Chapter 1
1
I n the heat of battle, Skylar became a whirlwind of steel and secrets. Her blade, an extension of her iron will. Her heart, a fortress guarding forbidden truths. A woman’s body, hidden beneath the weight of a Duke’s responsibilities. Desires, burning bright, forever locked away.
“Left flank’s breaking!”
“Hold the line!”
Shouts pierced the air, urgent and desperate. This hellish symphony had been playing for weeks, with no end in sight.
Skylar’s sword met flesh, and she felt the sickening give as it sank into another Thorncrest soldier. The scrape of metal on bone made her insides crawl. Hot blood sprayed across her face, its warmth shocking against her cold-numbed skin. She watched the light fade from the man’s eyes, a final gurgling sound escaping his lips before he crumpled to the ground.
Disgusting.
Revulsion churned in her stomach as she yanked her sword free. The blade made a damp, slurping noise that turned her insides. There was no time to dwell on it. Another attacker was already upon her, his weapon raised high. Skylar’s muscles screamed in protest as she ducked under the wild swing. She drove her pommel into his gut, feeling the impact reverberate up her arm. As he doubled over, she brought her knee up hard. The crunch of cartilage beneath the blow made her wince.
The bindings across her chest felt like bands of fire against her skin. Two days of constant fighting had left them damp with sweat and blood, chafing with each movement. Skylar longed to loosen them, to take just one full breath. But she couldn’t risk it, not even for a moment. Weakness wasn’t an option. Not when the entire kingdom believed her to be Duke Skylar Anathemark, protector of the realm and loyal servant to the crown.
A man.
Skylar pushed through the pain, gritting her teeth until her jaw ached. Her secret bore down on her, as suffocating as the leather armor that concealed her true form. Yet beneath her stoic exterior, Skylar sensed it—the Divine Beast stirring restlessly in the farthest edge of her consciousness. A phantom sensation of talons scraping against her ribcage made her shudder. The Divine Beast was growing impatient, begging to be unleashed. To end it all at once.
No. Not now. The cost was too high.
The battlefield stretched before her, a hellscape of mud and gore. What were once lush grasslands now lay as a churned wasteland. Bodies littered the ground, their lifeless faces turned accusingly toward the leaden sky. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. Carrion birds circled overhead, their raucous cries a grim promise of the feast to come.
A flash of movement caught her eye. Arye. The Crown Prince of Regalclaw cut through the enemy ranks like a scythe through wheat, his blade a blur of silver and crimson. His raven-black hair whipped in the wind, stark against the golden armor that gleamed even in the dim light. His face was a mask of cold fury, gray eyes glinting with merciless determination.
Their gazes met across the chaos of battle. For a heartbeat, Skylar saw a flicker of something softer pass between them, a silent communication born of years spent in each other’s orbit. Her heart skipped a beat, warmth blooming in her chest despite the carnage around them. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come, both turning back to the grim work at hand.
Skylar fought her way towards him, each step a struggle against the sucking mud and fallen bodies. Her muscles burned with exertion, but she pushed on, cutting down foes with ruthless efficiency.
“Your kill count’s rising, Your Highness. Trying to impress someone?”
She sensed rather than saw Arye’s lips curl into a predatory smile. “Keep up, Duke,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. “I’d hate to see you fall behind.”
Skylar snorted, shaking her head even as she parried another blow. “Just try not to get yourself killed, Your Highness. I’d rather not face your father with bad news.”
Their banter, sharp as their blades, was cut short as a fresh wave of Thorncrest soldiers surged towards them. Enemy banners, blood-red thorns on a field of black, fluttered ominously in the wind. Skylar readied her stance, ignoring the burning pain across her chest.
“Left!”
Skylar ducked instinctively, feeling the whoosh of air as a blade passed over her head. She spun, her own sword finding its mark in the attacker’s exposed neck. The man’s blood gushed out, splattering her face and seeping into the short strands of her wig. The metallic scent filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn.
Damn it.
She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, grimacing at the red stains on silver-white hair. Another night of secret washing and praying it dries in time. Who needs sleep anyway? The constant vigilance wore on her, a never-ending dance of deception that left her exhausted to her very bones.
“I had that one,” Arye remarked from beside her, amusement coloring his usual cold tone.
“You’re welcome, Your Highness.” Skylar held his gaze, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. She savored these moments of lightness amidst the darkness of war.
Arye leaned in slightly, his voice dropping so only she could hear. “Always watching my back, aren’t you, Sky?”
The intimacy of her nickname on his lips sent a jolt through her body. She met his intense gaze, acutely aware of their proximity. The scent of leather, sweat, and something uniquely him filled her senses, making her head spin. “Someone has to.”
As the last of their immediate attackers fell, Skylar allowed herself a moment to catch her breath. Her lungs burned with each inhalation, the smoky air doing little to ease her exhaustion. Before her lay a nightmarish expanse of carnage and destruction. The armies of Regalclaw and Thorncrest had been locked in this deadly dance for weeks, neither side gaining a clear advantage. The futility of it all weighed heavily on her shoulders.
A piercing scream cut through the battlefield’s clamor, shattering Skylar’s moment of respite. Her head whipped around, heart pounding as she searched for the source. There, not far from where she stood, a young Regalclaw soldier lay writhing on the ground. His leg was a mangled mess of flesh and bone, blood pooling beneath him and soaking into the muddy earth. The sight turned Skylar’s stomach, bile rising in her throat.
Without thinking, she rushed to his side, her boots slipping in the gore-slicked mud. She dropped to her knees beside him, ignoring the wet squelch and the warmth seeping through her breeches. “Hold on, soldier,” she commanded, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the churning in her gut. She tore a strip of cloth from her undershirt, wincing as the movement pulled at her bindings.
“Your Grace,” the boy gasped, face ashen, gaze wide with shock. “I… I can’t feel my leg.”
Skylar worked quickly as she tied the makeshift tourniquet. The fabric turned crimson instantly, warm liquid seeping through her fingers.
“You’ll be fine,” she said.
It was a lie. She knew better. This hellish battlefield had taught her harsh truths. She’d seen too many like him. Blood loss or infection—one would claim him. The odds were never good.
“What’s your name?” she asked, buying him moments of hope. It was all she could offer.
“B-Billy, Your Grace,” he stammered, awe mingling with fear in his expression.
“Well, Billy,” Skylar said, mustering a smile that felt more akin to a grimace, “you’ve done your duty. Now let’s get you out of here.”
She signaled to nearby medics, who hurried over with a stretcher. As they set it down, Skylar heard a soft thud following by Billy’s agonized cry piercing the air. His hand shot out, grasping her sleeve. His blood-slick fingers held on like a lifeline. But it wasn’t.
“Your Grace,” he gasped, voice weak but urgent. “Where… where are they taking me?”
A wave of emotion crashed over Skylar, making it hard to swallow. She looked down at the boy, barely old enough to be here, his expression twisted with pain, eyes searching hers for comfort. She met his gaze, forcing a gentle smile.
“You’re going home, Billy,” she said softly, the lie heavy on her tongue, threatening to choke her.
Relief washed over his face, a trembling smile forming. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he whispered, his grip loosening. As they lifted Billy onto the stretcher, Skylar felt Arye’s presence behind her. The warmth of his body was a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in her bones.
“Your attention belongs elsewhere,” Arye stated coldly. She could feel his gaze boring into her back.
She turned to him, her jaw set in determination. “Every life matters, Arye. You taught me that, remember?” The words hung between them, heavy with shared memories and unspoken emotions.
Arye’s expression hardened for a split second, then smoothed into unreadable calm. “That was a long time ago,” he said, his voice cold as the wind that whipped around them. “Priorities change.”
The sound of hoofbeats grew louder, muffled by the blood-soaked earth. Skylar turned to see Captain Knox approaching at a gallop, his weathered face grim beneath the gory spatter that marked him like war paint. She noticed Arye’s demeanor shift beside her, becoming more rigid, more regal. The demeanor of the Crown Prince.
“Your Grace. Your Highness.” the Captain’s gravelly timbre carried the toll of years of service, each word seeming to age him further. “News from our spies. Enemy reinforcements are on the way. Moving through the eastern pass.”
Skylar’s stomach dropped, but her features remained composed. “Numbers?”
“At least a thousand. They’ll be on us by nightfall.”
Shit. They were already stretched thin, their forces barely holding the line. If Thorncrest managed to outflank them… Her mind raced through potential strategies, each one more desperate than the last.
“We need to regroup,” she began, her tone measured but urgent. She could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on her, threatening to crush her beneath its burden. “Pull our forces back to-“
“Captain,” Arye’s voice cut through the air, sharp and decisive. Skylar flinched at the interruption. “Prepare the men. We attack at dusk.”
Captain Knox nodded, not questioning the order. “Yes, Your Highness.” He wheeled his horse around and galloped off, leaving Skylar staring at Arye in disbelief. The prince’s command lingered, a death sentence for countless soldiers.
As soon as the Captain was out of earshot, Skylar moved closer to Arye. “Arye,” she said softly, using his name with the familiarity of years of friendship. “A frontal assault could be suicide. We should-“
“You doubt me, Sky?” Arye interrupted, his tone low and intense. His eyes bore into hers, a mix of challenge and something darker, more possessive. The intensity of his gaze made her breath catch in her throat.
Skylar met his look unflinchingly, refusing to back down despite the flutter in her stomach. “I’m concerned about our men. There has to be a better way than this. We can-“
“Our men will fight,” Arye cut her off again, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His words rang with absolute confidence, brooking no argument. “And they’ll win. Because that’s what I expect of them.”
Skylar opened her mouth to retort, to make him see reason, but a commotion from nearby caught her attention. The clash of metal and raised voices drew closer, pulling them from their disagreement.
Soldiers were dragging a struggling Thorncrest captive towards them, the man’s armor dented and bloodied, his face a mask of defiance despite his predicament. Skylar’s hand instinctively tightened on her sword hilt, her body tensing for potential danger. Her glance flicked to Arye, a protective instinct surging through her veins. For a moment she thought she heard the faint rustle of feathers. The cursed beast was restless, sensing its time was near.
“Your Highness! Your Grace!” A soldier called out, straining with effort as he struggled to contain the man. “We found this one trying to sneak past our lines. Says he has information.”
Arye’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the newcomer, his posture shifting subtly. Skylar recognized the change—the predator sensing potential prey. A shiver ran down her spine, a mixture of fear and something else she dared not name.
“Speak, dog,” Arye commanded, his words laced with disdain. “What information could you possibly have that would interest us?”
The captive spat blood onto the ground, his eyes burning with hatred. A glob of red-tinged saliva landed near Skylar’s boot. “I’ll talk to no one but the King himself,” he rasped, his voice raw with pain and defiance.
In a flash, Arye’s hand shot out, gripping the man’s throat. “You’ll speak to me,” he growled, “or you’ll never speak again. Choose wisely.”
Skylar watched the exchange, her heart pounding against her ribs. This was the side of Arye that both thrilled and terrified her—the next King who would do anything to protect his kingdom. She saw the barely contained violence in his gaze, the tension in his muscles as he held the man’s life in his grasp. A corner of her mind urged her to intervene, to show mercy, but a darker impulse—one she tried to ignore—reveled in Arye’s strength.
The Thorncrest soldier’s eyes bulged as he fought for air, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. Just as Skylar thought Arye might actually kill him, he released his grip. The man fell to his knees, gasping and coughing, each breath a desperate wheeze.
“The eastern pass,” he managed between ragged breaths, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… it’s a trap.”
Skylar and Arye exchanged a quick glance. She recognized the same realization dawning on his expression that she felt—if this was true, their entire strategy would need to change.
“Explain,” Skylar demanded, her tone harsh.
The captive looked up, his expression wavering between terror and defeat. “The reinforcements… they’re not coming through the pass. That’s just a diversion. The real attack…” He coughed, struggling to catch his breath. Each word seemed to cost him dearly. “It’s coming from the north. A secret path through the mountains. You’ll be surrounded by dawn.”
Arye’s face remained impassive, but the subtle flicker in his eyes betrayed his racing thoughts to Skylar.
“How do we know you’re not lying?” he asked, his tone dangerously calm.
“Because I deserted,” the man replied, barely audible. The fight seemed to drain out of him, leaving only a broken shell of a man. “Their experiments… they killed my daughter. She was just a child, and they…” His voice broke, tears threatening to spill down his grimy cheeks.
A heavy silence fell over the group. Skylar’s mind raced, trying to process this new information. If it was true, everything changed. She cast a sidelong look at Arye, noting the tightening of his jaw. The gravity of their next decision loomed over her, its significance almost overwhelming.
“Your Highness,” she began, but Arye held up a hand, silencing her.
“Take him to the interrogators,” he ordered the soldiers, his words cold and detached. “I want every detail he knows extracted. Use whatever means necessary.”
As the captive was dragged away, his pleas for mercy fading into the din of battle, Arye turned to Skylar. “Gather the war council,” he said, his tone softening slightly when addressing her. This subtle shift, so subtle others might miss it, made Skylar’s heart skip a beat. “We need to-“
“Duke Anathemark!”
The thunderous approach of another horse cut through Arye’s words. Skylar whirled to see King Lyinell riding towards them, his golden armor a beacon amidst the grime and gore of battle.
“Your Majesty.” Skylar bowed her head, acutely aware of Arye tensing beside her. The air crackled with unspoken tension, as it always did when father and son were in close proximity.
The King’s eyes swept over the battlefield, his expression grim. Skylar could see the gravity of the kingdom’s fate etched in the lines of his face. “The situation grows dire,” he declared, his voice reflecting the import of his crown. Each word fell like a stone in Skylar’s stomach. “Our eastern flank is weakening.”
Arye stepped forward, his jaw clenched. “Father, we’ve just received intelligence that-“
“Silence,” King Lyinell snapped, his eyes flashing with irritation. “I’ve not come for your strategies, boy. I need Duke Anathemark.”
Skylar felt a chill run down her spine as the King’s gaze locked onto her. She knew what was coming, dreaded it with every fiber of her being. Her heart began to race, pounding so hard she was sure the others must hear it. The air grew heavy, charged with otherworldly energy that made her skin prickle. Sounds of battle faded, replaced by an eerie silence that pressed against her eardrums. Time itself seemed to slow as the King drew in a deep breath.
“Duke Anathemark.” His words boomed across the battlefield, each syllable resonating with power. Skylar felt it in her bones. An order that could not be ignored. “The tide turns against us. I command you to summon the Divine Beast!”
The words hit Skylar like a physical blow. Her head throbbed, a sharp pain lancing through her skull as the ancient pact that bound her family to the royal line stirred to life. It surged in response to the King’s command, its power pulsing through her veins, demanding obedience.
The beast within. The Gryphon.