The rain fell more heavily, pooling and running down the street. Tendrils of hair hung loose from her braided crown, sticking to the sides of her face and neck, and her dress was plastered to her body and splattered with mud. As much as she disliked the idea of returning to the castle, it would be nice to be dry.
“It’s good you didn’t get back in the carriage.” The soldier’stone was matter-of-fact as he scanned the street around them.“One of them got past me.” He shot her a slanted smile. “Youcould have obeyed when I asked you to stop running, though. My sword would’ve appreciated it.”
Her mouth twitched despite herself. “Was it damaged?”
“Merely scuffed.”
“Then it and my hands have something in common.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “I am sorry for hurting you, but I didn’t think you’d stop.”
She wouldn’t have.
It wasn’t until the conversation halted that Clare realized how much she needed it. His voice was deep, strong, and surprisingly comforting. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t get your name.”
His eyes stayed trained ahead. “Venn Grannard.”
“You must be well-trusted.”
Venn glanced at her. “What makes you say that?”
He’d been tasked with watching her, which spoke of the regard the king and commander must have for him; learning about the princess’s decoy before even the princess did must make Venn quite trusted. She didn’t say that, though. “You must be the youngest royal bodyguard to ever serve in Devendra.”
His lips quirked. “You wouldn’t believe how many people underestimate me because of it.”
It wasn’t his age that threw her off-balance, but his unpredictable personality. She wasn’t sure if he was going to joke with her, show compassion, or drag her back to the castle like a captive.
Venn touched her arm suddenly, slowing their steps.
She followed his gaze, catching three masked men who’d just emerged from a cross street a dozen yards ahead. Their swords were sheathed, but they peered purposefully around the scattered people still hurrying through the rain.
Clare shrank against Venn’s side.
“There’s a tavern to the left,” he said quietly. “We’ll hide there until they pass.” He kept his fingers against her arm as he guided her across the street. She was grateful to have his tall body between her and the killers searching for them.
The tavern was larger than Motley’s, where Thomas and Mark used to work, and the common room was crowded; people had taken an early day due to the rain, seeking the comforts of a tavern rather than home. The overall mood was jovial, in sharp contrast to the emotions roiling inside Clare.
Venn shouldered his way through the thick crowd and Clare kept close to his back as they shuffled forward. Laughter exploded and conversation blurred around them. Spiced drinks and roasted vegetables scented the air and wooden mugs pounded against tables.
Venn halted, taking Clare’s arm and pulling her around so she stood facing him, his body between her and the door. He grinned down at her, rainwater dripping from the curling ends of his hair. “Act as though nothing is wrong. Smile.”
Her lips curved obediently, though her mouth was dry.
“I think they saw us,” he said, still smiling as if they discussed something amusing.
Clare’s heart sped. She didn’t realize her hands shook until Venn’s warm fingers folded over hers.
“Easy,” he murmured. “This will be over soon.”
Assurance poured from him, and though Clare appreciatedhis calm, tension still rode her hard as she peeked around his shoulder, tracing back the way they’d come. She stiffened when she saw one of the rebels in the shifting crowd. The black mask had been tugged down to circle his neck like a kerchief and his narrowed eyes sliced through the thick crowd.
Clare’s fingers clamped around Venn’s. “I see one.”
Venn didn’t visibly react; even the pulse thrumming in his neck remained steady. “Has he seen us?”
“No, he’s still searching the crowd.”
“Any sign of the others?”
“No.” Clare’s eyes flew to Venn’s. “What do we do?”
His mouth flattened, the first sign of any distress. “Forgive me.”
Clare frowned, but he shoved her away before she could open her mouth. She crashed into a man standing behind her and he let out a curse as half his drink sloshed over the rim.
“Oy!” He rounded on Clare as he shook out his drenched arm. “Watch it, fool!”
She stumbled back, bumping against the hard wall of Venn’s chest.
The sound of his booming voice made her jump. “You yelling at my girl?” His fist swung and Clare ducked under his moving arm. The punch landed with a fleshy thud against the older man’s jaw and the rest of his drink wet the floor as he fell back.
Three men around them tensed—obviously the man’s drinking companions, because they now stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Venn.
Clare stiffened as the man on the right hauled back his fist, obviously not caring Venn was in uniform, but Venn easily dodged the blow. The man on the left took a swing next, but Venn grabbed a bystander’s arm and flung him into the other man’s fist.
A tavern-wide brawl sprang to life, as if all these men had been waiting for the cue to come to blows. Tables were thrown and food littered the floor as shouts filled the room. Clare crouched to avoid a chair being hurled, cringing as she was splashed with ale.
In the chaos, Clare didn’t know which way to run. Then Venn snagged her wrist and drew her close, keeping her smaller body firmly against his. “We’ll hold out until the city guard gets here,” he called against her ear, the clamor of the brawl nearly swallowing his words. “The rebels won’t risk capture.”
Someone knocked into them but Venn’s strong arms locked around Clare, saving her from the worst of the impact. She gripped his arms and kept her head tucked against his chest, feeling every steady breath he took.
New shouts soon rang out. “The Guard! The city guard is here!”
The fight continued, but those who heard the warning
