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“He’s the reason I don’t drink,” Cardon explained softly. “My grandfather was always miserable, but when he drank, it was so much worse. He would lose all semblance of control. All hints of humanity. Sometimes, he’d look at my bruises the next day and ask where I got them—as if he didn’t even remember giving them to me. I swore I’d never let myself be like him. That I’d never drink and lose myself. I couldn’t understand why anyone would do that to themselves. My grandmother excused it by saying drinking made living easier for him. It helped him forget his pains, at least for a moment.” He frowned, the motion pulling at his scar. “That’s why Wilf did it. Though I think I can almost understand that. When he lost Rachel, he lost his world. He lost an essential part of himself.” He looked to her. “That’s why I would become a drunk if I lost you, Serene. I would have nothing else to lose at that point.”
Her heart beat too loudly in her chest. Fates, she hadn’t even thought of that during his story, but knowing his past and the promise he’d made himself . . . it all meant so much more now.
She looked at him, her heart beating a little too fast. “You told me you got drunk once.”
“Yes.” He studied her. “It was the day your father decided you’d marry Desfan. It was no longer just a possibility, but a certainty. And you were miserable and afraid, and . . .” He swallowed. “I thought I’d see how effective drinking really was at blocking out pain.”
She was trapped by the intensity of his gaze. Thrown by the vulnerability he’d revealed. Overwhelmed by everything he’d shared with her tonight.
She was far too breathless when Cardon sighed and withdrew his hand. “Apologies. None of this is appropriate. I promised you in Duvan that I wouldn’t—”
She cut him off with a kiss, her mouth finding his with an ease that spoke of a thousand past kisses. Could imagined kisses make her an expert in kissing Cardon? She didn’t know, but it came so easily. Effortlessly.
His hand settled against her cheek, but he did not push her away. His fingers drifted into her hair, keeping her close as he changed the angle of the kiss. His other hand curled around her side, coaxing her closer, his thumb tracing the line of her ribs through the fabric of her dress.
She didn’t know how they didn’t fall off the fence. Her balance was completely shaken, even though she had never felt more grounded than when she kissed him.
When their mouths finally broke apart for air, he rested his forehead against hers. His breathing was thin and ragged. “Fates, we can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
He pulled back, though his hands remained blessedly in place—one buried in her hair, the other firmly at her hip. “We’ve already discussed this. It’s not right. You are promised to Desfan.”
Her lips pursed. “Cardon, I—”
A muted scream rent the night.
Serene jerked. Cardon’s fingers dug into her body, keeping her close as he stiffened. He scanned the night, and she did, too.
She didn’t see anything. But the scream turned sharper. Agonized. Terrified. And it was quickly joined by others.
The screaming came from inside the inn.
Cardon dropped to the ground, pulling her with him. “We need to hide.”
“What about Wilf?”
Cardon’s lips parted, just as the back of the inn crashed open. Men and women flooded out into the yard, frantic and screaming.
Serene spotted Wilf’s bulk easily. He had a knife in his hand and he scanned the darkness. When he saw them, there was no relief in his worried gaze. “Run!” he bellowed.
Serene’s breath caught when she saw at least a dozen men barrel around the side of the inn, weapons drawn.
Chapter 41
Bennick
Bennickstoodneartheside door of the Hassan’s manor, his gaze sweeping the torch-lit yard as guests arrived for the ball. He couldn’t see the entirety of the grounds, due to the large trees that screened much of the yard, but he could see the eagerness of the guests as they prepared to meet who they believed was Princess Serene.
Bennick should have already joined Clare in her room, but he’d warned her and Venn that he might have to meet them in the ballroom. He’d needed to check in with the guards at the gate, and he insisted on looking over everything brought into the mansion for the Hassan’s ball. That included last-minute flowers from Serai Jabar’s personal garden.
The woman was extremely old, mostly deaf, and though Bennick had only met her once at a tea party yesterday, he knew her greatest passion was flowers. While the other ladies in the room had chatted about sending supplies to a village on the other side of the island that was suffering with illness, Serai Jabar talked only about the healing capabilities of cheerful flowers.
Tonight, Serai Jabar had arrived in a carriage with a cart full of flowers just behind her. After Bennick inspected the cart, Serai Jabar had shouted orders to the servants—both her own and those who served the Hassans—and insisted they carry her precious flowers gently and respectfully.
Apparently, that meant only one basket at a time.
“The Drammins can’t be carried in with the Sunset Blooms—put them down at once, young man! Do you want to crush the souls of those Drammins? No? Then don’t put them next to theoneflower that can outshine them!”
