Page 48 of Scarred

“You did?” My stomach flips. “I don’t know if I should be offended you think I need one or honored that it’s you.”

He tilts his head. “You’re going to be the queen. If anyone needs protection, milady, it’s you.”

The way he says it sends a chill racing down my spine, as if he knows something—something that he isn’t letting on.

“From whom?” I prod.

His eyes move from where they were settled on me to Ophelia, who is peeking at us from over her needlework. When I twist to face her, she drops her eyes back down, pretending as though she isn’t paying us any mind.

“Never mind,” I say, standing up. “If you don’t know how to get to the garden, just say that.”

He scoffs, rising from his seat. “I know every corridor in this castle.”

“Oh?” My brows rise. “Allof them?”

Anticipation lights up my insides. “Ophelia, we’re going for a walk. Would you like to come?” I ask to be polite, but everything within me is hoping she says no.

“No, milady, Marisol is supposed to meet here to go over the dinner menu for the ball.”

I crinkle my nose. “That sounds awful.”

She smiles. “That’s why you’re having us do it instead.”

Walking over to Timothy, I link my arm in his. His jaw tics as he stares at where we’re connected, and I grin up at him, moving us toward the door. The second it opens, he drops my arm, adopting a glacial look; the man from moments earlier disappearing into the air.

I’m silent the entire way, memorizing our steps so I can sneak away and come back alone, but once we’re at the garden’s door, I spin around, pointing my finger at his chest. “You said you knoweverycorridor.”

“I do.”

“Even the hidden ones?”

His dark eyes peer down at me as if he’s deliberating on how to answer, and that alone is enough to send excitement sparking through my insides.He knows what I’m talking about.

“Will you show me?” I press.

He’s silent for long, strained moments, the muscle in his jaw tensing over and over. Finally, he nods.

A smile creeps on my face, satisfaction worming its way through my veins.

He reaches to his side, placing his hand on a wall sconce. I watch his movements, fascinated, my heart pumping in my ears.

I wonder if when I look back, I’ll think of this moment as the one where I realized everything hides in plain sight. Because the wall I was just staring at disappears, revealing a dark and narrow passage in its place.

CHAPTER20

Tristan

When Michael and I were children, my father was often too busy to spend time with us, and my mother didn’t care. Even if she had, that’s not how it works in the monarchy. Queens aren’t meant to raise their offspring; they’re only meant to birth them.

As a result—and as was expected—nannies were the ones who brought us up. The other kids who roamed the halls were families of the servants, ones who we either weren’t allowed to play with, or they weren’t allowed to play with us. But Michael somehow always had his group of friends, and they would never miss an opportunity to come find me and rain down terror.

I was easy prey. I had no interest in being the center of attention, and much preferred staying on the sidelines with my sketchbook, watching how everyone else interacted.

You can learn a lot about human nature when you observe from the outside looking in.

For some reason, my brother didn’t enjoy that about me. He’s enjoyednothingabout me, nor I him. We’re connected only by blood, and even as a child, I would imagine chaining him up by his limbs and draining him of every drop, if only to sever our connection.

Back then, of course, I didn’t have the wherewithal.