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Commanders shouted orders, and soldiers of all ages came to attention, most looking fates-blasted terrified.
The Kaelins rode into the heart of Northland Barracks, passing tents, training grounds, cooking sites, and finally wooden outbuildings that housed the higher ranking officers and meeting rooms. When they finally stopped and dismounted, Grayson eyed the men and boys that filled the camp.
Fates, those boys. They were bloody and haunted, with swords that were too big for them. They stared at the Kaelins like they were seeing their own deaths.
They probably were.
When Grayson looked at his father, it was just in time to see Henri grin.
Chapter 3
Clare
Clarewokeslowly.Awarenessseeped in as gradually as the morning light that crept around the pulled drapes of the room.
She was in her bedroom, which was attached to Serene’s suite. The room was small, but no part of the Mortisian palace was plain. Even this maid’s room was decorated with painted landscapes, fine linens, and soft rugs.
Murmuring voices drifted through the closed door. One sounded like Serene, though Clare couldn’t make out any specific words. A low but booming whisper—that was Wilf—was followed by a smooth, deep voice—Cardon.
Clare’s cheek pressed against her damp pillow. Her throat stung, both inside and out. The tears had made her throat raw, and the shallow cut from Michael’s blade ached. The Devendran rebel had tried to kill her, because he blamed her for Eliot’s death. Latif had killed Michael to defend her, and that still made her head spin.
Latif had been her abductor once, though he’d been blackmailed by Prince Liam Kaelin to do so. A prince who hadalsotried to kill her last night, though he’d thought she was Serene. He’d ordered Latif to kill her, but Latif had onlypretendedto stab her. Fates, remembering that moment brought back every bruising ache on her body; she’d fallen down several stone steps in the prison when Liam had kicked her down the stairs.And none of that had been the worst part of last night.
Her eyes burned. Fates, she didn’t want to remember the worst part.
Warmth radiated at her back. The strong arm that draped over her waist kept her secure against a hard chest that rose and fell . . .
Bennick.
Clare’s breath caught, and memories from last night flared.
Miss Ellington,I regret to inform you of an unfortunate incident.
Her fingers had gone numb. She’d dropped Commander Markam’s letter.
It has been my task to check in with your brothers during your absence.
Bennick had grabbed her, his face pale and his eyes sparking with alarm.
On my most recent visit, I learned there had been a fire in Lower Iden. It destroyed most of the homes on your street—including yours. I’m afraid your brothers and their caretaker were inside, and there were no survivors.
Denial, sharp and fierce.
She could see Thomas and Mark—only thirteen and ten—smiling at her.
She had become the decoy for them. She had left them safe in Iden with a caretaker, and she’d recently asked for Serene’s help in bringing them to Duvan. They couldn’t begone.
But they were.
She had no family left. She’d lost Eliot, and now . . .
She hadn’t realized she’d started crying until Bennick had gathered her into his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he’d whispered. “So, so, sorry . . .”
So many tears, then. Her body had shaken with them. Her breath broke with them.
There in the princess’s sitting room, Clare’s heart had shattered.
Bennick had pulled her onto his lap as he sat on the nearest chair. She buried her face in his neck, and her fingers clenched in his shirt. She sobbed until she thought her lungs would burst. Bennick had rubbed her back, his fingers skimming her spine, his other hand buried in her hair, keeping her pressed close. His strong arms were all that held her together.
