Page 53 of Scarred

His head cocks, his thick fingers rubbing against his jaw.

My heart thrums against my ribs and I lean in closer. “What makes yougreat, King Michael Faasa III?”

His eyes flare, but before he can continue, a knock sounds on the door and my cousin, Xander, walks in, a thin smile spreading across his face.

“You two look cozy.”

Michael breaks our stare and sits back in his chair, his gaze flashing to me one more time before he grins at my cousin. “She is to be my wife, Xander. Did you think we wouldn’t enjoy each other’s company?”

“One can never be too sure, sire. Marriages aren’t always about compatibility.”

Michael stands, walking over to his oversized oak desk and flipping open the container of his cigar case that sits on the edge. “Well, lucky for us, my bride is beautiful and pleasant at conversation. We’re more than—”

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his face draining of all its blood until it’s a ghastly white, his eyes growing as large as cylinders.

“Sire?” Xander says, his face pulling tight with tension.

“What is it?” I ask, standing up from my chair, alarm circling through my veins. “Are you alright?”

Michael’s jaw tenses, his hand wrapping around something in the box before he drops it and backs away, shaking his head.

“Your Majesty,” Xander tries again.

Michael’s face pinches as he turns to me, his eyes narrowed and panic swirling through their depths. “Did you do this?”

The sudden shift in his personality throws me off guard, my defenses rising.

“Do what?” I move toward the desk and peer in the case.

There are half a dozen cigars arranged perfectly, and right on top is a black handkerchief with gold lining, the initials MFII engraved in the corner.

Realizing they’re his father’s, I reach out to touch, but Michael flies forward, smacking my hand back. “Don’t touch it, stupid woman.”

I gasp, bringing my palm to my chest.

“Sire,please.” Xander moves up next to me, his brows drawn as he reaches out to touch my arm. “Are you alright?”

I nod, my mind racing a thousand miles a minute as I watch Michael pace back and forth behind the desk, his fingers pulling at the strands of his hair.

“Xander, look at this.” He throws his arm toward the open case. “What are we going to do about this? I’m not crazy, Itoldyou I wasn’t crazy.”

My stomach tightens as I watch the scene unfold. Xander walks forward, peeking into the box, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. His shoulders stiffen the slightest amount, and his head snaps up, staring at me just like Michael did. As ifI’mthe one who somehow put his father’s handkerchief in the case.

He sighs, looking over at Michael. “There’s an easy explanation for this, I’m sure.”

“Then explain it,” Michael snaps, his fist slamming on the desktop, making the foundation tremble.

Xander’s eyes flick between us, his voice coming out controlled and slow, as if he’s trying to tame the beast before it leaps from its cage and tears us to shreds. “Your Majesty, perhaps it’s time we sent Lady Beatreaux back to her quarters before continuing this conversation?”

My jaw stiffens. I don’t want to leave. I want to know what’s happening. “I think if there’s an issue that’s worrying to His Majesty, it’s imperative I stay, if only to provide support.”

Michael takes large, quick steps over, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. His energy is manic; it winds through the air and wraps around me, vibrating until it sinks into my bones. And while his touch is warm, there’s no comfort there.

No spark.

There is, however, a slight tremble.

“Youarea treasure,” he says, his eyes flicking from me to the wall and then back. “And I’ve overreacted. That handkerchief is... important to me. I thought I had lost it forever.”