Chapter 6
6
S kylar’s ears throbbed, her back ached, and she’d lost all feeling in her bottom. Smile, wave, smile. Just a few hours more and this would be over. She could do this.
The crowd’s roar threatened to drown her, its deafening enthusiasm pressing in from all sides. Flower petals rained down from balconies above, a fragrant storm of reds, whites, and golds that clung to her wig and clothing. The air was thick with the scent of victory—sweat and incense, spilled ale and roasting meat.
A petal tickled her nose, and she fought the urge to sneeze. Her fingers tightened on Noire’s reins, the leather warm and supple beneath her gloved hands. The warhorse snorted, and she felt his muscles tense beneath her. “Easy, boy,” she murmured, patting his glossy neck. “We’re almost through this.”
Regalton’s grand gates loomed ahead, and Skylar’s heart raced as she guided Noire through the threshold, the sounds swelling to near-painful levels. The gatehouse’s shadow offered a brief respite from the harsh sunlight before they emerged into the dazzling brightness of the main thoroughfare.
Banners bearing the royal gryphon crest fluttered in the breeze, their crimson and gold hues stark against the clear blue sky. The silk rippled and snapped in the wind, creating a hypnotic dance of color and movement. The steady clip-clop of hooves on cobblestones anchored her, a counterpoint to the chaotic cheers. Everywhere she looked, faces beamed from windows and doorways. Children perched on shoulders, waving tiny flags like fluttering butterflies.
Everyone seemed happy.
Everyone except the Crown Prince.
“Duke Anathemark!”
Arye’s hissed whisper barely reached her. Skylar hid her grin behind a yawn, pretending not to hear. She’d been ignoring his attempts to get her attention for the past few minutes, finding a childish sort of amusement in his growing frustration.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” Arye muttered, his tone a mixture of annoyance and amusement.
Skylar bent to pet Noire’s neck, using the motion to hide her snort of laughter. She straightened, gaze moving past Arye to where King Lyinell rode at the forefront. The King was resplendent in his golden armor, flanked by his most skilled guards. Arye and Skylar followed close behind, their horses’ hooves striking a steady rhythm against the cobblestone streets.
But they weren’t riding side by side, and that was the source of Arye’s irritation—and Skylar’s delight. There was nothing he could do to change that unless he wanted to embarrass himself in the middle of the victory procession.
Or so she thought.
Suddenly, Arye slowed Blanche’s tempo, causing confusion among the guards beside him. The white mare tossed her head, clearly annoyed at the change in pace. Skylar couldn’t do the same without risking a pile-up in the procession. Within seconds, she found herself alongside him, unable to hide her laugh.
“Take your place beside me, Sky,” he whispered, victorious.
Skylar’s brow furrowed, a protest forming on her lips. “Your Highness, I can’t. Protocol dictates?—”
“To hell with protocol.”
“What?” Skylar looked around, checking if any of the guards had heard him. But if they had, they showed no reaction—probably valuing their lives over proper etiquette.
“You ended this war,” Arye continued, his gaze never leaving her face. “You deserve to be seen.”
“They can see me just fine from where I was,” Skylar argued, all too aware of the curious glances thrown their way. “I’m not part of the royal family.”
“I want them to see you here. Next to me.” His voice dropped lower, a dangerous edge creeping in. The rumble of his words seemed to vibrate through her, settling low in her belly. “Where you belong.”
Skylar’s breath caught. She swallowed hard, suddenly very conscious of how she must look next to the resplendent Crown Prince. Without thinking, she reached up to adjust her coat, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.
“As you wish, Your Highness,” she replied with a slight nod, guiding Noire to fall in step beside Arye’s mount. As their horses drew close, she added under her breath, “But if your father asks, this was your idea.”
Arye’s lips curled into a smirk, “Worried about getting in trouble, Sky? Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
Skylar rolled her eyes, fighting back a grin. “Your protection is always appreciated, Your Highness,” she said, a hint of playful sarcasm in her tone.
As they progressed deeper into the city, Skylar’s gaze drifted over the crowd behind her. She watched as burly warriors melted into the arms of wives and children, their faces streaked with tears of joy. The lump in her throat grew, making it difficult to swallow.
But amid the joy, she couldn’t miss the heartbreak. The sad faces. The sobs. Some had already heard of their sons’ deaths; others searched desperately for loved ones they’d never find. It was only a matter of time before the mood shifted, before the whispers started.
Monster. Devil. Cursed.
The unspoken words echoed her own doubts, the self-loathing that threatened to consume her. She squared her shoulders, lifting her chin defiantly. Let them whisper. Let them fear. As long as it kept them safe, she’d bear any burden.
Suddenly, she noticed movement from the corner of her eye. Arye’s arm was reaching toward her, his muscles visibly tense even beneath his ornate jacket. Skylar’s breath hitched, her heart rate spiked.
Did he notice something?
Time slowed as his hand approached her head. With careful, deliberate movements, he plucked a red petal from her silver-white hair. His fingers brushed her temple for the briefest moment, sending a jolt through her body.
Her pulse thundered, drowning out the crowd. She couldn’t discern if her racing heart was from the fear of her wig being displaced or from the electricity of Arye’s touch. Their eyes met, and for a moment, she wanted to grab him by his collar and show him how she really felt.
“A souvenir,” he murmured, tucking the petal into his pocket. His words ghosted across her cheek, warm and intimate.
A comfortable silence fell between them as they continued their slow progress through the streets. Skylar’s thoughts turned to her own family—to her mother, waiting at the Anathemark estate. Soon, she would visit, a prospect that filled her with a mixture of anticipation and dread.
Pushing aside her musings, Skylar glanced at Arye. Despite the victorious atmosphere, tension radiated from every line of his body. His jaw was set, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he waved to the adoring crowd.
“How did the peace negotiations go?”
Arye’s expression darkened. “My father made certain… demands,” he bit out, his tone cold enough to freeze the summer air.
Before Skylar could press further, the procession slowed as it approached a line of ornate carriages carrying the kingdom’s nobility. The somber mood shifted as a melodious laugh cut through the air, drawing their attention. Lady Emma, resplendent in a gown of emerald silk that complemented her golden curls, leaned from her cushioned seat in one of the carriages.
“Oh, Duke Anathemark!” she called, her voice dripping with honeyed charm. As their horses drew level with her carriage, she continued, “It seems you’ve quite the following among the ladies… and not a few gentlemen as well.” Her gaze raked over Skylar’s form, lingering a moment too long.
Skylar felt heat creep up her neck, suddenly very aware of her body. She resisted the urge to check her breast binds, praying they were secure.
“My lady,” Skylar replied, forcing her voice into a deeper register and nodding respectfully toward the carriage. “You flatter me. But surely it’s His Highness who commands the crowd’s attention today.” She gestured toward Arye, grateful for the chance to deflect attention.
Lady Emma’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, but Your Grace, you underestimate your own allure. Why, half the court has been abuzz with tales of your heroics on the battlefield.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I wouldn’t mind taking a look at your… beast in action. They say it’s quite impressive when unleashed.”
Great heavens!
If there was a good day to die from embarrassment, it was today. Skylar’s mind raced, caught between the fear of her secret being discovered and the absurdity of the situation. No matter how Lady Emma meant it, Skylar had no intention of revealing either her summoning ability or her lack of manhood.
“I’m afraid my beast is not for public display, my lady,” she answered, pitching her voice low and hoping the ambiguity would suffice.
As they moved past, Arye’s lips curled into a smirk, though Skylar didn’t miss the way his knuckles whitened on the reins. “It seems you have admirers in every corner of the kingdom, Sky,” he teased, though his knuckles whitened on the reins. “Perhaps we should arrange a ball in your honor.”
“Surely not, Your Highness. Your admirers far outnumber mine,” Skylar replied, her tone light but laced with unease.
It was all so wrong. So very, very wrong. How had it come to this? She was only meant to play this role until her parents conceived a son. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
The memory of her father’s death, right after news of her mother’s pregnancy, still cut deep. In an instant, her entire world had shifted. No longer a temporary stand-in, but the Duke of Anathemark in truth, charged with protecting not just her family’s legacy, but her grieving mother as well. Five long years as family head, and she hated every bit of it.
Captain Knox’s approach pulled her from her thoughts as he guided his mount briefly behind them. His leathery face split in a broad grin, eyes crinkling with poorly concealed amusement. He jerked his chin toward a buxom noblewoman in the crowd, her ample cleavage threatening to spill from her low-cut gown.
“The Roots bless us with such sights after battle, eh, Your Grace?” he chuckled. The words rumbled from deep in his chest, carrying easily over the crowd’s noise. “Gotta work out some of that post-battle tension tonight, if you catch my meaning.”
Skylar felt her cheeks burn, grateful for the high collar of her formal attire. She opened her mouth to deflect, but Arye cut in.
“I’m sure the Duke has more pressing matters to attend to,” he said, his tone deceptively light. But Skylar caught the dangerous edge, the way his eyes narrowed.
Captain Knox, oblivious to Arye’s shift in mood, pressed on. “Ah, but surely even a Duke needs some recreation, Your Highness. And there’s more than enough beauties to go around—even for a Crown Prince, if you’ve a mind.” He winked, the gesture crude and conspiratorial.
“I’m not interested,” Arye snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. His gaze swept over the crowd, cold and dismissive. “And neither is the Duke. We have a kingdom to run, Captain.”
Tense silence fell. Captain Knox’s eyes widened, and he mumbled an apology as he fell back. But not before Skylar caught his muttered words:
“Gods above, it would do him good to let off some steam before his wedding.”
Skylar’s heart clenched at the words, a cold dread settling in her stomach. She risked a glance at Arye, but he steadfastly avoided her gaze, his eyes fixed on some point in the King’s back.