“Don’t apologize. I enjoyed every moment.”
Bennick’s sincerity was obvious and gratitude warmed her chest. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “It’s clear you love your family very much.”
“My family means everything to me.”
The corner of his mouth rose, but he glanced away.
Sudden curiosity about his family burned. He hadn’t mentioned siblings, or even his parents. She opened her mouth to ask, but Bennick spoke first. “For the record, I don’t agree with Mistress Henley at all. Your laugh is perfect.”
The compliment was unexpected and she flushed as she stumbled over her softly spoken thanks.
Master Lank beamed as they reached the stable and he stopped Jinn with a simple gesture. “Well done, Clare!”
Bennick swung down, passing the reins of his horse to a ready stable hand and Clare gripped the saddle horn, trying to build up enough courage to dismount. Before she could move, Bennick stepped forward and wrapped his hands around her waist. Her breath caught and she gripped his arms with sweat-slick palms, tensing as he carefully pulled her down. She didn’t let go until her feet were flat on the ground, and Bennick’s fingers were slow to lift away. Even after he’d taken a step back, Clare could still feel his hands pressing against her sides.
“Bennick!”
Clare spun with Bennick to watch Venn come toward them at a run. Tension lined his face.
Bennick stiffened. “What’s wrong?”
Venn skidded to a stop in front of them. “Wilf.”
“Fates.” Bennick raked a hand through his hair. “Where?”
“Training yard.”
Bennick cursed again and twisted to Clare, his brows slamming down. “Stay with Cardon.”
Her pulse raced. “But—”
“Stay with him!” Bennick said, already darting off with Venn.
Clare watched them go, biting her lower lip. Wilf was the pox-scarred bodyguard who had knocked her unconscious after nearly crushing her throat that fateful night in the hallway. His name alone made her skin tighten. She’d been lucky enough not to see him since; he and another guard she hadn’t met, Dirk, were usually assigned to Serene.
She glanced at Master Lank. “Do you think Wilf’s all right?”
The stable master grunted. “He’s not the one I’m worried about.”
Clare knew what he meant. That bear of a man would not easily become a victim.
Cardon reached them, a deep frown carving his face as he stared in the direction of the training yard. “Not again,” he muttered.
Unease crawled up Clare’s spine. “Do you know what’s happening?”
Cardon glanced between her and Master Lank. “Wilf can sometimes get . . . out of control.”
Master Lank huffed. “Out of control? Last time it took all four of you to stop him.”
“Yes,” Cardon said, still frowning. “And Dirk is with the princess.”
Which meant Venn and Bennick were facing this—whatever it was—alone.
Clare took a breath. Bennick had helped her today; if he needed Cardon’s help dealing with Wilf, she would make sure he got it.
She began walking.
“Clare?” Cardon asked tightly.
She tossed a look over her shoulder. “I’m going to the training yard. Since you’re supposed to stay with me, you’ll have to follow.”
Chapter 12
Clare
Even though the training yard was filled with soldiers, Wilf stood out. He was every bit as large as Clare remembered. As wide as two men and two heads taller than anyone around him, he was beyond intimidating. His thick limbs bulged with corded muscle and his dark hair and beard were shot with gray. His hair was a tangled mess, his blue uniform rumpled. He wielded a thick wooden staff and was currently using it to beat a man senseless.
Clare approached the field’s edge as Bennick and Venn reached Wilf. She sucked in a sharp breath when Wilf rounded on Bennick, swinging his staff with a monstrous roar.
Bennick dove aside and Clare flinched at the near miss. She pushed through the loose ring of spectators, reaching the front of the crowd as Venn lunged at Wilf’s legs. He tripped the giant, crashing them both against the dirt.
Bennick kicked the staff away and sat on the thrashing Wilf. Clare’s eyes widened when Bennick punched Wilf in the jaw. The man roared anew and tried to slam his head into Bennick’s face. Bennick reared back, barely avoiding the blow.
Clare’s pulse raced. She was shocked by the ferocity of the fight. They were truly attacking each other. Wilf could have broken Bennick’s ribs with that staff.
Cardon shouldered past Clare and jumped into the fray. The spectators remained back, but they weren’t hooting and yelling as observers of a fight usually did. The absence of sound chilled her.
While Bennick, Cardon, and Venn wrestled against Wilf, a couple soldiers darted to the man Wilf had been beating and dragged him to safety. Clare edged forward, wincing as she got a closer look at the man pulled from the field. Blood and drool dribbled down his chin and he held his crooked arm carefully, panting jaggedly. From what Clare had witnessed, he was lucky to be alive, let alone conscious.
Her attention cut back to the field, heart in her throat. The three guards had managed to keep Wilf on the ground. Bennick talked in hurried, low tones, his nose only a breath from Wilf’s snarling face. But the huge man was no longer bucking against them—that was something. Her view became blocked when the crowd shifted forward, perhaps hoping to get close enough to hear Bennick’s words.
Clare was frozen, but her hands shook at her sides. Bennick trusted that raging monster to be one of Serene’s bodyguards?
“He’s insane,” a soldier muttered. “Totally mad.”
“Why does Markam tolerate him?” another asked.
“It’s the commander!”
Clare was elbowed in the side by a soldier who snapped to attention, and everyone around her stilled.
The commander stepped into view, his bearded face hard. His eyes flicked to her, narrowed, then cut to Wilf, who was still pinned on the field. A muscle ticked
