Scarred (Never After #2)(10)
“Regardless, this isn’t proper conversation for a beautiful woman.” Michael winks at me.
Xander nods, running a hand through his hair again. “Yes, of course not. Timothy,” he snaps, spinning to the royal guard in the room's corner. “Escort Lady Beatreaux back to her quarters.”
Disappointment plops in the middle of my gut, but I’m not surprised they’re sending me away. I’m not stupid. They won’t say anything of importance in front of me, especially before we’re wed, and if I’m honest, most likely even after. Women aren’t granted the same respect as a man, as if what’s between my legs has anything to do with the way my brain works or my ability to process information.
I was about to pluck my eyeballs out from listening to these two morons drone on, anyway.
I rise from my seat and move toward King Michael, curtsying. “Your Majesty.”
His hand tips up my chin, bringing me to a stand. “Sara, sweetheart. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to become better acquainted. But you know what they say... good things come to those who wait.”
I force a small grin. “I’ve always been told patience is rewarded.”
His eyes flare, and that’s my cue.
My skirts rustle around my ankles as I walk to the heavy wood door. Timothy, the royal guard, moves behind me, the black and gold of his uniform highlighting the deep tan of his skin; so different from the pale creams I’ve seen so far in this region.
“Timothy, right?” My voice echoes off the cold stone walls of the castle halls.
He glances at me out of his peripheral but stays silent.
“Are you from here?”
Still, he stays silent.
“Saxum, I mean.”
After a few long moments of no response, I sigh. “Alright, then. Not a conversationalist. Xander was speaking of that woman. That… hyena?” The word is rough on my tongue, and I watch his reaction, not expecting a verbal response, but hoping he gives away clues on his face.
He doesn’t. He’s trained well.
“Are you mute?” I purse my lips. “Or just not allowed to speak.”
The corners of his lips twitch.
“Honestly, that sounds terrible,” I continue. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being told that you can’t even talk?”
He side-eyes me again as we approach the wing of my personal quarters, stopping once we reach my room.
I reach out, the metal knob rough against my fingertips. Timothy moves to the side of my door, his back straight and his eyes scanning the area. I pause, my stomach tightening. “Are you planning to stand out here all night?”
He quirks a brow.
“Right, right. No speaking.” I grin. “Got it.”
He inclines his head in a half bow, and I slip inside my bedroom, shutting the door behind me, the grin dropping from my face as I make my way across the sitting area, looking for Sheina.
I don’t find her, so I assume she’s already turned in for the night.
Good.
There’s a woman in the dungeons, and if no one will give me answers, I’ll find them for myself.
CHAPTER 6
Sara B.
I’ve made it to the servant’s quarters—without meaning to—but this castle is large, and a little eerie, and it’s difficult to navigate the corridors in secret without knowing where you’re going. Anxiety teases my middle, hoping I don’t forget my way back.
Muffled voices filter through the darkened hall; the only light coming from small sconces placed between the arched windows. My steps falter, heart stuttering. I hadn’t expected anyone at this time of night, but I shouldn’t have been so stupid. There are always people roaming halls.
I continue forward, leaning against the stone, my breathing choppy as I glance both ways, making sure nobody is here to see me.
This was foolish.
The voices become louder as I inch my way closer to the room, and my brows draw in as I strain to hear.
The door is ajar, and I move from the wall and spin toward it, crouching, my fingers gripping the wooden frame as I press my face to the crack. My breathing is shaky and my heart kicks against my chest cavity as adrenaline floods my system.
The three thin silver daggers slipped between my leather garter are cold as they press against my thigh, but I’m not stupid enough to sneak through the castle halls at night, alone and unprotected.
Besides, there’s something thrilling about the rush of being caught. Of doing something I’m not supposed to.
Squinting, I try to make out the details, but other than a long wooden table and a bookshelf in the far corner, it seems barren. A tall man stands in the center, his shadow looming over another person, who’s on their knees at his feet.
It’s difficult to see who it is at first, but the longer I stare, the more my vision clears.
Prince Tristan.
My heart jumps to my throat. What is he doing down here in the servant’s quarters?
“Do you understand?”
My stomach twists at his voice, just like it did the first time I heard it; velvet words while his hand was wrapped around mine, and his brother was between us.
His tone is deep. As if it was made in hell then woven through silk. A gentle caress that singes your senses.
Although it’s too dark to make out heavy detail, I can see the person at his feet is a woman.