Blue. It was a blue uniform.
Her eyes cut to his face.
The princess’s blue-eyed bodyguard stared down at her, hisstubbled jaw tight. His breathing was as ragged as her own andhis hair swung wetly around his hard face. Tension rolled from him as he hunched over her, a soldier still locked in battle. “I told you to stop,” he ground out, the storm in his voice rivaling the elements raging around them. “Why didn’t you?”
Fear clogged her throat, snaring her words.His strong hands gripped her shoulders, keeping her trappedagainst the wet cobbled road. Her dress was already soaked, but the puddled water caused a shiver to rip through her. When lightning flashed and thunder clapped, every hair on her body lifted.
His grip tightened. “Why didn’t you stop?” he repeated.
“I didn’t know it was you!” she snapped.
His expression hardened, all rigid lines and harsh angles. Her stomach churned, her heart still thumping madly. Caged against the hard alley floor by the man who had ruined her best chance to truly escape, Clare felt a stab of anger.
Not fair, a distant part of her recognized. He saved your life.
The rain fell harder, muffling all other sounds and effectively cutting them off from the rest of the world. After the chaos ofthe fight and the panic of running, this moment felt locked in time. Drawn out. Slow.
Clare was aware of each place their bodies touched. His fingers digging into her shoulders. His knees bracketing her sides. His short breaths against her face.
A raindrop rolled to the tip of his long nose and splashed against her chin.
Clare flinched.
He released her and shifted into a crouch, every muscle in his body coiled. His gaze was wary as he studied her, and his tone came out more evenly as he asked, “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She sat up stiffly, glancing back down the alley. “What happened to the man chasing me?”
“He’s not a problem anymore.”
Clare blinked at the level response. His face was smooth, revealing nothing, but his meaning was clear. He had killed her pursuer. The same hands that had just touched her body had taken a life. She wasn’t sure if that fact rattled her more than the realizationthat—if he hadn’t—the assassin would have tackled her instead. She shivered, crossing her arms over her chest so she could finger her aching shoulders.
She cleared her suddenly dry throat. “What happened to the other soldiers?”
“They were losing.” He extended a hand. “We need to get you to the castle.”
Clare eyed his offered palm before slowly taking it. He squeezed her fingers as he tugged her to her feet. Clare cringed at the spark of pain across her hand, and his sharp eyes caught it.
He instantly flipped her hand over and examined the abrasions on her palm. Blood seeped from the largest cut and he thumbed the edge of it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
His soft touch sent a disconcerting shock through her, almost as much as his genuine tone. The glimpse of kindness was atodds with his cold efficiency as a soldier, and certainly didn’t match the type of man who knew—and didn’t care—that she had been forced to become the princess’s decoy.
Clare tugged her hand free. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”
He dipped his head in a nod, his long fingers falling as he paced a few steps away and bent to retrieve his sword. He must have thrown it before tackling her. He examined the blade with a critical eye, and while he did, Clare swiped at the wet strands of hair clinging to her face and took inventory of her cuts and bruises. She nearly cursed when she found Eliot’s dagger hanging at her waist. In her panic, she hadn’t even thought to grab it.
With instincts like hers, it would be a miracle if she survived a week as the decoy.
A painful throb drew attention to her hip and Clare drew the tin soldier out of her pocket with a scowl.
“An interesting choice of weapon.”
Clare raised her head. The soldier had sheathed the sword at his waist and now gripped the hilt. Drenched by rain, no one should look as confident and controlled as he did, though there was something reassuring in the strong set of his jaw. His eyes were on the toy in her hand and she curled her fingers around it. “It was a gift from my brother. He thought it might protect me.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “A kind gift, then.”
Thrown by the honesty in his response, she made no reply.
He flexed his grip on his belted sword. “We need to get back to the castle. Stay close to me.”
Clare pushed the toy into her pocket and kept pace beside him as they made their way down the alley. They paused at the alley’s mouth, standing so closely their arms brushed. The soldier cautiously checked the rapidly emptying street as everyone hurried to escape the rain.
Clare cleared her throat. “Those men who attacked us. Who were they?”
He eased into the street, turning right. “I think they were rebels.”
Her pulse quickened. That was awfully bold of them, to strike the princess last night and make another attack today. But they couldn’t have been targeting her; she’d only just become the decoy. “Why would they attack the carriage?”
“It came from the royal stable. That would have been enough for them.” His voice was low as they stepped briskly down the street, dodging clusters of people. The drumming rain kept their conversation between them. “Most likely one of their spies saw the carriage leave this morning. They had hours to plan the ambush.”
“Are they loyal to Carrigan?” Even speaking the name of the man her father had followed to his death hollowed her insides.
“Doubtful,” the guard said. “Rumors say he fled to some mountaintop in Zennor.”
Clare hoped he was right. Ivar Carrigan had destroyed herfamily; she
