“No.” The woman’s deep voice was sharp with annoyance. “If you’ll recall, I wanted a private walk in the gardens. That means without you, Bennick.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t accommodate, Princess.”
Clare froze, stomach dropping. Princess? Fates, kitchen maids weren’t supposed to be seen—especially not by the royal family. She fell back a step, eyes darting to the nearest door. She grasped the cold handle, but it caught.
Locked.
Clare pressed her back against the closed portal, cheeks burning as she ducked her head. Her palms skated over her stained apron and she hooked loose curls behind her ears before her hands fell, fingers twitching at her sides.
When the princess and her three bodyguards stepped into view, the princess’s cutting gaze caught Clare in an instant.
Even with a scowl, Princess Serene was beautiful. Sheathed in a dark purple gown that brushed the floor, she walked with regal grace, her chin lifted. Her dark brown hair was twisted into a braided bun at the back of her head with loose curls styled artfully around her face. The nineteen-year-old princess was half-Zennorian, her skin a rich and beautiful brown. It was a shadedarker than Clare’s, but their deep blue Devendran eyes were nearly an exact match.
The princess was well-loved in Devendra for her charitable work, but everyone in the castle knew of her legendary arguments with her father. Even tonight the kitchen had buzzed with talk from the servers who claimed Serene had stormed out of dinner while the king yelled after her. Gossip had been so consumedwith the dramatic scene that no one had even mentioned the Mortisian emissaries who had been the focus of rumor since they’d arrived at the castle a month ago. They’d been sent bySerjah Desfan Cassian, who currently served as regent since his father, the serjan, was reportedly ill. A chill raced over Clare’s arms whenever she thought about the Mortisians living in the castle,and she knew she wasn’t the only one uncomfortable with their presence. Rumor had it Serene herself was quite upset about it.
Seeing the princess for the first time, Clare could easily imagine her being upset with all four kingdoms of Eyrinthia. Her frownwas severe, her eyes hooded, and her steps deliberate as she stalked forward. Her bodyguards only added to the intensity of the moment. Two walked in front of the princess and a third was behind her.
The bodyguard in the lead noticed Clare first, his long strides continuing easily even as his sharp gaze assessed her. His spine was stiff, his brown hair brushing the collar of his dark blue uniform. He looked to be about thirty and had a thin scar slicing over his right cheek.
The bodyguard behind him was easily twice as wide as anyone Clare had ever seen, and he stood head and shoulders above the two other guards. As if the man’s hulking stature wasn’t distinctive enough, a dozen or more pox scars dug across his rugged face. He was probably in his late forties and everything about him was hard, from the stern cut of his mouth to the steel-gray hairs at his temples.
The third and youngest guard strode behind the princess. He was probably about the same age as the princess he guarded, which meant he must be highly skilled. Broad shoulders strained against his fitted uniform while his hands hung relaxed near the hilts of his sheathed weapons. There was controlled power in his gait, a surety and confidence in each step. Torchlight flickered on his golden skin and caught the sand-colored hair curling over his brow. Stubble lined his angular jaw and his strong nose was slightly bent, as if it had been broken once. When his crystal-blue eyes found Clare, she was surprised to see warmth there. The corner of his mouth lifted, curving his lips into a half-smile.
She was staring.
The tips of Clare’s ears burned as she dropped her gaze, fingers knotting in her skirt. What had come over her? She knew better than to draw attention to herself.
It had been a long day. That was the only explanation.
She kept her head bowed, eyes trained on the gray stone floor until the moment the princess and her guards passed and she could escape.
Clare had only taken two steps when the click of a lock disengaging made her look over her shoulder. Her eyes briefly caught crystal-blue ones as the youngest bodyguard also twisted to track the sound.
The door Clare had been leaning against burst open and six men exploded from the room, long knives spinning in their hands and catching menacingly in the torchlight.
Clare stumbled back, fear strangling the cry in her throat as the men crashed into the princess’s guards. Even surprised and outnumbered, the three bodyguards leapt instantly into action. Grunts, hisses of pain, and angry snarls filled the corridor. Fists pounded flesh. Steel clashed against steel. The tang of blood flooded the air, changing the space completely in a matter of seconds.
Adrenaline shook through Clare and throbbed at her temples. Her muscles twitched, but she was unable to move. Sweat coated her palms and her lungs locked. She’d lost sight of the blue-eyed bodyguard, the pox-scarred one taking up most of the space in the narrow hall as he shoved into two of the attackers, pushing them back with his dominant size. As he plowed them into the wall, Clare finally saw past him.
The princess stood in the middle of the corridor, eyes narrowed on the fight, a long, thin dagger clenched in her hand.Where had that come from? Had the princess been carrying a weapon in her own home?
Someone yelled for the princess to run—the guard with the scarred cheek?—but Princess Serene ignored him. She was searching for an opening, a place to join the fight.
Was she insane?
Clare could ask herself the same. She should be running. If not for safety, then for help. But before she could move she spotted an attacker creeping behind Serene, the princess wholly unaware as he lifted his knife.
Clare reacted without
