“It is their job to remain close,” Clare said.
“True. But sometimes I wish for a moment of privacy.” Grandeur lowered himself into the chair Venn had vacated and Clare resumed her seat, watching the prince as he looked over the maps. “Enjoying your studies?”
“Sometimes.”
“A diplomatic answer.” He grimaced. “I could never stand Ramus, or his cluttered, smoke-filled office.”
Her mouth quirked. “I’m grateful for the days he lets me study here.”
“The library has always been a sanctuary of mine, too.” Grandeur set his book on the table and drummed his brown fingers on the leather cover. “How are things going with Serene?”
Clare lifted a shoulder. “I don’t see much of her.”
“How did that breakfast go?” he asked. She winced and Grandeur’s fingers stilled, his expression both uneasy and sympathetic. “I don’t know if I dare ask.”
Clare shook her head and looked down at Devendra’s capitol city—Iden—marked in gold ink on the map. “She was quite vocal about her feelings toward me, and I don’t think they’re going to change.”
Grandeur exhaled slowly. “My sister isn’t always rational. When our mother died, Serene became extremely demanding. She spat out orders, and my father acquiesced to every desire. One of her wishes was to go to Zennor and mourn our mother’s death with King Buhari—our uncle—and his family.” Grandeur’s mouth pursed. “She didn’t give any thought to the support our father might need, or the help she could be to our people. She just left. For a year.”
Clare’s voice was a whisper. “She left you.” She knew what that felt like. When Eliot had left, it had hurt something deep inside her.
Grandeur’s brow furrowed, still looking at the map. “I remained with Father and his rages, and she did fates knows what in Zennor.”
“I’m sorry.”
He blinked up at her. “Thank you. But I tell this story only so you can understand. Serene doesn’t consider the feelings of others. Her rudeness . . . You can’t take it personally. It’s been her way since our mother’s death and I believe she only strengthened the habit in Zennor. She became the darling of my uncle—of Zennor, really. He allowed her to join him in court meetings and she became known for her skills in politics and diplomacy.”
Clare snorted.
Grandeur flashed a half-grin. “She can be diplomatic, when she wants.” He shook his head and straightened in his chair. “Studying for an exam?”
She blew out her breath, looking over the maps as she spread her hands on her lap. “Yes, and I’m going to fail.”
“Surely not. Especially if I help you study.”
She shot him a look. “Aren’t you busy?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “I came to the library to disappear for a while. I’m in need of the distraction. So—what’s the focus of the exam, Miss Ellington?”
Grandeur’s kindness was at odds with the rest of his family, but she was grateful to have at least one royal on her side. Her mouth curved into a smile. “Call me Clare.”
His eyes lightened. “Clare. Where shall we begin?”
Chapter 13
Grayson
Grayson snatched Mia’s wrist, stopping her fist before it could strike his jaw.
Her breath flew out, round cheeks red with exertion. She tugged at his hold, pulling against his gloved thumb and forefinger like he’d taught her.
Grayson locked his fingers and twisted. The sharp but controlled motion flipped her around, slamming her back against his chest. Her dark curls swept under his nose, the soft scent almost as distracting as the fact that her back now pressed against his front.
During their fierce bout of training, his breathing hadn’t altered.
Until now.
Lungs hitching, Grayson forced himself to focus on the mock fight. Not the thudding of his pulse. Not the brush of hair skimming his jaw. Not the feel of her heart thudding against his own chest, or the warmth of her skin he could feel even through his gloves.
Before she could spin away, Grayson clamped his other hand around her free fist. With his arms crossed over her and strangling her wrists, he had succeeded in immobilizing her in a caging embrace.
His pride swelled when she dropped all her weight, a move that had succeeded in throwing him off-balance before. But then, that might have been more due to her nearness than anything else. Today, he forced himself to focus. He grunted, his arms flexing to hold her upright, keeping her locked against him.
She ground her heel into his booted toes and he felt a spark of pride, even though his hold didn’t budge.
He had been training her since they were children. They focused on quick, violent ways for Mia to take an attacker by surprise and buy herself enough time for the guard on the other side of the door to reach her. They didn’t train with weapons. Not only was Grayson unwilling to risk a weapon being turned against her in a fight, he also knew his father would not approve of Mia having a weapon.
Henri Kaelin didn’t approve of her at all.
Grayson would never forget the day his father had learned about Mia. Grayson had only been nine years old, but the memory of that day was sharp.
Mia had been singing to a doll he’d made her out of a meal sack, the inked-on face terribly crooked. Mia had named the doll Tally.
King Henri’s large frame had suddenly filled the doorway. Grayson scrambled to his feet, heart pounding against his ribs as he came to attention. Mia lurched to her feet as well, clutching Tally to her chest.
Perhaps Fletcher had told the king that Grayson had befriended a prisoner, or maybe the rumors were true and Henri could read minds. In that moment, Grayson’s fear overwhelmed his questions.
Henri had eyed the doll, his lip curling in disgust. “Did you make that for her?”
Grayson’s face burned. He wanted to lie, but there was no point. “Yes.”
Henri cut a look at Mama, who stood in the corner. “How long has this been going on?”
The woman shifted her weight, hands twisting together. “Several months, Your Majesty. I
