Chapter 17
17
T he palace gardens sprawled before Skylar, a riot of color and fragrance that did little to soothe her frayed nerves. She inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of roses mingling with the earthier tones of freshly cut grass, desperately trying to center herself. What in the name of all the gods had possessed her to agree to this ridiculous outing?
A chorus of tinkling laughter erupted from the surrounding noblewomen, jarring her already frayed nerves. Skylar forced a polite smile, her jaw aching from the effort. The midday heat was suffocating—her formal jacket’s stiff collar chafed against her neck, and her trousers clung uncomfortably to her legs, the fabric rough against her sweat-dampened skin.
At least she wouldn’t have to wear layered skirts and simper at suitors… yet.
Lady Emma sidled up, her emerald gown rustling softly against the gravel path. The dress shimmered, accentuating her curves. She leaned in close, her cloying perfume making Skylar’s nose twitch. “I must say, Duke,” she purred, “you handle the court’s attention with such grace. One might almost think you were part of the royal family.”
Skylar’s spine stiffened imperceptibly. Lady Emma’s smile was sweet, but her sharp eyes seemed to catch every reaction. “You’re too kind,” Skylar replied evenly, her heart racing. “I merely do my duty.”
Lady Emma’s laugh chimed melodiously. “Oh, come now. Surely even you have some weakness.” Her gaze raked over Skylar. “Or perhaps… a secret to your poise?”
Before Skylar could respond, Lady Carlotta’s shrill voice cut through the air, dripping with false sympathy. “It’s such a pity some still fear you, Duke Anathemark. If only they could see you as we do.”
Skylar observed Lady Carlotta, her plump face flushed, small eyes darting nervously as she frantically fanned herself.
“Indeed,” Lady Emma agreed, her gaze unwavering. “Although it’s natural, given your power. How fascinating that your Divine Beast mirrors the royal crest so perfectly.”
Skylar’s mouth went dry. “A happy coincidence, I’m sure,” she managed lightly.
“Oh!” Lady Carlotta exclaimed. “That’s such a clear sign of your allegiance. Not like your father’s dreadful Basilisk at all.”
The mention of her father sent a sharp pang through Skylar’s chest. Unbidden, memories of her Coming of Age ceremony flooded her mind. The acrid smell of incense burning in brass censers. The cold stone of the throne room beneath her knees. Her mother’s fearful eyes as Skylar summoned Gryphon for the first time. The searing pain as years of her life were stripped away, feeding the ancient pact. King Lyinell’s triumphant smile, believing the beast’s form to be a testament to the Anathemark family’s loyalty.
But it wasn’t.
Lady Alison, severe in her high-necked black gown, sniffed disapprovingly. “I hardly think it’s appropriate to discuss such matters so openly, Carlotta. The Divine Beasts are sacred, not fodder for idle gossip.”
Skylar noticed Carlotta’s face fall, her lower lip trembling. “I-I didn’t mean any offense, of course. I just find it all so fascinating.”
Skylar cleared her throat, desperate to change the subject. “Your concern is appreciated, ladies, but unnecessary. I assure you, I take no offense at genuine curiosity.”
Lady Emma’s eyes glittered with interest. “How magnanimous of you, Duke. Tell me, do you find it difficult to balance your duties with your personal life? I can’t imagine you have much time for… personal pursuits.” Her tone dripped with insinuation, making Skylar’s skin prickle with unease.
Skylar opened her mouth to deflect, but was saved by the arrival of a harried-looking servant, his livery askew. “Pardon the interruption, Your Grace, my ladies,” he said, bowing low. “Lady Emma, your carriage has arrived.”
A flash of irritation crossed Lady Emma’s features before she smoothed them into a pleasant mask. “I see.” She turned to Skylar with a coy smile. “We’ll continue our chat another time, Duke. Do save a dance for me at the next ball, won’t you?”
As Lady Emma glided away, followed by her servant, Skylar felt a moment of relief. It was short-lived, however; Lady Carlotta immediately filled the space, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Oh, Duke Anathemark,” she gushed, fanning herself vigorously. “I’ve always wondered—what does it feel like to summon your Divine Beast? Is it terribly painful? I’ve heard such dreadful rumors…”
Lady Alison cut in sharply. “Carlotta! That is not appropriate to ask.”
Skylar raised a hand, forcing a smile. “It’s quite all right, Lady Alison. To answer your question, Lady Carlotta, it is… an intense experience.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “But I assure you, any discomfort is worth it for the kingdom’s protection.”
Lady Carlotta nodded eagerly, hanging on every word. “How noble! And to think, your Gryphon is so much more majestic than the last Divine Beast. No offense to your late father, of course,” she added hastily.
Skylar’s smile felt brittle on her face, threatening to crack at any moment. “None taken. Each Divine Beast is unique, reflecting its summoner.”
“But surely its similarity to the Clawborne heraldry must mean something,” Lady Carlotta pressed. “It’s as if you were always destined to serve them!”
If only they knew.
Gryphon’s form wasn’t shaped by duty or loyalty to the Crown. It was born from the depths of Skylar’s hidden, desperate love for the Clawborne heir. For Arye.
A love that had turned out to be the worst curse of all.
The realization sent a fresh wave of conflict surging through her. She loved him with every fiber of her being. And sometimes, in unguarded moments, she thought he might feel something for her too. But it was the Duke he cared for—the man he’d grown up with, fought beside, trusted with his life.
If he knew the truth… if he discovered that his closest friend, the one person he thought he could always count on, had been lying to him from the very beginning…
No. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to protect him, even if it meant breaking both their hearts in the process.
Skylar’s gaze drifted across the garden, seeking respite from the noblewomen’s chatter. Her eyes found Arye almost instinctively. He stood with a group of advisors, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure even from a distance.
Squinting against the sun, Skylar made out Advisor Hannington gesturing emphatically as he spoke to Arye. Despite the distance, she could see the furrow in Arye’s brow, his hands clenched at his sides. The old man’s spectacles flashed in the sunlight as he shook his head, clearly disagreeing with whatever was being discussed.
Captain Knox stood nearby, his scarred face set in its usual grim expression. His hand rested casually on his sword’s pommel, ever vigilant even in the relative safety of the palace gardens. He caught her eye and gave a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgment.
As Skylar watched, Arye suddenly looked up, their eyes locking for a brief, electric moment. Skylar’s heart clenched painfully, heat racing through her body. She could see it now, the intensity in Arye’s gaze when he regarded her. The lingering touches, the protective fury. He might have feelings for her—or at least, for the man he believed her to be.
It was a cruel twist of fate. All those years of hiding her affections, believing it to be hopelessly one-sided, only to discover that Arye might return them—in the worst possible way. For a person who didn’t truly exist. Who would disappear into thin air soon.
She had to end this, before it was too late. Before Arye’s heart became as ensnared as her own.
There wasn’t much time left.
“Duke Anathemark?” Lady Alison’s gentle tone pulled Skylar from her spiraling thoughts. The older woman had latched onto Skylar’s arm, her bony fingers digging in with surprising strength. The lace of her sleeve scratched against Skylar’s skin. “Would you care to join me for tea later? I so rarely get the chance to speak with you.”
Before Skylar could formulate a polite refusal, a familiar voice rang out across the garden.
“I’m afraid the Duke has prior engagements, Lady Alison.”
Skylar’s heart leapt at the sound. Arye strode towards them, resplendent in his formal attire. The sunlight caught in his raven hair, turning the edges to liquid gold. His storm-gray eyes were hard as he regarded the assembled noblewomen, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Your Highness,” Lady Carlotta curtsied deeply, the others following suit. “We didn’t realize you were in the gardens today.”
Arye’s lips curved into a cold smile. “Clearly.” His gaze swept over the group, lingering on Lady Alison’s hand still clutching Skylar’s arm. “I’m sure you all have other matters to attend to. The Duke and I have business to discuss.”
The dismissal was clear. With a flurry of curtsies and murmured farewells, the noblewomen retreated, their servants scurrying after them.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Arye’s posture relaxed slightly. He turned to Skylar, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Enjoying yourself, Sky?”
Skylar snorted, shaking her head. “Immensely. Nothing I love more than being poked and prodded like some exotic creature on display.”
Arye’s expression darkened, a flash of that familiar protective fury crossing his features. “They overstep their bounds. I should?—”
“No,” Skylar cut him off firmly. “Remember your promise.”
Arye’s body language suggested he was about to voice his disagreement. Then he sighed, the fight draining out of him. He reached up, adjusting his vest with a sharp tug. “Fine. But I don’t have to like it.”
They began to walk, falling into step with the ease of long familiarity. Skylar glanced at Arye, noting the tension in his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. “How did the meeting with your father go?”
Arye’s expression tightened, his voice dropping to a near growl. “As well as can be expected. He’s displeased with my refusal to consider certain… alliances.”
Skylar’s heart clenched, remembering the conversation she’d overheard. “I see. Was that all?”
“No,” Arye said, his tone lightening slightly. “The Thousand-Year King will be visiting next week. Probably the last time before he dies.”
Skylar nodded, her mind already racing with the implications. The arrival of Aequilibrium’s ageless ruler would certainly shake things up at court. “That’s quite the honor.”
“Indeed,” Arye agreed. He paused, scanning the garden before gesturing to a secluded spot. A stone bench sat nestled beneath a weeping willow, its long, slender branches cascading down like a living curtain, offering a modicum of privacy. “Shall we?”
They settled onto the bench, close enough that Skylar could feel the warmth radiating from Arye’s body. The gentle rustle of leaves enveloped them, creating a secluded cocoon that seemed to shut out the rest of the world. For a heartbeat, Skylar allowed herself to imagine they were just two ordinary people, sharing a quiet moment in a garden. No crowns, no curses, no lies between them.
“There’s more,” Arye said quietly, his voice tight with frustration. “My father is pushing for an alliance with Thorncrest.”
“And what do you think about that?”
Arye’s laugh was bitter. “You know well enough. Thorncrest can’t be trusted.”
“But surely an alliance could bring peace,” Skylar argued, playing devil’s advocate even as she had a bad feeling about the whole situation.
Arye turned to her, his eyes blazing. “At what cost, Sky? Our autonomy? Our pride? I won’t allow them to dictate Regalclaw’s future. Not while I draw breath.”
“Then what will you do?”
“I don’t know,” Arye admitted, the words seeming to pain him. He clenched his fists, frustration evident in every line of his body. “But I won’t let them win. I can’t.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sounds were the soft rustle of leaves, the distant trill of birdsong, and their own measured breathing. Then, to Skylar’s surprise, Arye let out a deep sigh and leaned against her, resting his head on her shoulder. The gesture was so unexpectedly vulnerable that it made Skylar’s breath catch in her throat.
Without thinking, she raised a hand to stroke his hair. The silky strands slipped through her fingers, and she marveled at the softness. Every instinct screamed that she shouldn’t indulge in this closeness, this intimacy that blurred the lines between them. But for just a moment, she allowed herself to pretend. To imagine a world where she could comfort him openly, where there were no secrets between them.
Just this once.
“If only you knew what you do to me, Sky,” Arye murmured, his words barely audible.
Skylar’s heart thundered in her chest, her mouth going dry. She had to stop this, had to put an end to it before it went too far. Swallowing hard, she forced her words to remain steady even as her pulse raced. “Arye, I’m not sure if I want to?—”
But it was too late.
He lifted his head, his eyes burning into hers with an intensity that stole her breath. “You make me want to conquer the world,” he said, his voice low and raw with emotion, “just to lay it at your feet.”
The words hung in the air between them, charged with possibility and danger. Skylar’s muscles tensed, her mind reeling. She should pull away, she knew. She should laugh it off, make some joke to diffuse the tension. But she found herself frozen, captivated by the naked emotion in Arye’s eyes.