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He gripped the fence rail on either side of him, bracing his shoulders as he took a breath. “My grandparents raised me,” he said, the words coming slowly. “They were onion farmers—just like their parents before them. Apparently, my mother hated her life.” His jaw tightened. “My grandfather wasn’t a kind man in the best of times, but especially when he drank—which was almost all the time. I imagine my mother’s life was hell, so I don’t blame her for running away when she was fifteen. She had no siblings still living, and my grandmother was a timid woman who never stood up to her husband. Especially when he hit.”
Serene’s stomach dropped. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to hear the rest of this story. But Cardon had been strong enough to live it, and he was strong enough to tell her—she would be strong enough to listen.
She took his hand again, and she was grateful when his fingers locked around hers.
“My mother returned home about a year after leaving, pregnant with me. She didn’t know who the father was. At least, she never told her parents. They hid her to avoid the shame. Shortly after I was born, my mother handed me to my grandmother, walked out the door, and never returned. I know nothing else of her, or her fate.” He stiffened beside her. “According to my grandmother, leaving me behind was a kindness. My mother was a wayward soul, she said. Too young and selfish to be a mother. My grandfather called her worse.” He glanced over at her, but couldn’t quite hold her gaze. “That was my life, Serene. That’s where I came from.”
Still holding his hand, she used her other palm to rub his tense arm. “I admire you more for it,” she said.
He choked weakly. “How?”
She studied his profile—a profile she had memorized years ago, but which she viewed with new respect. “Cardon, you are the kindest, gentlest man I know. Fiercely protective and loyal. Filled with honor. You were dealt a terrible hand, and yet you became the man you are today. That is incredible.”
He shifted, self-conscious, but at least he didn’t pull away from her. “I tried to protect my grandmother,” he said. “But I was small, and my grandfather hit hard. When he’d grab me . . . the reek of ale and onions is all I’d smell.”
Serene’s teeth clenched. That anyone would hit a child was reprehensible. That someone would hurt their own blood—a child in their care—was unforgivably monstrous. But the knowledge that a man had abused Cardon made her vision haze. “Is your grandfather still alive?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
He exhaled a thin laugh. “You shouldn’t sound so vengeful. The fates don’t favor such a thing.”
“I can’t be sorry he’s dead.”
“Neither can I,” he admitted.
Silence stretched, before she asked, “What about your grandmother?”
“I was eight years old when she died of a fever.”
Her stomach turned. “You were left alone with your grandfather.”
“Yes. I stayed with him until I was thirteen. Sometimes I wish I would have left sooner, but I was afraid. I didn’t want the world to swallow me, like it had my mother.”
“Thirteen is so young.” She hated to think of him, alone and afraid. Desperate to find a place of safety.
“I wasn’t alone,” he said.
That snared her curiosity. “Who were you with?”
His shoulders straightened, but he didn’t answer her right away—at least, not directly. “I hated working in the field, but I liked going into the village. We went whenever it was time to sell the harvest. I’d always managed to sneak away and play with the other children. We were all essentially farm hands, but in the market we felt like children. We played games, and I loved eating something other than onions.”
He paused, gathering his thoughts. “When I was thirteen, we went to the village and I saw something I never had before—soldiers. I couldn’t stop staring. They looked so . . . perfect. Their uniforms were clean, and everyone showed them respect—even my grandfather. I yearned to be one of them; strong, and confident. So, I followed them into the tavern and asked where I could go to become a soldier. Most of them laughed, and I can’t blame them. I was strong from working the land, but I was still scrawny and dirty. Certainly unimpressive. But one of the men told me where the nearest barracks was located, though he told me I was too young to go. I didn’t care—I left right then. I lied about my age so the soldiers at the barracks wouldn’t reject me, and I never went home. Never looked back.” He glanced at her. “I received a letter when my grandfather died, but I never went to visit his grave.”
“He wouldn’t have deserved it,” Serene said. “He didn’t deserveyou.”
“Thank you.” His expression gentled. “It was at the barracks that I met Dirk. He was the one who recommended me to become a bodyguard. He’s the only one I ever shared the entirety of my story with. No one else knows all of it.” He tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Except you.”
That warmed her, even though she still ached for him. “Thank you for trusting me with your story.”
“I trust you completely.”
Her heart swelled. She lifted his hand and placed a soft kiss against the back of it. “I’m sorry for what you had to suffer.”
“It’s in the past,” he said. “That helpless boy I was . . . he no longer exists.”
He was smiling faintly—reassuring her, she knew—yet his words hollowed out a part of her. She could picture that boy too easily. The dirt. The bruises. She wanted to hold him. Shelter him, and defend him. Assure him that one day he would be safe. That someday, a princess would love him more deeply than he could ever know.
