Chapter 16
16
T he button on Skylar’s shirt snagged against her trembling fingers. Night air seeped through her chamber windows, carrying the faint scent of jasmine. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm the storm raging within her. Sleep was impossible; her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The memory of Arye’s fingers on her cheek, his lips whispering against her ear, sent shivers down her spine. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. How could she have let things go so far?
A soft knock startled her. “Your Grace?” Melody’s voice, laced with concern, filtered through the heavy oak. “I saw the light. Is everything all right?”
Skylar sighed, running a hand through her short wig. “Come in.”
There was a brief pause, followed by a metallic scrape as the key turned in the lock. The door creaked open, and Melody stepped inside, worry etched on her face. “It’s late, Your Grace. Why are you still up and dressed?”
A wry smile tugged at Skylar’s lips. “Can’t sleep. My mind won’t quiet down.”
“Are you planning to return to the banquet?”
The thought of facing the crowd again, of seeing Arye surrounded by fawning nobles, made Skylar’s stomach churn. She let out a hollow laugh and gestured at her practical attire, so much more comfortable than the restrictive formal wear from before. “Gods, no. I just need to move.” Her gaze drifted to the window, to the shadowy outlines of the palace grounds beyond. “I think I’ll work off some of this restless energy.”
Melody’s lips pressed into a thin line, disapproval clear in her eyes. “Your Grace, that’s hardly appropriate for a?—”
“A lady?” Skylar finished, bitterness creeping into her tone. “Well, I’m not a woman tonight, am I? I’m the Duke of Anathemark, and he can train whenever he pleases.”
Melody’s expression softened, a mix of sympathy and resignation. “Of course, Your Grace. Shall I accompany you?”
Skylar nodded, grateful for the offer. As they made their way through the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps echoing in the stillness, Melody cleared her throat. “I received a message from Fern earlier today. She says your brother is expected to arrive within a week or two.”
Skylar’s steps faltered. Her chest tightened as she struggled to respond, the tumult of emotions stirred by the news rendering her speechless. The end of her time with Arye was approaching faster than she’d anticipated. Soon, she’d no longer be Duke Skylar Anathemark. She’d be… what? A nameless woman, hidden away from the world she’d grown to love?
The granite beneath her feet felt cold, even through the soles of her boots. The air grew cooler as they descended toward the lower levels of the palace, the scent of damp earth and old stone replacing the lingering perfumes of the upper floors. Torches flickered in their sconces, casting long shadows that danced along the walls.
They passed a group of servants huddled in whispered conversation. As Skylar neared, they fell silent, bowing hastily. She caught fragments of their hushed words—“women,” “crying,” “escorted.” Her stomach clenched. Word of Arye’s outburst had spread quickly.
The training ground near the guest annex was bathed in moonlight as they approached. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of dew-damp grass and distant woodsmoke. Crickets chirped in the surrounding bushes, their song a constant backdrop to the night.
Suddenly, Melody gasped. Skylar’s head snapped up, her body tensing instinctively. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the figure approaching them.
Arye.
He was dressed in simple training clothes, the fabric clinging to his muscular frame, his raven-black hair slightly disheveled. He’d been talking to Anthony, and Skylar could see the chief servant’s balding head bobbing nervously as he spoke in hushed tones to the Prince. As Arye turned, his storm-gray eyes locked onto hers.
For a second, they both froze, equally perplexed by the other’s presence.
“Your Grace,” Melody whispered urgently, tugging at Skylar’s sleeve. “Perhaps we should?—”
Skylar squared her shoulders, cutting off Melody’s protest with a subtle shake of her head. She schooled her features into a blank expression before politely nodding. “Your Highness.”
Arye’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving Skylar’s face. “Duke Anathemark,” he replied, his tone clipped and formal.
The situation felt strangely familiar, echoing their childhood quarrels. So many years later, yet they still circled each other warily. Cautious. Observant. Uncertain.
They were too similar, she realized.
She looked at the training ground and back to Arye. Of course. Of course, they’d both seek refuge in the same place, at the same ungodly hour. They’d spent countless hours together over the years; it was only natural they’d developed matching coping mechanisms, finding solace in the same haven when the world became too much to bear.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Arye’s lips quirked into a small smile, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I could say the same to you,” he replied, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down Skylar’s spine.
“Trouble sleeping, Your Highness?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Arye glanced quickly to their servants before returning to Skylar. “Something of that nature. You?”
Skylar shrugged. “Much the same. Thought I’d tire myself out.”
An awkward silence fell between them. Skylar could feel Melody’s worried gaze boring into her back, and she noticed Anthony hovering uncertainly behind Arye, his perpetual frown deepening.
She cleared her throat, the sound unnaturally loud in her ears. “Well, since we’re both here… care for some company?”
Arye seemed to search her expression before he nodded. “I’d like that.”
Skylar turned to her servant, whose face was a mask of concern. She knew Melody disapproved of her closeness to Arye, fearing he might discover her secret. “You can return to my chambers. I’ll be fine.”
“Your Grace, I really don’t think?—”
“It’s all right,” Skylar said firmly, though she softened it with a smile. “I won’t be long.”
Skylar watched as Melody looked between them, her mouth set in a tight frown of disapproval. But she knew better than to argue further.
Arye remained silent, his expression unreadable. He glanced at Anthony, making a curt dismissive gesture with his hand. “You’re dismissed for the night,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I’ll manage on my own.”
The chief servant’s frown deepened, but he bowed low. “As you wish, Your Highness. Do be careful.”
As their servants retreated, casting worried glances over their shoulders, Skylar and Arye were left alone. The tension between them was palpable, neither quite sure how to bridge the gap their last encounter had created.
As they entered the training ground, Skylar felt a strange mix of anticipation and apprehension coiling in her gut. How should she approach him after what had happened a few hours ago?
The area was eerily quiet at this hour, the usual sounds of clashing swords and shouted commands replaced by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. Moonlight filtered through the branches overhead, casting dappled shadows across the packed earth.
Arye broke the silence first, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Sky, I want to apologize for earlier. My behavior was unacceptable.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration she knew well.
Skylar’s eyebrows arched in surprise. An apology was the last thing she’d anticipated. “Oh?”
Arye’s gaze flickered away. “When it comes to you, I…” He paused, jaw clenching. “Insults make me lose control.” His eyes snapped back to hers, a flicker of darkness passing over his features. “And when they touch you…”
She forced a light chuckle, trying to diffuse the tension. “Is that because we grew up together? You feel protective of your childhood friend?”
Arye was quiet for a moment, his gaze intense as it bore into hers. “No,” he said firmly, a hint of his usual commanding tone returning. “It’s because you’re my partner.”
The word “partner” hung between them, seeming to reverberate in Skylar’s ears against the backdrop of night sounds. Skylar’s mind whirled, trying to decipher his intent. Surely he meant as allies, as comrades-in-arms. Nothing more.
“Do you want to know everything?” Arye asked suddenly, his voice low and serious. “All the things I’ve done?”
Skylar’s throat constricted, a battle between fear and morbid curiosity raging within her. She appreciated his honesty, but did she truly desire to uncover the full extent of his actions? The weight of his gaze was almost physical, pressing down on her.
“I think it’s better if I don’t,” she said finally.
Arye nodded, accepting her decision. Relief and something like disappointment flashed across his face. Then, his expression shifted, a trace of vulnerability creeping into his eyes. “About the match you mentioned?—”
“No,” Skylar cut him off sharply, her tone colder than she’d intended. She saw Arye flinch slightly and immediately regretted her harshness. “I mean… not now. Please.”
A heavy silence enveloped them, broken only by the distant call of a night bird. Arye’s shoulders slumped barely noticeably, his usual confident demeanor cracking. “Do you find me disgusting?” he asked quietly, vulnerability seeping into his words. “For what I’ve done?”
Skylar’s heart ached at the pain in his expression. She stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of silver in his eyes. “No, never,” she said softly. “But promise me to stop. Whatever it is you’ve been doing.”
He looked away, tension evident in his face. “I’m not sure I can.”
“Try,” Skylar pleaded, reaching out to grasp his arm. The warmth of his skin under her fingers sent a jolt through her. “For me. Promise me you’ll stop killing people.”
For a long moment, Arye was silent, internal conflict clearly visible in the set of his jaw. Finally, he nodded. “I promise,” he said, but his tense shoulders betrayed his lingering doubt.
Skylar studied him, a newfound understanding dawning. “You’ve always been like this, haven’t you?” she asked softly. “Even when we were children?”
Arye’s lips quirked in a humorless smile. “Yes,” he admitted.
The honesty in his admission struck her. She reached up, almost unconsciously, and patted his head gently. His hair was soft under her fingers. “Well then, I’ll do for you what you’ve always done for me,” she said softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners with affection. “Keep your humanity intact. We’ll anchor each other. That’s what friends are for, right?”
Something flickered in Arye’s eyes, but it was gone before Skylar could decipher it. She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. “We should probably send someone to find those noblewomen from earlier. Offer them some coin for their silence.”
Arye’s lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Are you asking me to bribe witnesses, Duke Anathemark? How scandalous.”
Skylar narrowed her eyes, looking at him expectantly.
“I’ll take care of it.”
A thought struck Skylar, and she looked at him sharply. “You didn’t already send someone to kill them, did you?”
A slow grin spread across his face, a hint of that earlier darkness returning. “Not yet.”
Skylar couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. It was inappropriate, she knew, but the absurdity of it all suddenly struck her as grimly funny.
Shaking her head, Skylar walked over to the weapon rack. The familiar smell of oil and steel filled her nostrils as she ran her fingers over the hilts of various training swords. She picked up two, testing their weight. The leather-wrapped handles were smooth against her palms, worn from countless hours of use. She tossed one to Arye, who snatched it from the air with practiced ease. The blade flashed as it spun into his grasp.
“How about we relieve some stress the old-fashioned way?” she suggested, falling into a fighting stance.
Arye’s eyes lit up with anticipation, his lips curling into a predatory grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”
They circled each other slowly, muscles tense, gazes locked. Skylar made the first move, lunging forward with a quick thrust. Arye parried easily, the clash of steel on steel ringing out. He countered with a slash that Skylar barely dodged, the wind from the passing blade ruffling her wig.
“Getting slow in your old age, Duke?” Arye taunted, his voice laced with amusement.
Skylar snorted, feinting left before striking right. Her muscles burned pleasantly with the exertion. “I’ll show you slow, Your Highness.”
They fell into a familiar dance, blades clashing in the night air. Skylar reveled in the physical challenge, the way it pushed all other thoughts from her mind. There was only the next move, the next parry, the next strike.
The sound of steel meeting steel echoed through the training ground, punctuated by their heavy breathing. Skylar’s muscles ached from the intense activity, sweat beading on her brow and trickling down her back. She could feel her bindings digging into her chest with each labored breath.
They were evenly matched at first. Arye had more raw strength and precision, but Skylar was faster, her reflexes honed by years of compensating for her smaller frame. But as the fight wore on, Skylar found herself tiring. No matter how skilled she was, she couldn’t match the sheer power of a man in his prime forever.
Arye pressed his advantage, his attacks becoming more aggressive. The whistle of his blade through the air grew louder, more frequent. Skylar realized she was on the defensive, barely managing to withstand the sheer force behind each of his blows. Her arms trembled with the effort of holding her sword steady, the impact of each strike reverberating through her bones.
“Getting tired?” Arye taunted, a wolfish grin on his face. His chest heaved with exertion, but his eyes were alive with the thrill of combat. “Ready to admit defeat?”
Skylar gritted her teeth, refusing to give in. She feinted left, then spun right, her blade whistling through the air. Arye barely managed to block the strike, clearly caught off guard by her maneuver.
“Not even close,” she shot back, a defiant grin on her face. Her lungs burned with each breath, but she embraced the pain. “I could do this all night.”
They continued their deadly dance, neither willing to yield. Skylar’s world narrowed to the jarring impact of each parry, the burn in her muscles, the fierce joy of combat. Finally, she could forget about her lies, her fears, her uncertain future. She was able to be truly herself.
But fatigue was taking its toll. Her movements became slower, less precise. The weight of the sword in her hand seemed to increase with each passing heartbeat.
In a second of distraction, Skylar lost her footing on the uneven terrain. Arye seized the opportunity, pushing forward with a powerful thrust. Skylar stumbled backward, her heel catching on a root. She fell, her sword clattering to the ground.
Before she could recover, Arye was on her, his weight pressing her into the packed earth. His blade rested lightly against her throat, a silent declaration of victory, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies.
Their faces were inches apart, both of them breathing heavily. Skylar could feel the rapid rise and fall of Arye’s chest against hers, could see the beads of sweat on his brow. Her heart pounded, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the exertion or their proximity.
“Yield,” Arye said, his voice husky and low.
Skylar met his gaze defiantly, a grin tugging at her lips despite herself. “Never,” she breathed, acutely aware of every point where their bodies touched.
The air between them crackled with tension. For a second, Skylar thought Arye might close the distance between them, might press his lips to hers. Part of her yearned for it, even as another part recoiled in fear. What would happen if he discovered her secret? If he learned that the man he’d grown up with, fought beside, confided in, was actually a woman?
But then Arye was pulling away, releasing her with a mix of pride and frustration in his gaze. “One day,” he promised, his voice rough, “you’ll surrender to me willingly.”
Before Skylar could formulate a response, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the spell. A servant appeared, looking flustered and out of breath. “Your Highness,” he gasped, bowing hastily. “His Majesty requests your presence in the throne room immediately.”
Arye frowned, getting to his feet. “It’s nearly midnight,” he said, helping Skylar up.
The servant shifted nervously, his gaze darting between Arye and Skylar. “His Majesty said it was urgent, Your Highness.”
Arye’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening and eyes turning cold with authority. For a heartbeat, Skylar saw not her childhood friend, but the future King of Regalclaw—powerful, intimidating, and potentially dangerous.
“Very well,” Arye said, his tone icy. “I’ll be there shortly.” He turned to Skylar, his voice softer. “We’ll continue this another time?”
Skylar nodded, trying to ignore the way her skin tingled where he’d touched her. “Of course. Good night, Your Highness.”
As Arye walked away, his posture rigid with tension, Skylar remained rooted to the spot, her mind reeling. Whatever prompted such a late-night summons couldn’t be good news.