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When Clare had asked Ilah if Vera could accompany them today, the Mortisian woman had eagerly acquiesced. Ilah was a woman who did not stand on ceremony, and she was proud to show her island to everyone, including a princess’s maid.
Ser Hassan had elected to stay home with Sidrah, so Clare had had Ilah’s unwavering attention during most of their tour of the museum’s many wings. She’d pointed out her favorite pieces and answered many of Clare’s questions, and she’d introduced her to many of the people they encountered. She’d only excused herself a moment ago to speak with a friend she’d spotted on the other side of the gallery.
Alone, Clare studied the statue in front of her. It was a man seated on a bench, his posture slightly hunched. One hand was balanced on the empty spot beside him. From one angle, his face looked sorrowful. Heartbroken, even. It spoke of loss and grief. But when she shifted to the other side, he almost looked nervous, or anxious. As if he was anticipating the moment he would be joined on the bench, rather than already abandoned on it. Somehow, the artist had captured a moment between moments. The breath between expectation and rejection. Excitement and mourning. Hope and loss. Something in his tipped head and that empty hand on the bench filled her with longing.
Warmth brushed her back, and Bennick’s voice was low at her ear. “I think I’m getting jealous.”
A thin breath escaped her—almost a laugh. She peeked up at him, surprised to find him so close.
The novelty of her presence at the museum had run out at least an hour ago. Patrons were admiring the art, now, not the Devendra princess they thought she was. No one seemed to be watching her at all—except Bennick.
His crystal blue eyes were locked on her, and that—along with his nearness—made it difficult to breathe.
“He’s made of stone,” she pointed out. “There’s no reason to be jealous.”
He ducked his head beside her, his breath teasing the sensitive skin of her ear. “Anything that claims this much of your attention makes me jealous.”
Warmth infused her cheeks, and she fought to stop her blush. The way they stood was innocent enough—there was space between them, regardless of how thin, and a bodyguard whispering in the ear of his charge wouldn’t be unexpected. He might be asking her when she planned to leave, or telling her something he’d observed.
Nothing in this moment felt innocent, however.
Heat curled low in her belly and a shiver skated down her spine when Bennick leaned in just a little closer, the tip of his nose skimming against the curve of her cheek. “Tonight, there’s somewhere I want to take you,” he whispered. “After dinner, excuse yourself as soon as you can.”
Curiosity flared, along with excitement. She peeked over at him. “I assume you’re not going to tell me anything else?”
He smiled his heart-stopping half-smile. Fates help her if he ever found out what that simple quirk of his lips did to her. “No,” he said. “You’ll just have to wait for tonight.”
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” Clare asked, her voice hushed in the darkness.
Bennick’s hand tightened around hers, gently tugging her forward. “No.”
Despite her raging curiosity, his response made her mouth twitch. Anticipation hummed inside her as Bennick led her further up the moonlit path, which wandered away from the mansion they’d left behind.
Clare still wore her dress from dinner. The long, silvery blue skirt just brushed the ground, covering the Mortisian sandals that wrapped her feet. The rippling fabric was soft and lightweight and gathered at her waist, the bodice looser than she was used to. Mortise had different styles, but she was growing to love them. Silver pins with decorative twists in the delicate metal secured the dress atop her shoulders, leaving her arms bare. Silver bangles circled her wrists, hiding her scars. The bracelet that meant the most to her was on her right arm—the hidden garrote Bennick had given her.
Before sneaking out of the manor, Bennick had snatched up a light cloak for her, but he only held it over his arm as they walked. The night air was warm—something that felt wrong, considering that, in Devendra, the leaves would be turning as they prepared for the coming winter.
Bennick, of course, wore his dark blue uniform. Except on the hottest of days, he had continued to wear the jacket that fit his frame perfectly. Clare didn’t mind, since it outlined the breadth of his strong shoulders, the strength in his long arms, and the well-defined lines of his chest and tapered waist. His sword was belted to his side, and he carried an assortment of knives on his belt. He walked easily with the weapons, fully comfortable with their weight.
She understood, since she wore a knife strapped to her leg. After carrying it for so long, she felt more balanced with the weapon than she ever had without it. It was another example of just how much her life had changed since becoming Serene’s decoy.
The path they walked was made of packed earth, the soil dark and rich. The earthy smell was accompanied by the light fragrance of sweet-smelling flowers, and the faintest trace of the sea in the distance. The foliage was thick here, hemming the path and creating a sense that they were the only two people on the entire island.
She knew they must still be on the Hassan’s property, since they hadn’t yet reached the stone wall that surrounded the estate. They’d passed through the beautifully cultivated gardens, and then followed this meandering path. Clare hadn’t noticed a single branching trail; wherever they were going, it seemed to be the only destination this pathway offered.
She threaded her fingers with Bennick’s. “Since you rarely leave my side, I’m curious how you found this place—whatever it is.”
“I’m still not telling you where we’re going, no matter how creatively you try to ask. But to answer your question . . . I’ve found moments to explore.”
“You mean when you should have been sleeping?”
He tossed her a casual smile. “Maybe.” His steps slowed so he walked beside her, rather than slightly ahead. “I’ve been searching for a place like this since we arrived.”
“You’re trying to be cryptic.”
“Is it working?”
“Annoyingly well.”
