to talk faster,” he continues. “Walked sooner. And you were drawing as soon as you could hold charcoal in your little hands.”

I glance down at my fingers, flexing them in my lap, hissing as sharp pain shoots through the tendons of my throbbing wrist. Anger at Michael and his friends bubbles like a simmering pot in the pit of my stomach.

“It’s an admirable trait—to be so sure of yourself in a world without answers. An enviable one.”

My brows dip in confusion. “Why would Michael be envious of me? He gets all this.” I wave my arm over the forest and the darkened city streets just beyond, lit only by the full moon hanging above us in the sky.

My father sighs, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me in tighter to his side. “Sometimes, it’s hard to know who you are when there’s pressure to be something else. Your brother will be king one day.”

Pride coasts through the tone of his voice and my heart deep dives into my stomach, something heavy and green whipping through my insides.

“And you, my little lion, are free to roam.”

But I’m not free. I never have been—not really. Years later, and I’m still here in Gloria Terra. Glory of the earth.

Flicking the ash from my smoke, I raise the tips of my fingers to my scar, running them along the raised edge, something sour tightening my gut.

The moon is full, and it casts a glow on the darkened forest, the groans of wind the only sound other than the occasional howl from feral wolves, and the hoots from owls that frequent the observatory windows at night.

Pushing myself off the wall, I drop the burned paper and herb to the ground and crush it between my boot, before walking into the trees and away from the safety of the castle.

I scan the dilapidated room, taking in several dozen faces crammed together at the long tables and benches, all eyes focused on me. The air smells dank, as if the frequent rainstorms have weakened the foundation and sank its way through the interior, growing and rotting the wood from the inside out.

But The Elephant Bones Tavern isn’t a place known for its prosperity or its upstanding patrons.

It’s dangerous and exists amid the shadowed lands; a place they warn even the strongest soldiers to keep far away from. And until recently, it’s where I’ve spent most of my time, cultivating the watering hole as the home base for the rebels. Its owners are Belinda and her husband Earl, both of them faithful followers of my cause.

If you spend time within the inner circles of Saxum, however, you’ll hear the shadowed lands referred to by a different name.

The hyena battlegrounds. Where the rebels roam.

Although it’s said in jest by those with gold lining their pockets. The ones who have never had to suffer under the cruel hands of fate. People who allow ego to be their crutch, never taking the less fortunate seriously. Whispers of “rebels” mean nothing to them. And why would it? No one is stupid enough to go against the crown.

The Faasa family has reigned for centuries. We’re too strong. Too powerful. Too bold.

But with greed and power comes boastful ignorance and blind eyes to threats. Chinks in the armor that erodes until a chasm forms; big enough for someone to slip through and fracture the core from within.

Which isn’t a bad thing. I’d rather live in chaos, ruling over the rubble, than spend a second longer watching my brother sit on the throne.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“Sire,” a trembling voice breaks through the crowd, Belinda rushing through and throwing herself at my feet. Her bony hands snake out, her body bowing forward as her lips meet the top of my boot.

“You may rise.”

She moves to her knees, her dark eyes glimmering with unshed tears. I reach out to tip up her chin, and her palms wrap around my wrist. I swallow back the disgust at having her touch me, focusing on the fact that I gave her Reginald’s head, and she delivered, just the way I asked.

“You’ve pleased me,” I say.

“Anything for you, sire,” she whispers, staring up at me with clear adoration.

My hand moves from her face up to the top of her head, petting her hair and gazing out at the crowd.

“Let this be a lesson for all of you. While the roads ahead will be difficult and treacherous, they will also be paved with success. Stay prepared. There will be great sacrifice, and I will accept nothing less than absolute obedience. I know the gravity of the situation—of what I’m asking. But if you do for me, I swear.” I pause, moving my palm to rest over my heart, attempting to show sincerity through my movements and hoping it bleeds through my tone. “I will do for you.”

I wave my free hand toward the woman at my feet. “This beautiful soldier—this warrior—trusted in me.” I gaze down at her, my touch moving back to her jaw and stroking her pallid skin as my eyes meet hers. “Loyalty. The highest kind. The type that is rewarded.”

My focus goes back to the people. “Aren’t we tired of growing hungry while the noble gorge and feast?”

Angry murmurs whisper through the air, their grievances music to my ears.

“Aren’t we exhausted of being spit on and forgotten, as if we aren’t the ones keeping Gloria Terra afloat?” I slam my free hand into my chest. “Isn’t it time for us to rise up and rise against?”

Cheers erupt, fists banging on the worn tables.

“Down with the king!” someone yells.

A laugh escapes from my throat and I raise a palm in the air, quieting them, their attention rapt once again.

“Trust in me friends, and I promise… I’ll lead you home.”

Belinda cries, dropping into a bow so deep her arms splay in front of her and her nose skims the floor.

Everyone else in the crowd follows suit, lowering their bodies to the ground, their heads dipped in subservience.

Satisfaction sneaks through my veins, and a smirk tips the corner of my lips. My eyes meet Edward’s as he kneels in the back corner. I nod, pleased at the way he freed our messenger from the dungeons and brought her back.

This was important. A statement. One that shows everyone I keep my word and will keep them safe. This is but a small portion of the support I’ve garnered, but it’s enough for the message to spread.

It’s hardly the truth, but perception is reality, and not everything is a lie.

I’m the one who will storm the castle and burn it all to the ground; along with my brother, his queen, and anyone else who gets in my way.

I’m the one who will rebuild Gloria Terra. The way it should be.

And if these peons are casualties in the war?

I search for a modicum of empathy to their plight but come up blank. They’re simply tools. Plain and crude outcasts that have found safety within me.

Their Lord. Their savior.

And the leader of the rebellion against the king.