Her own face was foreign to her. She’d been so embellished, she hardly recognized her reflection.
A knock hit the door and the commander stepped inside, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Is she ready yet? We’re late.” His head lifted and he froze.
Bridget grinned at his stare. “I work miracles, don’t I?”
“You do.” Shock and awe colored the commander’s tone, and his study of Clare was intense. His surprise made her grit her teeth; after all, he’d been the one to choose her for this. Should he really be so shocked by the result?
The walk to dinner was a hurried blur. The commander led her through empty corridors and dimly-lit servants’ passages until finally they stepped into the private royal dining room.
Clare’s palms were slick with sweat as her eyes skirted the large space, noting several guards standing against the walls between hung torches. Dinner had already been set out—steaming meats, roasted potatoes, buttered green beans and fresh white bread. Large candelabras were evenly spaced along the length of the table, candles flickering. Twelve red cushioned chairs sat around the table, though only two were occupied.
The king sat at the head, facing Clare. His eyebrows rose, betraying his surprise at her altered appearance. The chair to the king’s right held a young man Clare knew at once, though she’d never seen him before. Crown Prince Grandeur Demoi was seventeen years old and, like his older sister, he had dark hair, brown skin, and blue eyes. He wore a bright blue tunic and a wineglass dangled from his fingers. He rolled his eyes at her. “Finally. I was waylaid by Emissary Havim and still managed to be on time. What’s your excuse?”
Clare froze where she stood, her dress feeling far too tight around her chest. She looked to the king, unsure of how to answer.
Newlan merely stared at her, a smile ghosting across his lips.
Grandeur took a sip of wine but frowned when she didn’t move. “Fates, Serene, do you intend to stand there all night?”
The main doors pushed inward, and a young woman with beautiful deep brown skin swept inside, wearing a soft pink dress and a pinched frown on her angular face. “This evening has been horrendous,” she growled. “Half my maids vanished and I . . .” Her words faltered when she spotted Clare.
In a room so large, there should have been plenty of air to breathe, yet Clare’s lungs were empty. Her fingers twitched against her skirt as the princess’s sharp blue eyes—nearly a mirror of Clare’s own—dragged their way over every part of her. The princess’s frown turned into a silent snarl.
The crown prince rose from his chair, gaze darting between Clare and Serene. “What . . .?”
Clare’s heart thudded, every beat exacerbating the pain in her aching head. The silence was terrible. Almost as excruciating as having every eye fastened on her.
A soldier stepped up beside the princess and Venn’s familiar face sent an unexpected wave of comfort through Clare. Despite the tension of the moment, she offered a small smile.
Venn eyed her, his expression shuttered. A trickle of ice slid down Clare’s spine. The kind soldier was gone, replaced in an instant by the cold soldier—the one who knew she’d been manipulated and didn’t care.
Princess Serene rounded on her father. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Take a seat, Serene,” the king said. “As you might imagine, we have much to discuss.” He looked beyond his daughter, to Venn. Only, that’s not the name he used. “Bennick, get the doors.”
Clare watched as Venn responded to the command without hesitation, and confusion spiraled through her. It wasn’t until the doors thudded closed that realization hit.
His name wasn’t Venn.
He returned to the princess’s side, his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders pulled back. He stood at perfect attention, and this time when his eyes brushed Clare’s, she was the first to look away, her back stiff. Her pulse snapped high and fast.
Princess Serene shoved a finger at Clare. “Who is this imposter? Explain!”
King Newlan exhaled. “I will, once you sit down.” He shot a look at Clare. “Sit.”
The commander gripped Clare’s elbow and pulled her forward. It was probably good he did, or else she might have remained grounded forever. The velvet skirt was heavy against her legs and the hem skimmed the floor as she moved toward the table. And though she kept her eyes trained forward, she could feel a pair of crystal-blue eyes watching her, and she tensed.
Why give her a false name? It was a small lie, compared to the many enveloping her, but that almost made it worse. Why lie about something so simple? It hurt more than it should have. After all, the commander had struck her and the king had threatened her with death unless she agreed to his terms. Those were worse crimes, but Venn—no, Bennick—was a part of all that, and he’d manipulated her further with his charming smiles and easy lies. She shouldn’t have let her guard down and allowed herself to be fooled. He was not her friend. He was her captor, just as much as the commander was.
She never should have trusted him, not even when her life had depended on it.
Perhaps especially then.
The commander guided her to the foot of the table and Clare sat stiffly on the extreme edge of her chair. He took the place on her left while the king repeated his order for his children to sit. Grandeur sank obediently into his seat and Serene finally came to the table, though she glared alternately at her father and Clare as she moved. There was no sign of recognition; if Serene realized Clare was the same kitchen maid who had saved her life last night, she didn’t show it.
The king glanced past his livid daughter. “Join us, Bennick. This concerns you.”
From the corner of her eye, Clare saw Bennick sit beside the princess, near the middle of the table.
Newlan cleared his throat. “Let me introduce our guest.” He
