Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2)

by Heather Frost

  “He is quite protective.”

  “As he should be.” His gaze lingered on Bennick, and curiosity prickled at the back of her neck.

  “Do you know him?” she asked.

  Lord Finch looked back at her. “I’ve followed his career.”

  “Really?”

  “I suppose that’s a strange thing for me to admit, isn’t it?” Color touched the tips of his ears. “I used to dream of being a soldier when I was a boy. My father wouldn’t allow it, but he couldn’t stop me from taking an interest. I had friends who attended the military academy, and they would tell me stories about the legendary Bennick Markam. I was fascinated by his achievements. His father was every bit as legendary, and yet every success Bennick enjoyed was his alone. I admire that. Not all of us can claim such independence from our fathers. Too often, they make us who we are.” He cracked a somewhat wry smile. “I apologize, that was long-winded of me.”

  “No need to apologize.” Clare stole a glance at Bennick, warmth building in her chest. “He is very talented.”

  “Indeed he is.” Lord Finch spun her again without warning, and Clare tightened her hold on him. The man flashed her a grin, a dimple popping into view. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Do you think the captain will come after me?”

  Clare couldn’t help but laugh. “Very possibly. You’re quite daring.”

  “I like to think so.” His head canted to the side. “I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but your laugh is beautiful.”

  He wasn’t the first lord to flirt with her, but she had to admit he was more charming than most. Her lips curved into a smile. “Thank you.”

  “I wanted to thank you, actually. For the prisoner exchange that has been arranged with Mortise.”

  “Oh?” No one had thanked her for that yet.

  He nodded. “One of the prisoners to be released is actually the brother of a dear friend. His whole family wept for joy when they received the letter from King Newlan.”

  “I’m so happy for them. It will be a joyous day.”

  “Indeed. I would not miss it.”

  “You’re coming to Stills?”

  “Yes, and I’m not the only one. So you’ll be seeing me again, Princess. And, I’m sure, Lord Tripp. If the man were not so besotted with himself, he would be entirely entranced by you.”

  The song concluded and couples across the floor parted.

  Lord Finch lifted her hand to his lips for a brief kiss. “Thank you for the dance. It was most enjoyable.”

  “Thank you again for saving me.” She tipped her head toward the opposite side of the dance floor where Lord Finch’s sisters stood, offering the girls a smile and a wave, which they quickly returned. “Please convey my thanks to your sisters as well.”

  “I will.” He offered a bow, his eyes lingering on her as he stepped away. “Until our paths cross again.”

  Another young man moved to take his place, but Clare gently excused herself with an apologetic smile and the excuse of needing a drink.

  She spotted Bennick easily, as he was standing prominently on the edge of the crowd. He had a slight frown on his face, and his focus was beyond her as she approached. Her lips twitched, knowing who he must be watching.

  When she reached him, his voice was low, nearly buried by the music. “Who was that?”

  She glanced back to just see Lord Finch disappear into the other side of the crowd. “Feeling jealous?” she asked teasingly.

  Bennick glanced down at her. “Would it lower your opinion of me if I said yes?”

  “No. It’s rather amusing, actually.”

  He huffed a breath. “For you, maybe.” His fingers glanced over the small of her back, and to anyone who saw, it probably looked like a purely guiding gesture as he led her into the crowd of loudly chattering people that ringed the dance floor. To Clare, the brush of his fingertips meant something far more. Tingles raced through her body and she breathlessly enjoyed each second of the simple contact as they wound their way to a back corner of the room, where a table with refreshments waited.

  The corner was mostly deserted, as everyone had edged closer to the dance floor, and Bennick’s hand lingered a little longer than necessary before he took a measured step back.

  Clare took a glass of water and sat in one of the many empty chairs, feeling the ache in her feet. She patted the seat beside her. “No one will care if you join me.” No one was even looking at them—they were too absorbed in the party.

  Bennick remained standing in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’d better not.” His brow furrowed. “What was his name? I didn’t recognize him.”

  She twisted the tumbler in her hands, watching as the water rippled inside. “Lord Finch. You’re not really jealous, are you?”

  “Watching you dance with an idiot like that Lord Tripp is one thing, but seeing you in Lord Finch’s arms is different.”

  “Why, because he’s handsome?” She fluttered her lashes.

  Bennick shot her a scowl.

  She laughed and took another sip of water. “You really don’t need to be jealous, you know. Lord Finch might be charming, but he’s not you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You think he’s charming?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m only teas—”

  A window across the room shattered, and cries of shock exploded throughout the ballroom.

  Bennick’s hand landed on Clare’s shoulder, keeping her seated. “Stay down,” he said, his gaze focused on the broken window.

  Her heart hammered as shouts rang out.

  “Rocks!”

  “They’re on the lawn!”

  “Who?”

  The music had stopped and musicians scrambled to their feet as another window exploded. The crowd nearest the broken windows had scrambled back, but those on the edge of the ballroom crowded closer, trying to get a look outside.

  Venn shouldered through the cluster of people and cut toward them, Wilf only a few steps behind.

  Venn’s expression was set with tension. “People are throwing rocks at the windows, chanting for the alliance to die.”

  “Rebels?” Bennick asked.

  “I don’t think so. Doesn’t seem quite bloody enough for them.”

  Wilf growled. “We need to subdue them before it becomes bloody.”

  Bennick pulled Clare to her feet. “Venn will take you to your room. You’ll be more secure there. Wilf, you’re with me.”

  Clare grabbed his arm, her stomach dropping. “You’re not going out there?”

  “Someone has to talk to them.”

  “Why does it have to be you?”

  “I’m the highest ranking officer here. And I have a feeling the Paltrow’s guards will only make things worse in their effort to keep this from escalating.” His eyes softened. “I’ll be fine. Just stay with Venn.”

  She watched him stride away, Wilf at his side. The chanting outside had grown louder, and she could hear them clearly.

  No alliance! No alliance!

  Venn took her elbow, his voice low. “They’ll be all right. Come. We should hurry.”

  Many of the gathered nobles seemed to be of the same opinion, and were pushing to exit the ballroom and find refuge in one of the sitting rooms across the hall. Venn led her past one woman who had fallen into a faint in the arms of her husband, who seemed just as petrified.

  Clare’s heart beat faster, her steps quick to keep up with Venn’s longer gait. “If this isn’t the rebels, then who?”

  “I got a quick glimpse of them through the window. They just look like men and women from the city. Farmers. Merchants.” He shot her a look. “We knew the unrest would probably grow. I just didn’t expect an actual attack. With rocks.”

  “Will they be arrested?”

  “Too many to arrest. Bennick will need to calm them and hopefully convince them to leave peacefully. The city guard can investigate the instigators later.”

  “What happens if they don’t leave?”

  A
muscle in Venn’s dark jaw ticked. “Let’s hope they do.”

  Dread pooled inside her. She didn’t know how many people formed that mob, but she knew it would be a terrible fight if they decided to storm the mansion. People would die.

  They climbed the wide staircase to the second floor, and Venn opened her suite door. He remained in the hall, updating the two guards stationed there, while Clare entered the sitting area of her room.

  Vera and Ivonne were both standing at the window, their faces nearly pressed to the glass as they tried to glimpse what was happening in the front yard below. They spun when Clare closed the door.

  “What’s going on?” Ivonne demanded.

  She quickly explained what she knew, and the two sisters immediately turned back to the window. “Fates,” Vera whispered. “They’re so angry.”

  Clare hurried to join them, but though the mob carried torches, this room was far to the left of the courtyard, so there was not much she could make out. But the crowd was much larger than she’d imagined, and that was enough to tighten her lungs.

  “Perhaps I should try addressing them,” Clare said.

  Ivonne shot her a look. “They would be more likely to throw a rock at you than listen to you.”

  Though she was probably right, Clare still felt restless. She could barely hear the roar of the crowd, sealed safely in this room, but she knew what they were screaming. She hated to picture Bennick standing in front of them, trying to calm them.

  Clare turned from the window and paced away, nerves tightening the knots in her gut. On her second loop around the room, she realized the chanting was louder by the maids’ room. A glance inside showed why—the small window was open.

  She stepped inside, not entirely sure if her intention was to close it, or lean out and try to hear Bennick. But the moonlight spilling through the window shone on a slice of the floor. Lying at the base of the window was a white card.

  The hairs on her arms lifted with sudden apprehension, but she stepped closer. When she crouched beside it, she realized it was a small sealed letter. Written in a hand she knew as well as her own, were five letters that formed one word: Clare.

  She cracked the seal with shaking hands and flipped the letter open. She angled it to catch the light of the moon, and her heart stopped as she read Eliot’s message.

  There will be a distraction at midnight. Get the princess into the gardens. Do this, and I will be returned to you tonight. Fail, and you will find me in a pool of blood.

  Eliot

  “You’re alive,” Clare breathed, blinking rapidly at the sudden sheen of tears. Though she had told herself repeatedly that Eliot still had to be alive, she’d had moments of doubt. Nightmares that her brother had been murdered the moment he finished writing that first letter. And now, here was proof that he lived. More than that, if this letter was to be believed, he was close. How else could he be with her again tonight?

  Her breaths were coming too quickly. She forced herself to close her eyes. To breathe. To think. But it was difficult with the mob shouting.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  Fates, the mob. They were the distraction.

  Clare shoved to her feet, her pulse racing. She needed to tell Venn—she needed to get Bennick. They could set a trap, but they had to hurry—

  No. It was already midnight. That meant the rebels were already in the back garden, waiting to strike.

  Eliot could be out there right now. And if Serene didn’t appear, he would be killed.

  There was no time to make a plan with Bennick. No time to argue with him—for he would argue. Putting Eliot’s life above hers was not something he would ever do. But she couldn’t just let her brother die.

  Thoughts spinning, Clare folded the note and strode out of the room. She went right for the suite door and jerked it open.

  Venn cut off speaking to the guards and turned to her. “You need to stay inside.”

  “I need you to get Bennick,” Clare said. “Now.”

  His eyebrows drew tightly together. “Why?”

  “Please, just trust me, Venn. I need him. Right now.”

  He studied her, and clearly something in her expression assured him she was serious. “Are you all right?” he asked, peeking over her shoulder. “Has something happened?”

  “I can’t explain. Please, get Bennick.”

  Venn frowned, but he nodded. “Stay here.” He shot the guards a look, which was a clear order despite there being no words. He hurried away, disappearing down the stairs.

  Clare turned, coming face-to-face with Vera, who had crept closer. She handed the girl the note. “I need you to promise you won’t open this. Give it to Bennick the moment he arrives.”

  Vera’s eyes widened. “Why? What is this?”

  Ivonne stepped closer, her eyes narrowed. “Where will you be?”

  Clare swallowed thickly. “There’s no time. I need to go.” She eyed the two guards. “I need you to come with me.”

  “Apologies, Princess, but we have orders to stay here,” the older one said.

  She lifted her chin, trying to exhibit every bit of Serene’s confidence even though she was vibrating with terror. “I believe your orders are to guard me. So, guard me.”

  Chapter 19

  Clare

  Clare stepped into the Paltrow’s garden, the hem of her skirt whispering over the ground. She could hear the low roar of the mob, but it was distant. Though there was only the mansion between them, it may have been another world. The gravel that formed the path bit through her thin slippers and crunched as it shifted underfoot. Her skin tingled and her eyes kept darting to the deepest shadows, wondering which one hid her brother—and the men determined to kill her.

  She knew this was reckless, knew Bennick would be upset with her for leaving the manor. But Eliot was here. She was incapable of turning her back on him.

  Her plan was simple. Probably too simple, but there hadn’t been time to think of anything more elaborate.

  The garden, which she had explored earlier today, was full of tall hedges, overflowing flowerbeds, and winding paths. The chances of the rebels having an archer placed to kill her were slim. They would probably resort to a knife, which meant they had to get close. It should give her the briefest moment to react, and more than that, it would draw them out.

  Even if Vera and Ivonne did open Eliot’s note, they would not be able to get it to Bennick much sooner than Venn was able to fetch him. She had minutes only until Bennick, Venn, Wilf—and probably several guards—stormed the garden.

  One of the guards she had forced from her room was standing at the garden’s entrance. He would be able to tell Bennick which way Clare had gone, which would get Bennick to her even faster. The other guard walked behind Clare, and she sincerely hoped his presence would not be enough to keep the rebels from attacking. She needed them to reveal themselves before Bennick arrived—but hopefully not too long before. Then, while the fighting reigned, she could find Eliot.

  Her fingers twisted in her skirts, hiding the dagger she gripped in her hand. The manor stood behind her, lights glowing from the ballroom windows. The scents of roses and lilacs swirled in the cool summer air.

  There was a rustle of leaves, and then the shadowy form of a man stepped into the path three paces in front of her.

  Clare froze, and the guard behind her cursed.

  He didn’t like her plan.

  “Hello, Princess,” the rebel said, a few other shadows drifting from the foliage to stand behind him. She could hear others stepping onto the path behind her, surrounding them.

  Her hold on the knife tightened. “Where is Eliot Slaton?”

  “So she told you, did she?” The man grinned, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. “Well, it makes no difference. We just needed to confirm it was you.”

  More shadows stepped onto the path. Maybe five men? And from the sound of it, there were a few more taking up positions behind the guard.

  Her heart pounded. “There’s no
need for this.”

  “Oh, there’s plenty of need.” Derision edged his words, and fury flashed in his eyes as he stepped closer.

  “Don’t hurt the guard. He’s done nothing.”

  “He supports you.”

  Clare took a step back, her entire body tensed. “Wait—”

  He lunged, and Clare sidestepped, bringing up her knife in the same motion. Training with Bennick had made these movements instinctual, but the moment her blade sank into his belly, everything about this moment felt like a nightmare.

  His gasp of pain, shot with surprise, was hot near her ear. She jerked out the blade, feeling more resistance than she’d expected. The sound was wet. Sickening. Her stomach churned as she stared at him, her jaw loose and her eyes wide, panic swelling in her chest. He grabbed his belly and fell to his knees, his breathing ragged.

  There was a moment of stillness, then the shadowy rebels lurched forward. Not to help their fallen friend, but to grab her.

  Clare swiped her blade at the hands that reached for her, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to breathe past her fear. The knife knocked against something—an arm?—and there was a strangled curse as one of the shadows reared back. She flinched, her grip on the bloody knife spasming. But she didn’t drop it.

  The sounds of the guard fighting behind her were horrible. Fists striking flesh, grunts, and the snick of daggers slashing against each other. There was no room on the path for swords.

  A man slid behind her and wrapped a thick arm around her chest, pinning her upper arms down. She moved reflexively, as Bennick had prepared her for just such an attack. She stomped on his foot with her heel and dropped her weight, then twisted and kicked the side of his knee.

  There was a terrible crack and he howled as he staggered back.

  Another man grabbed her, hauling her close, both arms crushing over her chest and arms. She shifted her grip on her knife and stomped on his foot, but he merely grunted, his hold flexing painfully around her. “Kill her!” he rasped, his chest rising against her back. “I’ll hold her!”