Chapter 18
18
T he weight of Arye’s words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Skylar’s heart thundered in her chest, each beat reminding her of the dire situation she found herself in. Her muscles tensed, coiled tight with the effort of restraining herself. It would be so easy to give in, to surrender to her heart and damn the consequences. For a wild, reckless moment, she wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind, to confess everything—her deception, her true identity, the depth of her feelings for him.
But the rational part of her mind screamed in protest. This was exactly what she’d feared, what she’d been trying to prevent. Arye’s desire for her—for the man he believed her to be—was growing too strong, too dangerous. She had to stop this, now, before it was too late. Before Arye’s heart became as irreparably entangled with thorns as her own.
“Sky?” Arye prompted, uncertainty lacing his voice. “Did I say something wrong?”
Skylar opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She shook her head, struggling to explain the tumult within. How could she tell him his feelings were misplaced? That the person he thought he was attracted to was nothing but a carefully constructed lie?
With every ounce of willpower she possessed, Skylar forced herself to pull away, creating a small but significant gap between them on the bench. The loss of his warmth felt like a physical ache.
Time stretched, each second an eternity as she struggled for words. Skylar watched Arye’s face, noting the subtle shifts in his expression. His usual confident mask crumbled, revealing a vulnerability that made her chest constrict. His brow furrowed slightly, and his gaze drifted to his right hand.
Arye’s fingers absently twisted the signet ring on his finger. Skylar’s eyes followed the motion, drawn to the intricate emblem—a gryphon entwined with thorns and roses. She remembered when he’d first shown her the design, his first official act after his investiture as Crown Prince. It captured both the allure and peril of power in a way that still captivated her.
“Sky,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over the ring as he turned it on his finger, “do you know how many years you’ve lost by summoning the Divine Beast?”
She blinked, trying to process the sudden change of topic. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves above them, casting dancing shadows across Arye’s face.
“I’m not sure,” she replied hesitantly, voice rough. “Maybe ten or twenty? It’s not exactly something I keep track of.” She attempted a weak smile, but it felt more like a grimace. The admission left a bitter taste, a stark reminder of the price she paid for her power.
Arye’s hand found hers, gripping it tightly. His skin was warm, calloused from years of swordplay. His grip was almost painfully tight, as if he feared she could slip away at any moment.
“Stop using your powers.” His voice cracked. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I’d go insane.”
Skylar swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t say such things,” she managed, barely audible. “I might lose a few years, but I’m saving hundreds.”
“I don’t care about the kingdom.”
She laughed, the sound brittle. “Now I know you’re not thinking clearly. What happened to protecting Regalclaw’s autonomy and pride?”
“You don’t understand how important you are to me, Sky.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek. The proximity made her dizzy, overwhelmed by his presence. “The kingdom means nothing if you’re not in it. I’d gladly sacrifice thousands for you.”
“Don’t say?—”
“No. Let me be clear, for once,” he cut her off, leaning closer. “Just give the order, and I’ll set this entire world ablaze for you. Do you understand the depth of what I’m offering?”
The declaration hung between them, tangible as the humid air. Skylar didn’t dare contemplate the implications. Her mind whirled, a thousand questions clamoring. But instead, she heard herself say, “Your friendship means everything to me.” She grasped for another subtle hint to redirect his feelings. “I hope our heirs will form a similar bond.”
Confusion flickered across his face. “What do you mean?”
“Not slave and master,” Skylar clarified, heart aching, “but as equals. Trusting and respecting each other. The way we do.”
“Do you have someone in mind?” Arye asked, his expression frighteningly neutral. “To have an heir with?”
“I do.” The answer came as barely more than a whisper, a sad smile tugging at her lips. It wasn’t a lie. She wanted a family—with him. But some things were simply impossible. “I heard rumors about your upcoming marriage, so I guess you do too.”
Arye recoiled as if struck, eyes widening. “Who?—”
“You know our servants,” Skylar interrupted with a forced grin, trying to inject some levity into her tone. The attempt fell flat, her words sounding hollow to her. “They spread gossip faster than wildfire. I swear, sometimes the palace walls have ears.”
“I don’t want things to change.” The raw vulnerability in Arye’s voice made Skylar’s heart clench.
She tried to lighten the mood, falling back on their usual banter. “Nothing will change. We’re always bound by the curse, remember? One command from you and I’d move heaven and earth,” she teased, despite the weight in her chest.
“That’s not what I want.” Arye’s jaw clenched. “I’ll never use you, Sky.” His thumb drew invisible shapes on her hand, sending tingles up her arm.
“Have you never thought of it?” she pressed, curiosity getting the better of her. “Using the pact over me?”
Arye sat up straighter, his gaze drifting over the garden. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling his face with shifting patterns of light and shadow. He seemed lost in thought, his forehead creased in concentration. Skylar held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“It’s tempting sometimes,” he murmured, almost to himself. “To command you.”
“So what’s stopping you?”
“It wouldn’t be your will, your honest feelings, your true thoughts,” Arye said, soft but firm. “It would be wrong.”
Skylar felt her chest tighten, her heart swelling with a bittersweet ache. Even now, even with the power to bend her however he wanted, Arye respected her autonomy. It only deepened her love, making what she had to do so much more painful. The irony was almost too much to bear.
“And if you could?” she asked, voice trembling. “Would you command me to stay by your side forever?”
Arye’s eyes snapped back to hers, blazing with emotion. “Yes,” he said simply, the word laden with meaning.
The air crackled with tension. Skylar felt the gravity of unspoken words pressing down, threatening to suffocate her. Her next move was clear, despite every fiber of her being rebelling against it. She had to tell him the truth—that she wasn’t the man he thought she was, that this could never work, that she would be leaving soon.
But she couldn’t. She had to lie. Again.
Skylar took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knew she had to do. It would hurt them both, but it was unavoidable. “Arye, if you have feelings for me beyond friendship, you need to forget them,” she said, each word carefully chosen to wound. “I’m not interested in that kind of relationship.”
Arye’s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and something else—pain, perhaps—flashing over his face. The sight was like a dagger to Skylar’s heart, but she forced herself to continue.
“I won’t be anyone’s secret indulgence or hidden passion,” she said carefully. “I respect myself too much for that, and I respect you too much to let you compromise yourself.”
“Compromise myself?” Arye repeated, incredulity coloring his tone. “I don’t understand.”
Skylar shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m not someone you can just take to still your desire whenever it pleases you.”
“Desire? You’re not making sense, Sky.”
Skylar sighed heavily. How clear did she have to make it for him to understand that becoming his lover was completely out of the question? Being a sidepiece, hidden from the woman he married? That wasn’t an option. She would never agree to such an arrangement, even if she were truly a man.
“Look, we have duties to fulfill, marriages to arrange, heirs to produce. That’s just how it’s supposed to be.”
Arye tensed at her words, his jaw clenching. His gaze drifted momentarily to the palace, where Skylar knew negotiations with Thorncrest were taking place. There was an urgency in his eyes she’d never seen before, as if he was the one running out of time.
“Is that what this is about? Duty and heirs?”
“It’s not that simple,” Skylar argued, her frustration mounting. “You’re the Crown Prince. You can’t ignore your responsibilities to the kingdom.”
“And what about my responsibility to myself? To my own happiness?” Arye countered, his voice rising. A nearby bird took flight, startled by the sudden outburst. “Don’t I deserve that too?”
“Your happiness can’t come at the expense of Regalclaw’s stability,” Skylar insisted. “You need a proper Queen, someone who can give you heirs, forge alliances. Someone from another kingdom.”
Someone like Princess Aven.
The thought sent a fresh wave of pain through her chest. She could picture it all too vividly—Arye standing at the altar, pledging himself to a beautiful woman while Skylar watched from the shadows, forever on the outside.
“You think that’s the right thing to do?” Arye’s words were sharp with disbelief.
“It’s not about right or wrong. Why don’t you understand?—”
“Then help me understand,” he pleaded, frustration evident in every line of his body. “Because right now, all I see is you pushing me away for no good reason.”
“Do you need me to spell it out?” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. The wig shifted slightly, reminding her of all the lies between them. “I’m a man, and not just any man but a Duke. I have my own duties to fulfill. My own legacy to uphold.”
A tense silence fell. Skylar watched emotions flicker across Arye’s face—confusion, frustration, pain. His brow furrowed, jaw clenching as he visibly struggled with her words. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, carefully controlled.
“So that’s how you see it,” he said, each word measured. “It’s all about duties.”
“That’s our reality.”
They sat in silence. Arye seemed to be deep in his own thoughts, and Skylar hoped he would never ask her again. In the best case, Arye would just invite attractive men to his room like he did till now with women, until he married either Princess Aven or the noblewoman he had in mind. Once that happened, Skylar would probably be living far away in an arranged marriage, trying to grow feelings for a hopefully nice and friendly man while her brother learned to become the next Duke Anathemark.
That’s what it was. Their future. Trapped in duty and obligation.
Suddenly, Arye’s voice came again, softer this time. “Have you never been in love, Sky?”
The question caught Skylar off guard. She turned to look at him, her gaze cold and hard as she remembered her own feelings, the years of longing and secrecy. Her entire life had been nothing but a lie, and here he was, asking about love as if it were so simple.
“Love,” she spat, the word bitter on her tongue, “is reserved for commoners.”
Arye recoiled. “You don’t mean that,” he said, disbelief coloring his tone. “I know you, Sky. Better than anyone. And I know that’s not true.”
“Do you?” Skylar challenged, her voice bitter and defeated. “Do you really know me? Or do you just know the version of me you want to see?”
Arye stood abruptly, his face a mask of hurt and anger. He opened his mouth to speak, to argue, but before he could, an imperious voice cut through the air.
“Prince Arye, a word if you please.”
Skylar turned, seeing Princess Quince Spinewood of Thorncrest approaching, her dress shimmering with each movement. Her auburn hair gleamed in the sunlight, artfully arranged to frame her delicate features. But there was nothing delicate about the look in her eyes—sharp and calculating as they flashed with barely concealed anger.
“You’re dismissed,” she declared coldly to Skylar, her tone brooking no argument.
Skylar felt Arye stiffen beside her, his tension palpable. “Princess Quince,” he said, voice tight with fury, “this is hardly the time?—”
“On the contrary,” the princess interrupted, her chin lifting defiantly. “This is precisely the time. We have matters of state to discuss, matters that don’t concern…” she turned her gaze to Skylar, eyes narrowing “whoever that is.”
Skylar’s fingers instinctively twitched toward her sword hilt, muscles tensing. But she caught herself, forcing her body to relax. This wasn’t a battle for steel.
“Your Highness,” she said, addressing Arye formally. “Perhaps it would be best if I took my leave.”
Arye’s hand shot out, gripping her arm. “No,” he said firmly, his eyes flashing with defiance. “You don’t have to go anywhere, Duke Anathemark. Princess Quince can wait.”
Skylar watched as the princess’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her lips pursing in displeasure. “I will not be dismissed so easily, Prince Arye. You seem to have forgotten the delicate nature of our negotiations.”
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Arye snarled, his patience clearly wearing thin. His grip on Skylar’s arm tightened. “But my personal conversations take precedence over?—”
“Over what?” Princess Quince challenged, her voice rising. “Over the peace between our kingdoms? Over the lives that hang in the balance?” Her mask of cold indifference slipped, revealing a flicker of genuine hurt beneath her anger. “We have an agreement, Prince Arye. Are you so quick to discard it?”
The outburst shocked them into silence. Skylar looked between Arye and Quince, feeling the tension crackling. She could see the conflict raging in Arye’s eyes—duty warring with desire, the weight of his crown pressing down.
In that moment, Skylar knew what she had to do. It would break her heart, but it was necessary. For Arye’s sake, for the kingdom’s, and for her own sanity.
“Your Highness,” she murmured softly, gently removing his hand. “You have responsibilities that can’t be ignored.” She hoped he understood her message. “I’ll take my leave.”
“Wait—” Arye began, reaching for her, his eyes pleading.
Skylar stepped back, out of his reach. “It’s alright, Your Highness. We’ve said all that needs to be said.” She caught a glimpse of his pained expression but forced herself to ignore it. This was for the best. It had to be.
Without waiting for a response, she bowed slightly to both royals, her movements stiff and formal. “Your Highnesses,” she murmured, not meeting either of their gazes.
As she walked away, she sensed Arye’s gaze burning into her back. Each step felt like a betrayal, a denial of all she truly wanted. But she had done what was necessary, what was right.
And one day, everything would be okay.
It had to be.