Grayson remained where he stood, stiff and silent as he watched the grown man rock against the floor, gasping cries shaking his narrow shoulders.
I’m sorry, he wanted to say. I didn’t order it. It was my father. I tried to protect her. I’m sorry. I thought you needed to know. I would want to know . . .
He said nothing. There were no words to take away this man’s pain. Grayson had witnessed more executions than he cared to remember and he’d even been the executioner, but he’d never found peace with death.
Latham Borg’s sobs finally choked off and he lifted his head. Tears still rolled down his hollow cheeks, but his eyes burned with fire. “I’ll find my freedom. And when I do, I’ll kill you.”
Grayson gripped the man’s elbow and dragged him to his feet. His voice came out low and rough with emotion he fiercely bit back. “Embrace your anger. It may keep you alive.”
Chapter 11
Clare
Clare’s throat tightened as she and Cardon crossed the castle yard, heading toward the royal stable. It was late afternoon and the yard was bustling. Chickens strutted and clucked, nobles strolled toward the gardens, and dogs barked and chased soldiers jogging around the training yard. Clare barely noticed any of it as anxiety sliced through her.
After a week at the castle, Clare’s riding instructor wanted her to actually ride a horse. Master Lank’s sharp eyes had picked up on her fear the moment she’d entered the stable a week ago, and he’d decided to get her comfortable with horses before forcing her to mount one. Her lessons had involved grooming and tending the animals, including feeding them. Clare could still feel the horse’s lips pull at the food on her palm, bristled hairs tickling her skin. The memory made her shudder.
Cardon glanced at her, but thankfully he didn’t talk about the coming ride. He went for distraction instead. “I caught the end of your lesson with Bennick today. You’re doing very well.”
Her pulse quickened as memories flooded her. Bennick grabbing her from behind, her back pressed against his chest, his head ducked beside hers, his warm breath fanning her ear. The low timbre of his voice as it vibrated against her spine, giving her instructions. His lessons were rigorous. Challenging. But when she succeeded in the task he put before her, the warmth of Bennick’s smile expanded her chest. He had a calming presence overall, and his assurances that she could learn to defend herself built her confidence in ways he probably didn’t even realize.
She wished she had that confidence now. The large stable came into view and Clare’s steps lagged. The smell of horses and manure assaulted her nose, making it twitch. Cats stretched out in the sun, tails curling lazily, hooded eyes watching their approach with indifference.
The open floor of the stable was tidy with dozens of individual stalls stretching out along the back wall. The other wall was covered in saddles, bridles, and leads—everything one needed to ride, all organized and hung on hooks. The scents of leather, sweat, oats, and straw layered the air, though the stable hands who milled around didn’t seem to notice it as they went about their chores. The horses were all well-fed, powerfully muscled, and terrifyingly massive. Master Lank ran the stable with efficiency and attention to detail. He was probably the commander’s age, but he had more gray in his hair and beard. He was an unassuming man with gentle eyes and, despite his unreasonable adoration of horses, Clare liked him.
He stood near the entrance, speaking to a palace guard who looked to be a few years older than Clare. He was tall with broad shoulders, and even though Clare could only see him in profile, the resemblance between the two men was obvious. Master Lank spied Clare and his eyes brightened. “Clare, this is my son, Gavril. Gavril, Miss Clare Ellington. She’s the princess’s newest maid,” he lied easily.
Like all her tutors, Master Lank knew her true purpose at the castle; it was the only way he could teach her to not only ride the princess’s horse, but ride like Serene as well. And, like the other tutors, he was sworn to keep the secret—even from his son.
Gavril turned to face Clare and she tried not to stare. The left side of his face was terribly burned. The red, rippled scarring swept down his neck and disappeared under his uniform collar. He carried himself stiffly, as if the scars still caused him physical pain. He gave her a controlled nod. “Miss Ellington.”
She offered a smile. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Cardon’s boots scraped the hay-strewn floor as he stepped forward and took Gavril’s hand, a grin lifting his own scarred cheek. “I didn’t know you’d returned to duty.”
“It’s my first week back.” Gavril’s throat bobbed and he turned to his father. “I must return to the castle.”
“Will you join me for my morning ride tomorrow?” Master Lank asked.
Gavril bowed his head, strands of brown hair falling into his eyes. “As you wish.” He bid them a good day before striding away.
Master Lank sighed heavily as he watched his son leave, a large hand scrubbing over his brow.
“He looks good,” Cardon said quietly.
“He’s a shadow of himself.” Worry filtered through Master Lank’s gaze as he turned to Cardon. “If you see him in the castle, you’ll take a moment to speak with him?”
“Of course.” Cardon’s brow furrowed. “He isn’t being mistreated, is he?”
“You know how soldiers can be,” the stable master huffed. “Especially those in fresh uniforms who believe a good soldier is invincible.”
Cardon’s jaw hardened, his scar jumping. “I’ll keep an eye out for him.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Master Lank shook himself and faced Clare with a small smile. “Well, Clare, I’ve got Jinn saddled
