Chapter 13
13
I t was a mistake. She should have told him before talking big.
Arye’s face flashed in Skylar’s mind—his eyes blazing with anger at her pledge to use the Gryphon. Her stomach churned, nausea clawed at her insides. She swallowed hard, forcing it back down. She had to explain, to make him understand why she’d done it. It was all for his kingdom, for his men, for him.
A pair of servants scurried past, the soft swish of their livery barely audible over the pounding of Skylar’s heart. Their gazes remained downcast, trained on the intricate mosaic patterns beneath their feet. Skylar watched as they quickened their pace, seemingly eager to be out of her presence. The soles of their well-worn shoes squeaked slightly against the polished stone, a discordant note in the otherwise silent hallway. The Duke of Anathemark was not someone to be approached casually, after all. But right now, Skylar didn’t feel like the powerful, cursed protector of the realm. She felt small, uncertain, desperate to explain herself to the one person whose opinion truly mattered.
The setting sun cast the corridors in gold and crimson, long shadows stretching across the polished marble. Skylar’s footsteps echoed hollowly as she moved through the empty halls. As she rounded a corner, she nearly collided with Anthony, the Chief Servant. His frown deepened at the sight of her, worry etching lines into his face. The strong scent of parchment and ink clung to him, reminding her of the endless paperwork that came with managing the palace.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing slightly. The movement caused his joints to creak audibly. “Is there something I can assist you with?”
Skylar nodded, grateful for the fortuitous encounter. “Yes, actually. I’m looking for the Crown Prince. Have you seen him?”
Anthony’s eyes darted nervously before he leaned in, lowering his voice. His breath smelled faintly of mint. “I saw His Highness heading towards the gardens not long ago, Your Grace. If you’d like, I can escort you there.”
“That would be appreciated. Thank you.”
As they set off, a flurry of movement caught her eye. A group of servants hurried along, their shoulders tense and faces etched with worry. One nearly collided with her, his eyes widening in recognition before he ducked his head and moved on.
“Strange,” Skylar muttered, watching their retreating forms. Unease settled in her gut, her skin prickling with tension. “They seem on edge.”
Anthony’s lips thinned as he glanced around, the corners of his mouth turning down in a grimace. “Tensions are high, Your Grace. The Crown Prince has been in a foul mood today. Most of the staff are trying to make themselves scarce unless he needs them.”
A few maids rushed by, arms full of linens. “Slow down!” Anthony barked, his usual nervous demeanor replaced by stern authority. “This is a palace, not a tavern!”
The maids flinched, their pace slowing immediately. Skylar raised an eyebrow at the head servant, impressed by the sudden show of backbone.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” he murmured, flushing slightly. “Oh,” he continued, “I meant to inform you earlier. Your order has been executed.”
Skylar’s brow furrowed for a moment before understanding dawned. “Ah, yes. Thank you for taking care of that.”
Anthony nodded, a hint of pride in his smile. “He’s been placed in the stables, as per your instructions. The stable master reports he’s a diligent worker, despite his condition.”
A wave of relief washed over Skylar, quickly followed by a pang of guilt. She pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the present. “That’s good to hear.”
As they neared the gardens, the scent of night-blooming jasmine filled the air. Skylar’s steps faltered as raised voices cut through the evening calm, growing louder with each moment.
Anthony’s eyes widened, fear flashing across his features. “Your Grace, perhaps we should?—”
Skylar held up a hand, silencing him. Arye’s voice, taut with anger, pulled her forward like an invisible thread. Before she could reconsider, she found herself pressed against the cool stone wall near the garden entrance. The rough texture beneath her palms anchored her as she strained to listen, her heart thundering in her chest.
“—absolutely refuse!” King Lyinell’s voice boomed, echoing off the walls. His usual silky menace was gone, replaced by raw fury. “You are a Clawborne! Your duty is to the kingdom, not your own selfish desires!”
“My duty?” Arye’s response came swiftly, his tone sharp. “My duty is to ensure a strong future for Regalclaw.” He paused, his voice growing more intense. “That includes choosing my Queen, not some political pawn you’ve picked out!”
Skylar’s breath caught in her throat. Queen? That must be about the marriage Captain Knox mentioned. Her heart began to race, dread coursing through her veins.
“Your Grace,” Anthony whispered urgently, his face pale. Beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip, glistening in the fading light. “We shouldn’t be here. This is not for our ears.”
But Skylar couldn’t move, her feet rooted to the spot by a desperate need to hear more. “It’s fine,” she said, waving Anthony away, her eyes never leaving the garden entrance. “You are dismissed.”
Anthony hesitated, clearly torn between his duty to obey and his fear of the consequences. His fingers twisted the hem of his jacket, the fabric creasing audibly in the tense silence. “Of course, Your Grace. Shall I inform you when His Highness returns to his chambers?”
Skylar shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. Thank you.”
As Anthony’s footsteps faded, Skylar inched closer to the entrance. The voices grew clearer.
“You insolent brat!” King Lyinell spat, his words dripping with venom. “You think you know better than your king? Than your father? This marriage to Princess Aven could secure peace for generations!”
There was a pause, heavy with tension. When Arye spoke again, his voice was low and dangerous, reminding Skylar of a coiled viper ready to strike.
“Regalclaw demands unassailable strength, Father.” Goosebumps prickled along Skylar’s arms. “I’ll have a Queen who can wield power at my side, not some wilting flower from a withering kingdom.” Arye’s tone grew colder with each word. “Our enemies will tremble before us both. Anything less is unacceptable.”
“You speak of choice,” King Lyinell’s voice was dangerously soft now, a stark contrast to his earlier fury. “Tell me then, do you have someone in mind? Some noble lady who’s caught your eye, perhaps?”
Skylar held her breath, every muscle in her body tense as she waited for Arye’s response. The world seemed to narrow to this moment, everything else fading away. She could hear her own heartbeat, thundering in her ears like war drums. The scent of jasmine suddenly felt cloying, threatening to choke her.
“Yes,” Arye said finally, his voice filled with a conviction that made Skylar’s heart ache. “I do.”
The world tilted on its axis. Skylar’s vision blurred, her chest constricting as if the Gryphon itself was clawing at her heart. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling the gasp that threatened to escape.
Arye loved someone. He had chosen his Queen. And he had never told her.
The realization pained her more than every wound she’d ever received, leaving her winded and aching. She was his friend, his confidant, the one who stood beside him in battle. How could he have kept this from her? The betrayal sliced deeper than any blade, inflicting a gash in her heart that seemed beyond mending.
The words faded into a distant buzz as Skylar’s gaze fixed on a withered leaf trapped in a spiderweb nearby. Its edges curled inward, brown and brittle. She watched it twitch in a breeze she couldn’t feel.
Her hand moved without thought, fingers tracing the rough stone beside her. The chill of it seeped into her skin as she lowered herself to the ground.
“You fool,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she meant Arye or herself. “You utter, complete fool.”