Scarred (Never After Series)

“I do not care for this, let me speak to my brother!”

Michael’s voice is high pitched and strained, so loud that I shrink back against the wall. My uncle stands on the other side of his desk, his body rigid as he leans on his dark wood cane. He glances to me, his icy eyes dark and raging as if this is somehow my fault.

I’m not even sure what’s going on. I woke up to Ophelia throwing open my door, saying the king demanded to see me. I barely had time to let her dress me, and as a result, I’m nowhere near being presentable. My hair is still in its natural curly, frizzy state, brushing against the middle of my back, and I only had time to grab a simple day dress—sans the corset. I feel naked and like I’ve walked into a room with a loaded gun.

“What’s happened?” I ask.

My uncle turns to glare at me. Again, I’m taken aback by his obvious anger. I’ve seen it several times; especially when he’s passionately speaking about vengeance for my father, but this is the first it’s ever been directed at me.

My stomach drops to the floor, my face heating as if a thousand suns have exploded inside of it.

Did they find out about last night?

Impossible. I’d be thrown in the dungeons, not standing here without shackles and chains.

“What’s happened,” my uncle starts. “Is that your cousin—my son—has been kidnapped.”

My lungs collapse. “What?”

“Stop… stop… stop!” Michael screeches, his hands coming up to tug on his hair. My eyes widen as I stare at him, noticing the pallid skin and deep bluish-purple bags welting under his eyes.

He looks ill.

“They know,” he mutters to himself. “He must be telling them.”

I step forward, my insides churning with his ramblings. I’m not sure what has him so out of sorts, but something tells me to tread carefully. “Your Majesty, who knows?”

His eyes snap to mine and he shoves forward a square wooden box with dusted black metal hinges and an image carved into the wood on top. As I move closer, I realize it’s a hyena standing on a dead lion—its teeth bared and its black eyes reflecting flames.

The detail is immaculate and before I can think twice, my fingers are smoothing over the indents, mesmerized by the intricate design.

“Open it,” Michael whispers.

I do, and my stomach revolts at the sight, nausea whipping through my middle and up into my throat. It’s a hand; severed at the wrist with dried blood caked on every inch of skin until it looks as though it’s been gnawed on. And right beside it is a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

“Is that…?” I ask, my eyes flicking from Michael to my uncle.

Raf nods, his nostrils flaring as he slams the base of his cane on the floor.

“There’s a note,” Michael whispers, his voice cracking.

He slides a piece of paper to me, but before I can see what it says, the door swings open and Tristan waltzes inside as if he owns the room and everyone in it. His piercing jade eyes land on me, his gaze flicking up and down my frame, flaring as they coast over my unpinned hair.

“Tristan, finally.” Michael blows out a breath.

“You rang, brother?” Tristan smiles, walking farther into the room. “You look dreadful, bad sleep?”

“This is no time to be joking,” Uncle Raf cuts in. “I demand we call a meeting with the Privy Council.”

Confusion drops through me like a falling piece of paper. My uncle hates the Privy Council and everything they stand for. They’re partly why my father had to beg for aid in the first place; filled with selfish men who forgot about our country and became about greed.

“Uncle, honestly, what do you think the Privy Council could do?”

Again, he slams his cane on the ground. “Silence, girl. We don’t have time for stupid questions.”

His words smack across my face as surely as if it were his hand.

Tristan’s head snaps to him, his gaze narrowing.

Michael’s fist beats down on his desk, the strands of his usually slicked-back hair falling on his forehead. “You do not make demands of me, Rafael. I am the king, and you are no one.”

“With all due respect, you are only as strong as your weakest link, Your Majesty, and clearly there are a lot of weak links if my son is so easily taken.” Rafael steps closer, jabbing his finger in the air. “Your father would have never allowed this to happen.”

Silence. Tense, heavy silence.

“Not to interrupt this fascinating show,” Tristan drawls. “But why am I here?”

“Yes,” Michael snaps, turning to Rafael. “Leave. Before I take out a pistol and shoot you where you stand.”

“Your Highness, I—”

“I said leave!” His voice booms off the furniture and echoes around the walls so loud it vibrates my eardrums.

My eyes fly back and forth between them, my stomach tangling in knots.

Raf bows at the waist before standing upright and making his way toward me. He grips my arm, jostling me along with him as he pulls us to the door. I flinch at his tight hold, but allow him to drag me forward, not wanting to start a scene in front of the people we’re trying to rise against.

It’s important to look united in front of others.

Just as we reach the door, the pressure leaves my arm, relief flowing through the muscles as the ache disappears. I twist around, my heart faltering when I take in the way Tristan has my uncle’s hand in his grasp, bent at an awkward angle.

“Tristan!” I gasp, reaching out to separate them.

“Do you always handle women in such a way?” Tristan asks, ignoring my efforts.

My uncle grits his teeth. “She is my niece and my responsibility, Your Highness.”

“Then I suggest you take better care of your family.” He dips his head, eyes staring into mine as he whispers in my uncle’s ear. “Do not put your hands on her again.”

My chest pulls, wanting to calm the situation down. The last thing I need is my uncle becoming suspicious of why the prince cares. But beneath all that, there’s another feeling blooming like a spring flower, casting a warm glow from the middle of my chest.

It’s nice to be protected. To realize that someone has your back. Even if that someone is the very person who shouldn’t.

Tristan releases him then, barely sparing me another glance, before making his way back over to his panicked brother.

My uncle’s eyes narrow as he shakes out his hand, aggressively waving toward the door. “Well…”

I blow out a shaky breath, nodding as I walk through. We’re greeted by at least five royal guards, and my brows draw in as we pass them, wondering why there are so many of them suddenly guarding the king’s private office.

Timothy steps out from the line and trails behind us. Silent as a mouse.

“Uncle, I know it’s difficult,” I start, keeping my voice low. “But try to keep the faith.”

His lips purse, and even though words aren’t said, the energy between us seems off.

The tension continues all the way back to my quarters, and when we reach the doors, I spin around, expecting Uncle Raf to take his leave. Instead, he pushes open the door and storms inside, whirling on me the second we’re alone.

“It’s the rebels.”

My brows rise. “Do you think?”

He scoffs, walking past the foyer and into the sitting room, collapsing down on one of the two dark-green couches. “You saw the emblem? A hyena. They’re mocking us. And now they’ve killed my son. My chance.”

I tilt my head. “What do you mean, your chance?”

His back straightens, fingers tapping the top of his cane like they do every time he’s in deep thought.

“Uncle,” I sigh, tucking a curl behind my ear and walking over to sit down next to him. I reach out, grasping his hand in mine, trying to provide support. “Not that it helps, but I don’t think Xander is dead.”

“No?” he asks, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes.

“Well.” I chew on my lip, thinking through everything I saw this morning, and everything I didn’t. “They left a note, right?”

“They sent his severed hand, Sara.”

“But it wasn’t his head.” I grimace, knowing that what I’m saying isn’t coming out right. “I’m just saying, what if they’re using him as bait? Or to send a message? They’d want him alive for that.”

At this, my uncle twists to face me, his features drawn and filled with obvious sorrow.

“And if he’s alive,” I continue, hope flaring in my chest. “We can save him.”

His hand tightens around mine, but he shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

I scoff, my insides flipping from him dismissing me. “Everything we’re trying to accomplish is dangerous.”

“Nobody goes to the shadowed lands,” he snaps. “Your father did and look what happened to him.”

His eyes widen after he says the words, but it’s too late. I’ve already heard.

Everything inside of me freezes and I snatch my palm back, my breath pushed from my lungs as they fold in on themselves. Confusion blankets my mind, and I try to wrap my head around what he just said.

“What?” I ask.

He grabs my hands, squeezing my fingers. “Listen, Sara. If you think you can get there—to the shadowed lands…”

My stomach jolts, anxiety slithering through my muscles until it squeezes tight. “What? I-”

“You’re right,” he presses. “We can save Alexander.”

I shake my head, brows pulling in until my forehead creases. “Wait. Tell me what you meant about my father.”

He lifts a shoulder. “I meant… look what happened to him. He was murdered.”

My teeth grind, sharp pain radiating up my jaw. “Don’t treat me like I’m inept. If there’s something you’re not telling me, then tell me.”

My stomach rolls like waves of the ocean in a looming storm. “I deserve to know.”

He swallows, dropping my hands and bringing his up to run through his hair. “It wasn’t the king who killed your father.”

Disbelief slams into me, ripping through my skin like he shoved the words straight into my chest. “I don’t understand.”

“It was the rebels. They captured him on his journey home, and tried to use him as a bartering tool, the same way they are with your cousin. Only last time…”

His voice shakes as it trails off, and my body freezes, shock spreading through every limb until it grows numb from the icy chill. “But you said… you told me—you lied to me? All this time?”

“Your father was a duke, sweet niece, gifted the title by King Michael II himself. The rebels saw an opportunity, wrongly assuming the new king would find him too important to lose.”

I shoot to my feet, betrayal slicing through my insides like a heated blade; grief for my father and realization that everything I’ve been told is a lie pouring through my middle like lava. “So, what was the point of all this?”

“The point?” He glances up at me, his eyes glossy. “The point is the same as it always has been. They captured your father. Tortured him. And the crown did nothing but stand by and watch. They’re just as responsible. Don’t let this distract you from what we came here to do.”

“No.” I shake my head, the omissions of my family sitting heavy on my tongue until my mouth tastes sour. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to stand there and tell me how to feel or how to act. Not when you’ve been lying to me.”

A burn scorches up my throat and settles between my eyes, tears threatening to blur my vision. “You lied to me!”

Not here, ma petite menteuse. They don’t get your tears.

Tristan’s voice rings through my head as if he’s standing behind me and coaching me through the pain—through the absolute devastation of everything I thought I knew being demolished from the inside out. I stiffen my jaw, forcing the emotion back down.

“I was trying to save you!” my uncle shouts. His hand turns white as he presses down on his cane to help him stand. “Your father trained you very well, Sara, but going to the shadowed lands is too dangerous.” He walks closer, his eyes trying to capture mine, but I glance away, unable to even look him in the face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry we kept this from you. I’ve tried to do right by you my entire life, and when he died—” His voice cracks. “I was terrified to lose you, too.”

“Yet you’ll send me here for no reason.”

“No.” His hand cups my jaw, tilting up my head. “The Faasa’s are still guilty. They still deserve to rot. But the rebels are uncivilized, their leader a ghost. It’s a different game to play. I couldn’t bear for something to happen to you too.”

My teeth grit together, a new fire burning in the pit of my stomach, one that blazes brighter with every word he speaks, snuffing out everything in its path.

“I welcome death, as long as I take the ones responsible down with me,” I hiss through my clenched jaw.

Raf blows out a shaky breath, nodding his head. “Then you’ll need to kill the rebel king.”