Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2)

by Heather Frost

  She looked back to the women surrounding her, gently excusing herself. They curtsied, their conversation unbroken as they debated the merits of sea daisies.

  Clare used the gliding step she had been taught, the courtyard stone unyielding beneath her sore feet. She nodded to several people who called out greetings, but she didn’t join them.

  Bennick’s alert eyes followed her easily as she moved through the crowd. Her long skirt brushed the ground as she walked, and she knew the vivid red dress accentuated the dark brown curls that flowed down her back. Her skin tingled, knowing he watched her so closely.

  She stopped before him, still holding her wineglass. “Captain.”

  Bennick’s mouth twitched. “Princess.”

  “I’d like to explore the garden,” she said.

  His eyes warmed, but his tone stayed neutrally polite. “Of course.”

  Bennick took her wineglass, his fingers glancing over hers. He handed the glass to a passing servant and offered Clare his arm. The moment her hand touched his strong forearm, a flutter started low in her stomach.

  Bennick guided her away from the courtyard and down one of the many paths that branched through the garden. Well-trimmed hedges formed a basic maze pattern, the walls of foliage tall enough that Clare couldn’t see over them. There were still torches to light the way and they passed couples sitting on stone benches set in strategic places just off the path. They rose and bowed as she passed, giving congratulations on her betrothal and well-wishes for the alliance. But each corner they rounded took them deeper into the maze, and soon they were alone.

  She breathed in deeply, enjoying the earthy smell of the moonlit garden. “It’s a beautiful place, but I’m exhausted.”

  “Some of these parties go through the night, you know.”

  She groaned. “It’s torture.”

  “Tonight has been torture,” he agreed, his voice deeper than before.

  She glanced over and was instantly caught in his stare. A stare that raised every hair on her body in the most delicious way.

  They stepped around another corner and Bennick scanned the shadows around them. There were no torches lit this far from the courtyard, but the moon was nearly full. She could see Bennick clearly as he tugged her to a stop. His voice was pitched low. “What do you think of the garden?”

  Her heart pounded. “I like it.”

  Bennick’s hand drifted down her arm, making her pulse race. “It’s peaceful,” he said slowly, his eyes fixed on hers.

  “It is,” she agreed.

  “And beautiful,” he added.

  “Yes.”

  Her heart tripped as he leaned in, his bristled jaw angled down so he could keep her gaze. “And private.”

  It was the way his mouth lifted at the corner that undid her. That half-grin melted her every time. She stretched up on her toes, her palms braced against his chest as she pressed her mouth to his.

  Bennick’s lips were the most intriguing mix of soft and hard as he kissed her, his hands going to her waist, though she wasn’t sure if he was trying to steady her, or himself. Then his hands were moving, sliding up her back to bring her closer. Her body fit perfectly against his, his warmth chasing away the slight chill in the night air.

  He stole her breath, her thoughts, her awareness of anything else but how it felt to be held by him. Her fingers curled into his dark blue jacket, pulling him impossibly closer.

  He changed the angle of the kiss, his nose skimming her flushed cheek as long fingers tangled in her hair.

  Oh, fates.

  She groaned and pulled back, her breathing ragged. “My hair.”

  Bennick was also breathing deeply, his eyes cutting over her hair. “Oh.” His gaze narrowed, and the hard expression on his face made her chuckle.

  She ducked her head, letting her forehead fall against his chest. She could hear the thump of his heart, and it matched the rapid pace of her own. “We need to be careful.”

  He grunted, his fingers dragging gently through some of the tangles in her hair. “Do you realize how hard it is to watch you and not touch you?”

  His words caused a pleasant flip in her stomach, but she rolled her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “You’re ridiculously beautiful.”

  She smiled. This thing between them was still new, and wholly exciting. But there were complications. Because it didn’t matter what part she played—princess, decoy, or maid—a relationship with Captain Bennick Markam was forbidden.

  Determined to be the responsible one, she eased back and combed her fingers through her hair. Thankfully, Ivonne had left it mostly unbound and there were only a few pins near her temples that needed adjustments. She looked toward the thick stone wall that loomed nearby, encircling the edge of the estate; she hadn’t realized how far they’d wandered.

  “You’re doing well,” Bennick said suddenly. “I don’t know how you manage to keep smiling through so many hours of conversation.”

  “Most everyone has been kind.”

  He snorted. “They’re self-important, grasping people who just want a chance to curry favor with the royal family.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “They probably wouldn’t appreciate your assessment.”

  “Maybe not. But they couldn’t argue, because it’s true.”

  Unfortunately, she knew he was right. The king had been strategic in the stops he’d planned; Clare would be staying with noble families who were just notable enough to influence their communities. They would be flattered by the king’s request to host the princess, and they’d be put in the awkward position of having to support the peace, no matter how they felt—and they would drag all their friends with them, or risk looking contrary.

  And all the while, it would look like Devendra was uniting to celebrate the princess’s marriage to Desfan. It was why this journey would take so much longer than if they simply rushed their way to Duvan—they were making a statement.

  Clare shook her head. “Sometimes I don’t know how Serene lives like this. Everyone starts to look duplicitous.”

  “Politics are messy.” His mouth dipped into a frown. “I’ve overheard some of the nobles talking. Many are planning to attend the prisoner exchange.”

  Serjah Desfan had initiated discussions for a prisoner exchange weeks ago, and the details had been negotiated in time for the exchange to be part of the princess’s tour. This demonstration of good faith between their kingdoms would happen at the border town of Stills, and Clare would be overseeing it. Twenty prisoners from both kingdoms would be released; most had been captured during skirmishes along the border over the span of a dozen years. Devendra had only imprisoned Mortisian soldiers, but the Mortisians had arrested men and women who had fought to protect their homes. The thought that they might soon be free, after years of separation from their homes and families, warmed Clare’s heart.

  She eyed Bennick. “You don’t sound happy about having spectators.”

  “I’m not. I understand the king wants people excited about the alliance, but I wish he hadn’t encouraged them to go to the exchange. It will be a tense situation, and I don’t like the idea of having a large crowd. It makes it too easy for the rebels to hide.” His blue eyes met hers and promise lived in his voice. “I will keep you safe, Clare.”

  “I know.” And she did. He would do everything in his power to make sure she survived. Not only because he cared for her, or because it was his duty as her bodyguard, but because she remembered the solemn way he had knelt before her ten-year-old brother and sworn to bring her home.

  He seemed to shake off the heaviness of the last moment. “I have something for you.” He reached into his uniform’s jacket pocket and pulled out a stiff silver bracelet. The band was maybe as wide as her finger, though not as thick, and delicately engraved with twisting vines.

  “Bennick, it’s beautiful.”

  “I can’t take credit for the design.” He took her left hand and slid the bracelet onto her wrist. “C
ardon gave one just like this to Serene, for one of her birthdays, I think. And it’s more than simple jewelry.” He ducked his head and ran a finger over the etching until the tip of his nail caught on a small notch. With a simple pinch, he drew out a long, thin wire from inside the bracelet. He looked at her from beneath his lashes. “It’s a garrote.”

  She shot him a look as he fed the wire back into the wristband, as if on some kind of reel. “That is . . . unique.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “Serene loves hers and wears it often, so I thought it would be a nice detail if you had one. Besides, I like the versatility of it—decorative and defensive.” He released her hand, and the bracelet suddenly seemed heavier. “The silversmith I hired didn’t have it quite finished before we left Iden. It just arrived tonight.”

  She turned her wrist over, eyeing the silver band with some hesitancy. “I don’t know if I can use this against someone.”

  “We’ll practice,” he assured her. “Try pulling it out.”

  She found the catch that hid the end of the wire and carefully dragged it out.

  Bennick chuckled. “We’ll work on your speed,” he teased. “But it’s fairly simple to use. The trick is to get behind your opponent quickly and wrap the wire around their neck. Preferably before they realize what you’re doing and stick their hand against their throat. We’ll practice until it becomes reflexive for you, and I’ll show you some tricks for how to use it effectively against someone taller than you.”

  She fingered the intricate design of twisting vines, the precious metal slowly warming against her skin. “Thank you. It really is beautiful.”

  “You’re welcome.” He stepped closer. “I think I can kiss you without touching your hair.”

  A smile teased her lips. “You’re trying to distract me.”

  He leaned in, his lips brushing the curve of her ear and making her shiver. “You’re the one constantly distracting me.”

  There was a muffled curse and then a growl. “Bennick?” Wilf snapped from around the corner. “Fates blast it, where are you?”

  Bennick ripped away from Clare and she swayed at the sudden loss of his nearness. He grabbed her arm to steady her, then snapped back to a proper distance just as Wilf stepped into view.

  The scowl on the huge man’s face was both typical and impressive. But then, everything about Wilford Lines was impressive. He stood head and shoulders above most men and he was nearly three times as wide. His face was riddled with pox scars, and for a long time, Clare had been convinced the man might be trying to kill her. Now, his gruffness just made her mouth twitch.

  He glared at them. “What are you two doing back here?”

  “The princess needed to step away from the crowd,” Bennick said.

  Wilf’s eyes narrowed on Clare. “Are you unwell?”

  She smiled at his protective focus. “No, just tired.”

  There was an annoyed rumble in the giant’s chest. “If you’re tired, you go to your room. You don’t—”

  A scream rent the night, cutting off Wilf’s words and chilling Clare’s blood.

  Chapter 2

  Clare

  Clare stiffened and Bennick drew his sword. Everything about him had transformed in an instant—the second that horrible shriek sounded.

  The silence the sharp cry had left behind was perhaps even more chilling.

  “Guard her,” he commanded Wilf.

  Clare’s heart pounded. “But—”

  “Stay with Wilf,” he told her, his jaw set.

  Another scream rose, this one clearly coming from the courtyard. Bennick darted in that direction. Other shouts were taken up, a low roar of voices, a few rallying shouts; nothing distinct enough for Clare to understand what might have triggered the alarm.

  Wilf stepped closer and gently gripped Clare’s elbow. “We need to get inside,” he said tersely. “We’ll stay on the edge of the garden and avoid the courtyard.”

  She swallowed back her instinctive protest. One of the first lessons Bennick had taught her was the importance of working with the guards, not against them. She forced herself to move with Wilf, even though desperate curiosity clawed at her.

  They were halfway back to the mansion when Wilf tensed, turning to look down one of the maze’s many paths. A young guard bearing a torch darted toward them, sweat dotting his forehead. He wasn’t a royal bodyguard, or even one of the palace guards that had accompanied them. Clare assumed he was one of the men the Harringtons employed.

  He paled at the sight of Wilf, then his eyes cut to Clare and he jerked out a bow. “Princess, forgive me—have you seen Lady Firth?”

  “I—no, not for a while.” Concern rippled through her. “Is she missing?”

  The young man swallowed hard. “We heard that scream, and Lady Bent went into hysterics. She claims Lady Firth vanished, and now she’s convinced that scream came from her. She’s quite upset.”

  “We haven’t seen anything,” Wilf said, stepping slightly in front of Clare. “You should continue your search elsewhere.”

  Clare’s eyes drifted to a small alcove carved into the hedge. It was one of the spots where a bench sat just off the path. She wouldn’t have noticed it at all from this angle if they hadn’t stopped. But there was something in the shadows behind the bench and she stepped closer, dread curling in her gut.

  Her eyes caught the moonlit details slowly, painting a picture that made her hands shake.

  A woman lay on the ground behind the bench. She might have been asleep, with the way her arm stretched out toward the path, her relaxed fingers slightly bent. Her blue dress was familiar, and then Clare saw the long feather sticking out of her hair.

  A final step brought her close enough to see the woman’s face, and a cry caught in Clare’s throat.

  Lady Firth’s open gaze was aimed at the stars, but her eyes were glazed and unseeing. A crimson rose in full bloom was in her mouth, the petals spread over her lips, and a dagger was sticking out of her unmoving chest.

  Clare stumbled back, pressing a hand over her mouth.

  Wilf was suddenly there, pushing past Clare to kneel at the woman’s side. He swore. “Bring that light over here.”

  Clare wanted to look away as the torch moved closer and illuminated the dead woman’s body, but she was trapped by the macabre scene—which grew even more horrifying as orange light spilled on Lady Firth.

  The rose stretching open the woman’s mouth looked even more grotesque, but there was something Clare hadn’t noticed in the darkness. The dagger that had killed Lady Firth was also serving to pin a bloodstained note to the woman’s chest.

  “Holy fates,” the guard gasped beside her.

  Clare’s entire body shook as she watched Wilf lean in to study the note. “What does it say?”

  He continued to read, his spine stiff. Then he pushed to his feet and snatched the torch from the guard. “Find Captain Markam and bring him here. Tell no one else what you saw. Go.”

  The guard stumbled away, still cursing under his breath.

  Wilf scowled after him. “He’ll tell blasted everyone.”

  Clare hugged herself, her stomach churning. “Wilf, what’s going on?”

  His hard gaze landed on her and she could see the tension in his eyes. “As soon as Bennick arrives to secure the scene, I’ll take you to your room.”

  She stared back at him, but it was clear he had no intention of telling her what the note said. And so, just like Serene would have done, she stepped around him. He did not stop her, but she felt his eyes on her as she crouched beside the dead woman and read the small, precisely written words.

  Princess Serene,

  That feather looked ridiculous, didn’t it? Shaking every time she talked. She wouldn’t stop talking. I wanted to hear your voice, so I stopped hers.

  I am delighted to see the tales of your beauty are not exaggerated. I look forward to watching you—nearly as much as I look forward to the moment you finally see me.

  With Sincere A
nticipation,

  The Rose

  Clare’s throat was dry as she looked up at Wilf. “Who is the Rose?”

  The guard’s hard expression didn’t alter. “A problem.”

  Clare stood in her suite, adrenaline still pumping through her body. She barely resisted the urge to pace the spacious sitting room; the sounds of Wilf searching every corner of the suite—again—put her on edge. Not that she didn’t appreciate his thoroughness, but she hated the fact that he was so determined to find something when there was clearly nothing to be found.

  Her fingers twitched with the need to do something. Or perhaps they just trembled because there was nothing to do. She folded her arms to stop the shaking, fingers digging into her elbows as she watched Venn scan the terrifying note Bennick had just given him.

  At nineteen years old, Venn was the princess’s youngest guard, and he sat on the edge of the room’s settee, leaning over the low table. The blood on the note was slowly drying, causing the paper to bubble slightly. Venn’s attention was fixed on the words, his mouth carved into a deep frown. Dark brows pulled together, furrowing his dark skin. His long hair was pulled back into its usual ponytail and one arm was in a sling; he was still healing from an injury he’d sustained at the princess’s farewell banquet.

  Vera and Ivonne—two of the princess’s maids—stood near Clare. The sisters were pale after sneaking a look at the note. All thoughts of helping Clare from her gown had been abandoned the moment they’d seen the hard focus on Wilf’s face when he’d escorted her into the sitting room.