Page 126 of Scarred
“Then kill me,” I hiss.
“You are my blood, child. Don’t be absurd.” He sighs, walking toward me and sitting on the edge of the bed. Hatred burns bright in my chest as he does. “Change is scary, I know. We’ve lost your cousin, and your father, may they rest in peace.”
My insides boil at the mention of my father.
“But change is also good,” he finishes, leaning in to pat my hand, the chains clanking when he does.
I spit in his face.
Rage twists his features, and he slams his hand against my cheek, his rings cutting across my skin. Smirking, I fling the curls from my eyes and glare at him. “Finally, Uncle. Your true colors show after so many years.”
Michael sighs from across the room. “I’m tired of you two bickering. I should kill you just to be rid of it.”
“I wish you would,” I quip. “If you think Tristan’s angry now, just wait until he hears that I’m dead.” I smile. “I think I’ll come back and haunt the castle walls just to watch the show.”
Heavy footsteps make their way down the hall and bang against the door.
“Enter,” Michael spits.
A young soldier runs into the room, his brow sweaty and his face pale as if he’s seen a ghost. “Your Majesty.” He bows. “I have a message.” His eyes flicker around the room, hesitating when they land on me. “From your brother.”
My heart leaps in my chest.
Michael stands straighter, walking toward the man. “And?”
“He’s crazy, sire. He… he’s burningeverything. He sent me to tell you that he won’t stop. Not until you give her back.”
Michael’s head tilts, growing still and calm. “What do you mean he’s ‘burning everything?’”
The man’s eyes flick to me one more time, and I lean in, something eager swirling through my gut, thinking of Tristan coming to save me. Just like he said he would.
“I mean, the entire main strip of Saxum is gone, sire,” he whispers. “And now they’ve moved on to the eastern end. And the fires… water isn’t working. They’re spreading fast.”
Michael roars, flipping the table next to him, the lamp sliding off the top and smashing to porcelain pieces on the ground. He turns to face me, pointing his thick fingers at me. “This is all your fault.”
I grin, my blood heating in my veins. “You reap what you sow, Michael Faasa. May God have mercy on your soul when Tristan gets his hands on you.”
Yells sound from down the hall, and Uncle Raf stands from where he was still sitting against the bed. Marisol appears in the open doorway, her cheeks flushed. Hope springs alive in my chest. I wasn’t sure if she had survived after freeing me.
She drops into a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
“Speak, woman.” Michael paces back and forth, wearing a hole through the deep burgundy carpet.
“The castle is on fire.”
* * *
My arm jostlesas Michael throws open the front doors to the courtyard, dragging me along with him.
I glance around, my nerves jittery, but I don’t have to look for long.
Because there he is.
Standing like a god in the middle of the court, his hands in his pockets, suspenders hanging off his waist, black sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a joint between his lips.
My beautiful, scarred prince.
His eyes lock on mine, and a calm takes over.He came back.
