Scarred (Never After Series)

My nerves are at an all-time high. Before, when I was planning on killing the king, it was personal. And while it still is, now it’s mutated; tinged with devotion. As crazy as that sounds.

But it’s devotion that makes me slip the laudanum in the small pocket sewn into the hem of my skirt, and its devotion that has me batting my eyelashes and whispering soft words into Michael’s ear, asking if we can go somewhere private.

Tristan has proven time and time again that if I fall, he will catch me. That if I break, he will hold the pieces until I’m ready to stitch them back again. So, I’ll do the same for him, and stand by his side, helping him claim the throne. Helping him seek his vengeance.

I ache with every move like he’s still perched between my thighs, taste him on my lips as though he’s resting on my tongue, feel him in my veins as if he’s fed me all his blood.

We are intrinsic. Fated. Destined.

Or maybe we’re simply mad.

But I’ll gladly live insane, if in the end, it gives me him.

“How was dinner?” Michael asks, as he sits next to me on the couch in his private quarters. The fireplace crackles in front of us, and the sheepskin rug is soft beneath the pads of my feet. It’s untoward for me to be here before the wedding, but Xander isn’t here anymore to speak sense into the king, and Michael thinks with his cock and not with his head when it comes to females.

It was just as easy as I thought it would be.

I smile, lowering my lids to half-mast as I stare at him through my lashes. “It was delicious.”

He smirks, his hand landing heavy on my thigh and rubbing over Tristan’s mark.

“I hope you still have room for dessert?” he asks.

My stomach is in my throat as I continue, knowing that after this, there’s no turning back. “Actually, I’d love some more wine.”

“Of course.” He twists around to grab the bottle on the table to his side and I take my chance, uncorking the laudanum and trickling it in his glass before he turns around, sweat beading on my brow and my heart slamming so fast against my ribs that I feel as though I may have a coronary.

He twists back, pouring the wine into my glass until it’s almost full. I watch it swirl around, splashing against the bottom of the crystal, imagining that it must be similar to how my insides look as they flip and churn, threatening to spill over with anxiety.

He sets down the bottle, and I lean forward, grabbing both glasses, handing his over before taking mine. “Thank you, sire.”

He sits back, staring at me for long moments, his eyes intense, and for the first time all evening, a trickle of unease swims through my veins. Michael has never looked at me this way before.

“I tire of games,” he says. “Are you here to give yourself to me, Sara?”

The thought alone sends bile surging through my throat, but I grin through the nausea, knowing that Tristan will be here in less than an hour, and he’ll wash all the filthy feelings away.

I run my fingers along my collarbone, tangling in the thin chain of my father’s pendant, while my eyes flick to the wine in his hand—the one that he still hasn’t taken a sip from.

“I just thought we could get to know each other better.” I smile, scooting closer to him on the couch. “We’ll be married soon. Don’t you think it’s time?”

He smirks, setting down the glass, and I curse internally, frustration wrapping tight around my middle, squeezing until it feels as though I’ll burst.

His arm reaches out, wrapping around my waist and dragging me into him. My hands fly out to gain purchase on his chest, and I grip the fabric, my ass practically sitting in his lap. I swallow around the disgust lodging itself in my sternum.

“What is it you’d like to know?” he murmurs, leaning his head down and skimming his lips across my skin.

I play my part—even though, God, it feels as though doing so is the worst type of betrayal—leaning into it, knowing I need to make it convincing. Tristan is depending on me. My hands move to his face, pulling his eyes up to meet mine. I graze my nose against his. “Everything.”

He pulls me flush on top of him now, and my mouth sours with vomit as he grinds his hips into me, his erection digging into my center. He groans as he does it, his fingers tightening from where they’re wrapped around my waist, and I throw my head back, pretending as though what he’s doing is exciting.

Suddenly, he stops, his eyes like two amber pits of fire, and he reaches out to the table, grabbing his glass of wine. Relief trickles through me. But then he pushes the glass against my lips and panic spreads through my chest.

A small sip should be fine. As long as he drinks the rest.

I open my mouth, just a crack, but before I can stop him, he’s gripping my chin and tipping the entire glass of liquid, until it pours down my throat and I choke and sputter, my eyes growing wide and frantic as I attempt to spit it out.

His face drops into a sneer. I move to scramble off his chest, but he grips me by the hair, yanking it until it rips from my head as he stands, dragging me until my knees scrape across the floor, my fingers digging into the skin of his wrist as I flail, trying to break free.

“You stupid woman, did you think I wouldn’t know?”

“I don’t—”

He throws me to the ground, and I tumble, my arm screaming in pain as it slams against the wood. I flip onto my back, pushing myself up with my hands, but I don’t get far, his palm swinging down and cracking across my face until my body flies, skidding across the ground. My hip throbs from the impact.

He leans over me. “I always know.” He grabs me by the arm and pulls me to a stand, wincing from the deep ache blooming across my cheek, no doubt already swelling from where he backhanded me.

I reach down, attempting to lift my skirts and grab a blade, but he grips my hand, squeezing until my bones crunch. “Don’t do something you’ll regret. I’d hate to punish you in front of your lover.”

My heart drops. Tristan.

He pulls me into his front, fingers tracing along my hairline. I turn my head away, gritting my teeth. “Would you like to go see him? He’s being kept comfortable, I assure you.”

“You lie,” I spit, not wanting to believe what I can feel in my stomach is true.

He smirks. “Out of the two of us, I am not the liar here.” I try to flail from his grasp, but he grips my shoulders. “Come tie her hands,” he demands.

My head grows woozy and my movements sluggish as the effects of the laudanum start to grab hold of my psyche, and my breathing stalls, wondering who he’s speaking to. And then my hands are wrenched behind me and cuffed in metal before I can even blink.

Despair works its way through me. This is not supposed to happen.

Michael smiles, releasing me, before putting his arm out and dragging someone into his side. And when he does, my organs scream and curdle, withering as if they poured acid through my insides.

“Hello, milady.”

I clench my jaw, tears of betrayal stinging the back of my lids. “Ophelia.”

“You know,” Michael states. “The best decision I’ve made since your arrival was telling my sweet Ophelia to keep her eyes and ears open.” He glances down at her, tipping up her chin as he presses a kiss to her lips. “You’ve done so well, sweetheart.”

She beams at him, and my stomach folds in on itself because, of course. I should have known. Didn’t I even think of them being at my side, hoping to secure favor with the king?

“You’re a phenomenal actress,” I tell her, hatred brewing deep in my gut.

She grins at me, tipping her head. “Thank you, milady. I learned from the best.”

I smirk, even though the opium is creating a buzzing sort of calm, making me drowsy. I fight it with everything in me, not wanting to give in to the tincture until I’m sure Tristan is safe.

“Although, His Majesty and I,” she continues, her hand rubbing at his chest as she stares up at him. “We’re much better at being discreet than you and the scarred prince. Pity you didn’t pay closer attention.”

I huff out a laugh, because I can’t disagree. Clearly, somewhere, somehow, we went terribly wrong.

“Most nights, I would hide in the darkened corners of the halls, waiting and watching. Usually it was boring. Sometimes, when I would follow you, I’d get a show.” She giggles. “I thought it was going to be so easy to get rid of you when that idiot Claudius slipped his hand up your skirts.”

“That was you I heard?” I gasp out, my heart rate slowing as the drug sloshes through me.

She nods. “But then the scarred prince had to ruin it. Stealing him away and doing God knows what to him.”

My chest cramps. Tristan was there?

“And then it was back to watching. And waiting.” She sighs, and Michael’s hand strokes up and down her arm. “But last night, I saw him storm into your room. Heard you both doing treasonous things.”

Rage circles through me, that she was there, tarnishing our precious moments.

“It was so easy to press my head against your door and listen to the words you spoke.” She smiles. “You really have yourself to thank.”

Stupid. I’m so stupid.

Michael claps his hands together in glee, a smile stretching across his face from ear to ear. “Speaking of my brother, shall we go pay him a visit? I’m sure he’s desperate to make sure you’re okay.”