Page 16 of Scarred

“Hardly,” I bite out.

“Careful, little doe. Keep running into places you don’t belong and someone may mistake you for prey.”

“I’m not afraid of being prey.”

“No?” He quirks a brow, leaning in until his nose skims along the side of my face. “You should be.”

And then as fast as he came, he’s gone, spinning around and striding out of the door, as if he was never here.

CHAPTER7

Tristan

Lady Beatreaux is not who she seems to be.

When you live your life having to look over your shoulder, you learn to sense shifts in the air long before you ever see the change. And I felt her outside the door the moment she arrived, although I didn’t know it was her until she stood in front of me.

My fingers flex as I remember the way her curly strands of hair spun around my finger, her eyes like ice picks as she glared at me in her simple gown and pinned-back hair. She looked nothing like the regal lady who sat next to my brother.

I prefer her this way.

Leaning back against the observatory tower at the castle gates, I pull a matchbox from my pocket and strike a flame, allowing the orange heat to tease my skin as I reflect on her intrusion.

Is she spying for my brother? Is he watching me?

Possible, but improbable. Although I don’t put it past her to do his bidding; I do put it past him to think that highly of her. He’s not known for his respect for women.

Still, she’s different than I expected. More sinister, perhaps.

If it wasn’tmeshe was spying on, I’d be able to find admiration in her falsities. But since it is, it does nothing but leave a bitter tang in the back of my throat; one I choose to let linger, so I’m always reminded of the taste.

That’s the difference between me and other people. They run away from the bad things, and I become them.

Reaching up, I pluck the rolled blunt from behind my ear and place it in my mouth, waiting until the fire has almost completely engulfed the match before lighting the end; the smell of hash curling up in the air, making my tightened insides unravel into a buzzing sort of calm.

My boot kicks against the wall, my head leaning against the cool stone as I gaze out over the streets of Saxum. The castle sits on a cliff, an easy vantage point to see everything even beyond the dense trees.

When I was a young boy, my father would bring me here, whispering words of grandeur, and teaching me the ways of the land.

“This is my legacy. And one day it will be yours.”

“You mean Michael’s,” I correct, glancing up at my father.

His dark hair blows in the nighttime breeze as he looks over at me. “You and your brother need to set aside your differences. Faasa blood runs through your veins as surely as it does his. Together we rule, divided we fall. Remember that.”

I scoff, rubbing my swollen wrist, remembering how just a few hours earlier Michael shoved me into the dirt and called me a freak. “Tell him that.”

He chuckles. “Michael is still trying to find his place in this world.”

“And I’m not?” I ask, my voice rising in defense.

“From the moment you were born, you’ve been different.” He reaches out, tapping the center of my chest. “In here.”

Different.

My chest twists. I don’t want to be different. I just want to be left alone.

“You learned to talk faster,” he continues. “Walked sooner. And you were drawing as soon as you could hold charcoal in your little hands.”