Page 43 of Scarred

My mouth dries, a balloon expanding in my throat.

Tristan leans back, flicking the hair from his face. “You’re all done.”

Simon’s gaze widens. “I love it. You think it will work?”

He blows out a breath. “This is foryou, not for them. Forget about them.”

“I don’t know how.” Simon sniffles, moving his arm back and forth, the eyes of the lion following the motion. “What happens when it washes away?”

“Then I’ll draw it again.”

“Lady Beatreaux?” A loud voice rings out from behind us, and I snap my head up, locking eyes with Tristan, so many unsaid words floating in the space between us.

I have despised no one more than I do him. He’s vile, and crude, and everything they warned me he would be. And yet, right now, I don’t hate him at all.

Timothy appears through the foliage, his brows drawn down and a scowl marring his face.

I sigh, standing. “Hi, Timothy. What took you so long?”

“You should not run off.”

A smile breaks across my face. “I would have done it sooner if I knew that’s all it took to hear your voice. Besides…” I lift a shoulder. “I’m not a child and I don’t appreciate everyone pretending I am.”

His jaw tenses before his gaze moves to Simon and Tristan, his back straightening. “Your Royal Highness.” He bows.

Tristan’s features harden into stone as he stands, and I swear the air grows cold as he morphs from the man he just was into what everyone else gets to see.

The scarred prince.

He doesn’t speak, but as he moves to walk by me, his hand brushes against mine, our fingers tangling for the smallest moment. And the way it makes my heart stutter out of rhythm should be the biggest warning I’ve ever had.

But like I’ve done with almost every emotion that concerns the prince, I ignore it.

CHAPTER18

Tristan

The upstairs of The Elephant Bones Tavern has a narrow hallway with a small bathroom and two bedrooms flanking either side, one of which is kept clean for whenever I choose to stay. Which, I’ll admit, has been sparse as of late. I’ve been spending more of my time at the castle, both because Lady Beatreaux fascinates me, and also because I like to be available when Simon needs to slip away.

But Edward tells me that morale is down since I haven’t been making as many appearances, so tonight, I’m here to remedy that. Apparently, burning the body of the king’s commander wasn’t enough to prove I’m still focused on the cause.

I walk up the stairs and down the hall to the room, confusion lancing through me when I hear muffled noises from behind the door.

My brows draw in and I twist the handle, the air whipping across my face as the door swings open, smacking against the wall. It cracks as if it might shatter from the impact, and it’s enough to startle the two people naked and in the bed.

They jump up, scrambling. The woman squeals when the man moves off her, and she grapples for the sheets, drawing them up around her chest, her eyes growing wide as she takes me in.

I tilt my head, cataloging her features, rage burning through me when I note her frizzy blonde hair and freckles.

Little doe’s lady-in-waiting. Rosy-cheeked and freshly fucked by my most trusted soldier.

Edward.

How dare he bring her here.

My fists clench at my sides, my gaze swinging to him as he pulls on his garments. “Your Highness, I—”

I raise a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence, my eyes trailing along the form of the girl as she curls in on herself. “Did you bring me a gift, Edward?”