Chapter 25
25
T he lock’s sudden click shattered the night’s silence, jolting Skylar from her fitful sleep. Her heart thundered against her ribs as she recognized the sound, instinct taking over before conscious thought. In one fluid motion, she was on her feet, her long silver-white hair a ghostly cascade down her back as she pressed herself against the wall behind the heavy oak door.
Fear gripped her thoughts. No bindings. No wig. Exposed. Vulnerable. If the wrong person entered now, years of deception would crumble in an instant. The door creaked open, and Skylar’s fingers twitched, yearning for the familiar weight of her sword.
The scent of lavender wafted into her chambers, a comforting aroma that momentarily eased the knot in Skylar’s stomach.
“Your Grace?” Melody’s urgent whisper filled the room, and Skylar felt a wave of relief wash over her, followed by a surge of self-loathing at her moment of weakness.
Stepping out from behind the door, Skylar saw her servant’s face etched with worry in the dim candlelight. Melody’s usually impeccable appearance was disheveled, her brown hair escaping its severe bun, her plain dress wrinkled as if she’d been sleeping in it.
“Melody, what’s wrong?”
Melody’s eyes widened at the sight of Skylar in her nightgown, her tresses unbound. “My lady, forgive the intrusion, but there’s news from the Anathemark Estate. Your mother… it’s happening.”
The words crashed into Skylar like a wave, momentarily drowning her. She stumbled back, leaning on the door frame, the smooth wood cool against her palm. “It’s time?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sudden roaring in her ears.
Melody nodded, already moving to retrieve Skylar’s clothes and sword. “Yes, my lady. We must hurry.”
Reality crashed down around Skylar as she allowed Melody to help her into her bindings. The familiar pressure against her chest brought a strange comfort, a last vestige of the identity she had worn for her entire life. As Melody worked to secure her short silver-white wig, Skylar’s mind raced.
“This is it,” she murmured, more to herself than to Melody. “After tonight, everything changes.”
Melody’s hands stilled for a moment, resting on Skylar’s shoulders. Their eyes met in the mirror, a silent understanding passing between them. “It will be alright, my lady,” Melody said softly. “Soon, you’ll be free.”
Skylar nodded, unable to voice the turmoil of emotions swirling within her. Freedom, yes, but at what cost? The life she had built, the relationships she had forged—all of it would be irrevocably altered.
“What if he finds me?” She didn’t know if she meant Arye or King Lyinell.
“That won’t happen, my lady.”
It sounded final. Excruciating.
Skylar swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.
As they hurried through the dimly lit corridors of the palace, Skylar’s mind turned to Arye. “Wait,” she said urgently. “I need you to inform the Crown Prince of my departure.”
Melody’s steps faltered, her disapproval evident in the set of her shoulders. “Your Grace, surely that can wait until morning. It’s not proper to disturb His Highness at this hour.” There was an edge to her voice, a hint of the disdain she held for the royal family.
Skylar shook her head firmly. “No, he needs to know. Tell him about mother.”
“Are you sure you can trust him?”
“Yes.” Skylar’s response was immediate, unwavering.
With a resigned sigh, Melody nodded. “As you wish, Your Grace. I’ll inform him once you’re safely on your way.” Her tone was clipped, professional, but Skylar could hear the underlying concern.
They passed a pair of guards standing at attention, their armor gleaming dully in the torchlight. The stinging smell of oil used to keep the metal from rusting mingled with the earthy scent of leather and sweat. Skylar nodded to them, noting the way their eyes widened slightly at her presence, a mixture of respect and fear flashing across their faces.
“Your Grace,” the taller guard murmured, bowing his head. “Is everything alright?”
“All is well. Carry on.”
They reached the palace gates, where a plain carriage waited, its black horses stamping impatiently in the cool night air. The driver, a grizzled man with a weather-beaten face, touched his cap in deference as Skylar approached.
“Your Grace,” he murmured, his voice gravelly. “Where to?”
“The Anathemark Estate. And make haste.”
He nodded, a flicker of unease passing over his features at the urgency in her tone. Skylar turned to Melody, suddenly reluctant to leave. This moment felt monumental, as if by stepping into that carriage, she would be leaving behind more than just the palace.
Melody seemed to sense her hesitation. In a rare display of affection, she pulled Skylar into a tight embrace. “It will all be over soon,” she whispered fiercely. “Go. I’ll join you in the morning.”
Skylar hugged her back, drawing strength from the familiar scent of lavender that clung to Melody’s clothes. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.
With a final nod to Melody, Skylar climbed into the carriage. As it lurched into motion, she leaned against the plush velvet seat, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. The Gryphon stirred within her, a low rumble of unease vibrating through her core.
The carriage rattled through Regalton, the sound of its wheels on cobblestones a steady rhythm in the quiet night. Each jolt and bump sent a shiver of anxiety through Skylar, her nerves stretched taut as a bowstring. She peered out the window, her eyes searching the dimly lit areas. The streets were eerily empty, save for the occasional patrol of guards led by Captain Knox. The orange glow of their torches pierced through the darkness, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to reach for the carriage as it passed.
Normally, the sight of the Captain and his men would have brought Skylar comfort. Tonight, however, their presence only served to heighten her anxiety. Every uniform she saw made her shrink back into her seat, paranoia creeping in at the edges of her mind.
What if they knew? What if word had somehow spread about her mother, about the impending birth? The thought of anyone discovering that the cursed Anathemarks were about to bring another “devil” into the world sent a chill down Skylar’s spine.
As the carriage turned onto a narrower street, the buildings looming closer on either side, Skylar’s thoughts drifted to her confrontation with Princess Quince. The memory of the Princess’s furious face flashed in her mind, and a twinge of savage satisfaction coursed through her, quickly followed by unease. She had let her guard down, allowed her true nature to shine through for a moment. It had felt good, freeing even. But had she gone too far?
The Gryphon’s presence swelled, its agitation a gathering storm beneath her skin. Skylar pressed a hand to her chest, wincing as the Gryphon’s beak worried at her insides.
“Calm down,” she hissed, her breath fogging the carriage window. “We’re almost there.”
The beast keened, the sound reverberating through her head. Its talons raked her ribs, no longer restless but desperate.
Something was wrong.
Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a violent halt. Skylar’s body slammed forward, her head nearly cracking against the opposite seat.
The Gryphon’s screech tore through her mind, a piercing warning that set her teeth on edge. Its wings thrashed against her rib cage, talons scraping her insides raw.
Outside, a wet gurgle. The sickening thud of a body hitting cobblestones.
The driver.
Damn it.
Her hand flew to her sword, but too late. The carriage door wrenched open. Rough hands grabbed her, yanking her into the frigid night air.
The stench hit her first. Unwashed bodies. Stale ale. Feces.
Her stomach heaved.
Skylar lashed out, muscle memory kicking in. Her elbow connected with a satisfying crunch. A howl of pain pierced the night, echoing off narrow alley walls.
But there were too many of them.
Hands everywhere. Grabbing. Pulling. Tearing.
She fought like a cornered animal, all teeth and nails and desperate fury. But for every blow she landed, two more found their mark on her.
They dragged her deeper into the suffocating darkness. Cobblestones, slick with God-knows-what, slid under her feet. Buildings loomed on either side, pressing closer, trapping her.
Panic clawed at her throat.
This can’t be happening.
Not after everything she’d sacrificed.
The Gryphon’s frenzy consumed her, its rage and terror indistinguishable from her own. It thrashed wildly, threatening to burst from her chest.
A grimy hand clamped over her mouth, tasting of dirt and lant. She gagged, bile rising in her throat.
“Got ‘im!” A gruff voice. Triumphant. “Not so tough without yer beast, eh?”
Skylar’s eyes darted wildly, counting her attackers. Five? Six?
She recognized a familiar figure among them, a young man, barely more than a boy. Skylar’s heart turned to ice. The assassination attempt on Arye.
Thorncrest.
She bit down hard on the hand covering her mouth. The man yelped, jerking away. Skylar spat, a glob of blood and saliva hitting his face. “You’ll suffer for this,” she snarled.
A meaty fist slammed into her gut. Pain exploded through her body. She doubled over, gasping.
Laughter. Cruel and mocking. “Feisty little toff, ain’t he? Gonna enjoy breakin’ that spirit.”
“Look at them eyes.” Another voice, thick with lust. “That fancy lad’s prettier than half the whores I’ve ‘ad.”
The Gryphon roared within her, matching Skylar’s own disgust and rage. She could feel it clawing at her insides, desperate to be unleashed. To rip. To tear. To destroy.
“I’ll fuck ‘im bloody, man or not,” one of them chimed in, the words slurring slightly. “Been too long since I ‘ad a warm body.”
She thrashed wildly, channeling every ounce of strength into breaking free. Her boot connected solidly with someone’s groin. A yelp of pain. Small victory.
But the others only tightened their grip. Fingers dug into her flesh, bruising, crushing.
“What if ‘e calls that fuckin’ monster?” the shortest of them asked, a tremor of fear in his voice.
A derisive snort. “That thing ain’t comin’. Heard ‘e needs to sacrifice virgins or some shite to call it.”
More laughter, cruel and hungry.
Ice flooded Skylar’s veins. Her mind raced, searching desperately for a way out. But her usual quick thinking failed her, swallowed by a rising tide of panic.
The Gryphon’s energy intensified, its wings beating a frantic rhythm against her rib cage. Its desperation mirrored her own—a primal need to survive.
“Shut it.” An authoritative voice cut through the jeering. A tall figure stepped forward, moonlight glinting off something in his hand. “We got a job to do. Brand the bastard first. Then you lot can ‘ave your fun.”
The acrid smell of heated metal hit her nostrils. Skylar’s eyes widened in horror. She renewed her struggles, a cornered animal fighting for its life.
“Keep ‘im still, you useless twats!” The leader barked. “Don’t let ‘im make a sound!”
A filthy rag was shoved into her mouth. The taste of mold and worse things made her retch.
Hands tore at her clothes. Cool night air hit her exposed skin.
No. No. No.
Any second now, they’d see the bindings. Realize the truth she’d hidden for so long.
The Gryphon erupted, blurring the boundary between beast and human. Its bloodlust flooded her body. Skylar’s hands clenched, her teeth grinding with the urge to tear flesh.
As if in slow motion, she saw one of the men’s eyes widen. Confusion gave way to shocked realization as he stared at her chest. The bindings. Unmistakable.
“What the fuck?—”
Cold, murderous hate filled her veins like ice.
Their fates were sealed.
She couldn’t let them live. Not now. Not with this knowledge.
Skylar closed her eyes, steeling herself.
She would summon it. Consequences be damned.
These men would die here. Torn apart by talon and beak, their blood staining the cobblestones.
The Gryphon’s desperation reached a fever pitch, its presence no longer just a part of her but threatening to consume her entirely.
Skylar could feel the boundaries between them blurring. Its thoughts and instincts bled into her own. The urge to rend, to tear, to destroy was almost overwhelming.
The familiar pain began to build in her chest as she prepared to unleash the cursed beast. But suddenly, a new sound cut through the night.
The unmistakable ring of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.