Royal Decoy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 1)

by Heather Frost

  Bennick didn’t know how to feel about any of it.

  One of the tall doors pushed open and Clare slipped out, her head ducked. Her unbound curls shielded her face as she moved stiffly into the hallway. The king’s bodyguards passed her, returning to the dining hall.

  Bennick strode to Clare’s side, Dirk right behind him. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Clare’s head lifted, revealing burning cheeks—one a harsher shade of red.

  Bennick’s vision narrowed. The king had struck her.

  “I’m fine. Can we go see Venn?”

  “Of course,” Dirk said.

  Bennick couldn’t speak; his mouth had gone dry.

  Dirk led the way down the corridor and Bennick walked so closely beside Clare their arms brushed. Her reddened cheek practically glowed in the dim light of the narrow passage. His pulse snapped and his hands clenched. It was a good thing they walked away from the king; if he saw Newlan now, he didn’t know what he’d do.

  Cool fingers wrapped around his, startling him. Clare didn’t look at him, just held his hand. Her soft glove was damp with blood, but he didn’t care. The contact grounded him, loosened some of the tightness in his chest.

  Within minutes they entered the physician’s ward. The waiting area was filled with noble lords and ladies gathered in clusters throughout the room, some begging physician apprentices to let them into the private rooms to see a loved one. In the back corner of the waiting room, Bennick’s eyes locked with Cardon’s. The bodyguard wasn’t alone. Vera stood with him, chewing her lip as she eyed a nearby closed door. Another maid was beside them, and it took Bennick a moment to recognize Serene in the maid’s gray and white dress, wearing a kerchief over her head.

  “They’ve sewn the wound,” Serene said lowly as they drew close. “He’s going to live.”

  “Thank the fates,” Clare breathed, squeezing Bennick’s hand. He should probably let go, but his fingers wouldn’t move.

  “The bolt broke one of his ribs,” Cardon said. “He’ll be in some pain for a month or so, but if he’s careful he can still come with us to Mortise.”

  Bennick eyed the princess. “You shouldn’t have left the safety of your room.”

  Serene rolled her eyes. “Please, Bennick. You know me. Besides, everyone is too preoccupied to notice me.”

  He might have tried arguing, but he was distracted when Clare slipped her hand free and moved to Vera. She wrapped an arm around the pale maid’s waist and whispered to her.

  Cardon lowered his voice. “Was it really Gavril?” When Bennick confirmed it with a short nod, Cardon cursed. “I can’t believe it.”

  Serene braced her hands on her hips, eyebrows drawn together. “I know he was a friend to you all. I’m sorry.”

  Bennick couldn’t stomach her apology—not when Gavril had put her life, and Clare’s, in danger. “I should have realized it was him.”

  “His pain was an effective mask,” Serene said. “You couldn’t have known.” Her words, spoken so directly, offered a surprising level of comfort. Emotions still warred inside Bennick, but self-blame was no longer the winning force.

  The door pushed open and Wilf emerged. His jaw tightened as his eyes swept over them. “Fool’s awake.”

  Vera dove around him, the first to enter the private room. Serene, Cardon, and Dirk went next, and Clare and Bennick moved to follow, but Clare paused before Wilf.

  The large warrior viewed her with lowered brows.

  “Thank you for saving my life,” she said.

  Wilf’s forehead creased. “Only doing my duty.”

  Her mouth twitched. “Well, thank you.”

  Wilf watched as she disappeared into the room, then shot a confused look at Bennick. “What was that?”

  Despite everything, the corner of Bennick’s mouth lifted. “She once thought you were trying to kill her.”

  Wilf frowned. “Why would she think that?”

  “You’re a little gruff sometimes.”

  The large man only grunted.

  Everyone crowded around the small room’s only bed. Venn’s uniform had been replaced by a thin white shirt and he lay sprawled against a mountain of pillows. “You’re all embarrassing me,” he said, then coughed. Vera quickly poured him a glass of water from a pitcher on the bedside table and even helped him drink. After a few swallows, Venn tipped his head back and gave her an almost distracted smile. “I’ll have an impressive scar.”

  “You’re not in too much pain?” Vera asked, her features pinched with concern.

  Wilf crossed his arms with a snort. “He’s so drugged, it’s amazing the idiot’s conscious.”

  “That’s true,” Venn said, grinning at the girl beside him. “Can’t feel a thing, Vera m’dear. I mean, Miss dear Smallwood. You’re a very small wood, you know. It’s in your name: Vera Smallwood.” He giggled.

  Bennick arched a brow. He hadn’t known his friend could make that sound.

  Cardon patted Venn’s shoulder, his smile pulling at the long scar on his cheek. “You’re going to be embarrassed about this tomorrow.”

  “Never!” Venn scoffed. “I won’t be embarrassed because I won’t remember it.”

  Dirk and Cardon shared a grin over his head.

  Vera set the cup aside and perched on the bed’s edge, Venn’s limp hand cradled in both of hers. Serene laughed at something Venn said about Wilf’s nursing abilities, and Wilf glowered.

  Bennick sidled next to Clare, who stood at the foot of the bed. He set a hand against the small of her back and she sent him a brief smile that shot warmth through his veins. She rested her head on his shoulder and relaxed against him.

  His own muscles loosened. The danger wasn’t past, not with the road to Mortise stretched before them, but in this room and in this moment, there was peace.

  Chapter 44

  Grayson

  Grayson’s body was stiff but he didn’t move. He and Mia sat on her cell floor, their backs to the bed, his arm wrapped around her. Her head was tipped against his shoulder and their free hands were joined, fingers threaded together and balanced on his bent knee. She hummed softly, almost unconsciously. It was a lullaby she’d sung to him when they were children, a haunting melody that had always made Grayson long for something unnamable.

  Mia had removed his gloves, leaving nothing between them. Hours must have passed since he’d broken in her arms and he knew the welts and bruises on her body must be throbbing. He wanted to take away her pain. Would have done it in an instant, if he could.

  He marveled that she was sitting here with him. He’d bared his soul, showed her the ugliest, darkest parts of him, and she hadn’t run away. She’d held him. She loved him. He wanted to memorize everything about this moment; the ethereal quality of her humming voice, the feel of her fingers in his, the warm scent of her, and the wild curls tossed over her shoulder.

  Grayson lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

  The corner of her mouth rose. “What was that for?”

  He kept his lips against her smooth skin. “For everything.”

  Mia squeezed his hand. “You don’t need to thank me.”

  He’d spend the rest of his life thanking her.

  She tugged their hands down and lifted her chin, placing a soft kiss against his jaw. “I love you,” she whispered.

  A thrill shot through him. “I love you.” He traced his thumb over hers, tightening his hold around her shoulders. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “My father is sending me on another mission.”

  Mia lifted her head, wariness pinching her features as she sensed the gravity in his words. “This is different from the others, isn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  Worry creased her brow. “Is it dangerous?”

  “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  She sent him a pointed look.

  His mouth twitched ruefully. “You really don’t need to.”

  Mia bit her lip. “Where are you going?”

 
“Mortise. Liam and I are both going. We received a royal invitation from Prince Desfan. We leave in a week.”

  Mia stared. Panic, dread, and fear swam in her brown eyes.

  Fates. He shouldn’t have said it like that—just announced he was leaving for another kingdom in mere days.

  She visibly struggled to find her voice. “H-how long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t know. A long time. Months.” He could feel the tension coiling her body and he tightened his hold on her hand. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

  Mia glanced away, her grip on his hand almost painfully tight. “What are you doing in Mortise?”

  He wouldn’t upset her with the truth. “My father is sending us as emissaries to open peace talks.”

  She actually snorted, her eyes still averted. “Your father doesn’t want peace.” She shook her head. “I hate this. I hate that you have to do everything he says. I wish I could go with you. I wish . . .”

  He lowered his eyes. “I wish things were different, too.”

  Mia slipped her hand free of his, but only so she could lift her hand to cup his cheek. The ball of her thumb skated across his cheekbone, prompting him to fully meet her gaze. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

  Grayson wrapped a hand around her wrist, his eyes intent. “Always,” he reminded her. He didn’t want to kill again, but if a stranger’s death protected Mia, he knew what choice he’d make. It was the same choice he’d made mere hours ago.

  Grayson wouldn’t hesitate when the time came, no matter who his target turned out to be.

  Chapter 45

  Clare

  Clare’s fingers twitched at her sides as she stepped into the castle courtyard. The carriage waited for her and soldiers were already on their mounts. The journey to Mortise was about to begin.

  Soldiers and servants bowed as Clare passed, none of them knowing the real Serene had already left with a limited guard earlier that morning, taking a different route. For all intents and purposes, Clare was the princess. It felt like her first time playing the decoy all over again. Her stomach roiled and she was grateful she hadn’t forced herself to eat breakfast.

  The coming weeks were uncertain. The rebels would have easier access to her, making them a very real threat. She would be Serene almost constantly and the smallest thing might trip her. Grandeur’s ring was heavy in her pocket, a reminder of all the deception surrounding her—the secrets she was a part of. Beside the ring was the dented tin soldier, bringing memories of her family and home. She still hadn’t heard from Eliot and she hated to leave before they could reach a full understanding. But she had Bennick, the soldier who would always protect her. And she had all the skills her teachers had imparted. She prayed it would be enough.

  Amil hadn’t left the castle yet, but he would reach Mortise weeks before the ambling tour did. He’d have plenty of time to sway Serjah Desfan’s opinion and jeopardize the alliance. Clare hoped the serjah wouldn’t be easily influenced. As much as she hated to agree with Newlan, peace was in Devendra’s best interest, and she didn’t want Amil to destroy it in his need for revenge.

  When Clare reached the carriage, she saw Bennick standing beside Master Lank, who was double-checking the harnesses for the horses. The stable master appeared to have aged a decade overnight and Bennick’s hand on his shoulder seemed to be the only thing steadying him.

  Clare joined them, and the stable master looked into her eyes and kept his voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the others. “I’m sorry, Clare.” His thin voice cracked. “He wasn’t in his right mind.”

  “You don’t need to apologize.” Clare settled her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Master Lank’s throat bobbed. “So am I. But those we love don’t always choose the path we wish them to.” He gave a final pat to the nearest horse’s neck before bowing in farewell and walking slowly away.

  Venn passed him, heading toward the carriage. He was bandaged and walking carefully, but grinning and chatting with Vera and Ivonne. Wilf followed close behind, scowling. The sight used to flood Clare with unease, but now that she knew he was no longer a threat, the predictability of his gruffness made her smile a little. Cardon and Dirk had gone with Serene, but everyone else here would stand beside her—a family she’d somehow joined—and with that realization came an inexplicable calm.

  “Ready, Your Highness?” Bennick asked, extending a hand.

  Clare set her gloved hand in his, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I am.”

  Bennick’s blue eyes warmed as he returned her smile, and Clare stepped into the carriage.

  The story continues in Royal Spy

  Book 2 of the Fate of Eyrinthia series

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  These are always so hard to write, because I know I’m bound to miss someone. So many people helped make this book possible. Mom, thank you for always cheering me on. Dad, even though you’re not right here with me anymore, I feel your love every day. Thank you both for being the best parents ever! Kimberly, thank you for your incredible design work (the cover and interior look fabulous!) and for always reading whatever I write. Kevin, thank you for designing the map—it’s awesome! To the rest of my siblings—thank you for always encouraging me and being my best friends!

  A special thanks to Laurie Ford and Anna Brown for reading every version of this book—including the very first one, which started in a totally different place and included characters that aren’t even there anymore. Thank you to my other very early readers: Crystal Frost, Rebecca McKinnon, Britney Bird, Stephanie Granado, Alex Essig, Jonnie Morgart, Rachel Wilson, Craig Manning, Michalla Holt, Elyce Edwards, Amelia White, and Cynthia Ford—thank you for your edits, conversations, encouragement, and for sharing this book with so many others!

  Thank you to all the reviewers and librarians who helped spread the word about Royal Decoy. And lastly, a very special thank you to all my readers—you are the best people in the world! Thank you for holding this book in your hands, writing reviews, and sharing this book with others. Your love and support keeps me going. Thank you!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Heather Frost writes mostly YA fiction and has a soft spot for tortured characters, breath-stealing romance, and happy endings. She is the author of the Seers trilogy and the Fate of Eyrinthia series. She has a BS in Creative Writing and a minor in Folklore, which means she got to read fairy tales and ghost stories and call it homework.

  When she’s not writing, Heather likes to read, travel, and hold Lord of the Rings movie marathons. She owns two typewriters, sings in the car, and dreams of living in a castle someday. She currently lives in Utah, in a beautiful valley surrounded by towering mountains.

  To connect with Heather and learn more about her books, visit www.HeatherFrost.com.

  Want more books by Heather Frost?

  Don’t miss the Seers Trilogy

  Seers are not just spectators, they are also prey

  When Kate Bennett survived the car accident that claimed her parents' lives, she knew her world would be forever changed. But her life is more dramatically altered than she first realized. Not only is she able to see auras on the people around her, she's even started seeing invisible people with no colors at all. And no matter how attractive the new addition to her American Lit class is, Kate sees what no one else can—the dangerous truths this mysterious boy threatens to pour into her life.

  Patrick O'Donnell was killed in the Irish Revolution in 1798. He's here now to try and keep Kate alive, and stop her life from spinning out of control. The one thing he's not going to do is fall in love with her.

  But plans change, especially when Demons are involved . . .

  Kate is about to enter the world of Seers; where immortals are at war with each other, and unfortunate mortals like Kate are in over their heads.

  Prologue

  June 4, 1798

  Wexford County, Ireland

  I was lying on the long grass, only distantly aware of my surrounding
s. I could feel the light breeze rushing across my still body, but other than that outward sensation, I felt nothing. I heard nothing. I saw nothing. I was nothing.

  Deep in a remote corner of my mind, I knew that I was dying. But that knowledge was not frightening at the moment. For now, I could think of nothing but the last conversation I'd had with my father. If it could be called a conversation.

  It had been weeks ago, but I could remember every detail. My mother's worried face, my brother’s hunched shoulders, the pulsing vein in my father's forehead.

  “My sons are cowards!” He'd shrieked, his Irish accent thick and forceful. “They tell me they know the truth, but they do not fight for it. They refuse to dedicate themselves to a cause greater than themselves!”

  I could clearly remember sitting in my chair at the kitchen table. I kept stealing glances at my younger brother, but his head was always ducked. I couldn't blame him. Ever since father had become involved with the United Irishmen, he'd been seized with passion. Quick to fits of anger and frustration.

  I realized the strain he was under. He was a rebel, a member of one of the greatest uprisings Ireland had ever known. He was completely dedicated to resisting the British rule. He wanted freedom for his beloved country, and he was willing to sacrifice everything for it.

  He hadn't always been like this. At one time, he had been one of my greatest friends. He had been my wise mentor, my confidant, the anchor to my beliefs. But last year everything had changed. He'd gone from calmly tending his Parish to becoming one of the most dedicated rebels Ireland had ever seen. The change had been from one day to the next, though his temper flared more hotly now than it had in the beginning.