Page 7 of Scarred

“Do you think what they say is true?” Sheina asks, twisting her body toward me.

I lift a brow. “Depends on what part you’re referring to.”

“That the ghosts of the fallen kings haunt the castle corridors.” She wiggles her fingers in front of her face.

I laugh, even though truthfully, I’ve wondered the same thing. “Sheina, you’re too old to still believe in ghost stories.”

Her head tilts. “So, you’re saying you don’t?”

A shiver notches its way down my spine. “I believe in superstition,” I say. “But I’d also like to imagine that when someone leaves us, their soul moves on to rest in the Kingdom of Heaven.”

She nods.

“Or Hell,” I add, the corner of my mouth tilting. “If they deserve it.”

A giggle escapes, her hand coming up to smother the sound. “Sara, you shouldn’t say such things.”

“It’s just us, Sheina.” My grin spreads as I shrug, leaning into her. “Can’t you keep a secret?”

She scoffs. “Please. I’ve kept every single one of your wicked deeds to myself since we were little girls.”

I adjust against the back of the seat, the steel bones of my corset digging into my ribs. “Would they make a wicked girl a queen?”

Her lips purse, her blue eyes sparkling. “With you, Sara, anything is possible.”

Warm contentment settles in my chest, happy that my uncle allowed me to bring her along. Having a familiar face helps to ease the tension knotting its way through my shoulders.

I’ve known Sheina since I was a little girl, us having grown up together on my family’s estate. Her mother is a maid, and Sheina and I used to spend our summer days sneaking into the fields and picking fresh berries, making up stories about how we’d find the poisonous ones and bring them back to the boys who gave us trouble.

But one of the first things my father taught me was to keep your friends close and your secrets even closer. So while I love Sheina, I don’t trust her with the heavy burden of my truths.

Even to her, I play the part, and she’s none the wiser.

Slowly, the landscape stops whizzing by as our automobile stalls, my gaze snapping to the dual towers housing the entrance to the castle’s courtyard. The stone itself is a dark gray, wet from the earlier rain—or maybe just stained from years of wear—deep ivy winding up the sides until it reaches the steepled tops and disappears into the small, glassless windows.

A lookout area, I’m sure.

I wonder if my father had the same view when he arrived, his mind full of hope and his heart filled with courage.

The hole in my chest aches.

“We’ve arrived, milady,” the driver announces.

“Yes, I can see that, thank you,” I reply, my spine straightening as I run my hands over the lap of my light-green travel dress.

The metal from the iron gates creak as they open wide, royal guards lining both sides of the yard, their forms draped in black and gold, the crest of a roaring lion on their breast. It’s the same image that adorns every flag in Gloria Terra.

The Faasa family coat of arms.

I swallow down the nerves, staring at their rigid faces as the automobile moves again, stopping once we’re just inside the gates. There are a dozen bystanders staring our way, but other than that, there isn’t any type of grand fanfare.

A small group of men stand in front of us, and I recognize the shorter one immediately, relief flooding through my system at the sight of my cousin Alexander making his way over.

The door opens, and Sheina is helped first, and then Alexander’s hand reaches for mine. The lace of my sleeve rustles against my wrist as I place my palm on his and step down to the ground.

“Xander,” I say as he bows, bringing my hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Cousin, it’s been too long,” he replies as he straightens. “Your travels went well?”