Chapter 2
Clare
Too much time had passed. Clare’s anxiety rose with every pacing step she took in the small cell, the clink of her chains only intensifying her anxiety. It should not have taken this long for the commander to question Towdy.
The fear that something had gone wrong was all-consuming. Her mouth was dry and she couldn’t stop fingering the bruises around her throat, even though the iron manacles weighted her wrists. Panic spiraled, exploded, and then she forced it back down—only to have it return moments later, a relentless tension coiling her body again and again.
The silence was horrible. All she heard was the thin gutter of the torch, her own stuttered breaths, and the unsteady leap of her heart. Despair stabbed at her when she thought of her younger brothers. Thomas, who wanted to be a soldier like his older brother, and Mark, whom Clare had raised since infancy.
If Towdy could not convince the commander of Clare’s innocence, she would never see her brothers again.
Footsteps thudded beyond the door and a key jangled. Clare trembled with exhaustion, fear, and something horribly like hope.
The cell door swung open and the commander swept inside, a cloaked man striding in behind him. The door closed with a heavy, fatalistic thud.
The commander’s eyes were cold, but not as angry as before. He stared at her, his eyes carving over her face. Studying. Evaluating. His expression gave away nothing.
Clare blinked under his scrutiny, biting her tongue eventhough she was desperate to ask about his conversation with Towdy.
“Your name is Clare Ellington,” the commander said at last. “You’ve worked in the castle kitchen since you were eight years old. You begged for your mother’s position while she was on her sickbed, heavy with child. Cook Towdy obliged, with the condition it would revert back to her when she recovered. But she never did. She died in childbirth.”
Clare exhaled shallowly. She didn’t know why the commander was telling her about her life, but at least he wasn’t condemning her to the gallows. Yet.
The commander lifted his chin. “You helped raise your brothers because no one else stepped forward—probably because your father was a traitor. He sided with Ivar Carrigan in the civil war and was executed two months before your mother’s death.”
Clare gritted her teeth against the memory his words sparked. Screams had ripped up her throat as she’d clutched her father’s hand, trying to keep him close as soldiers dragged him from the house. Her father had shouted for her to stay back but she’d only held him tighter. Until a soldier had knocked her to the floor.
They hadn’t even returned Duncan Ellington’s body. King Newlan didn’t allow proper burials for traitors. After the raids on the city, piles of bodies had rotted in the city square, feeding the crows for weeks and delivering a strong message. The fact that rebels had only started to crawl out of hiding recently was a testament to the effectiveness of that long-ago warning.
Clare desperately hoped she wasn’t about to become another message.
The commander stepped forward and every muscle in Clare’s body tensed as she retreated a step, her back hitting the wall.
His voice was low. “Are you a traitor like your father, Miss Ellington?”
Clare pressed her shoulders against the wall to steady herself and, summoning every nerve she had, raised her eyes to meet the commander’s. “I am not a traitor.”
The commander’s intent expression didn’t waver, but thecloaked man standing behind him shifted forward andlowered his hood, revealing an angular face with sharp features and a neatly trimmed dark beard. Clare couldn’t tell if he wore a uniform beneath the long cloak, but he stood with the straight posture of a soldier.
The commander spoke again, snapping Clare’s attention back to him. “You tried to kill the princess tonight.”
“No. I saved her.”
He ignored that. “You will be executed at dawn.”
Cold fear hit her. Then anger flared and she clenched her fists, chains rattling. “I demand a fair trial.”
“You’re not in a position to demand anything.”
“You spoke with Towdy. You must know I’m—”
“He believes you’re innocent, but I’m not constrained by his beliefs.”
Clare's heart pounded, but she spoke past that. “Let me speak with the princess or her guards.” One of them had to have noticed she’d saved the princess. The blue-eyed guard had tried to stop the giant bodyguard from striking her—maybe he had seen the truth behind her actions.
The commander’s lips pressed into a severe line. “I’ve already interviewed them. None of them will speak for you.”
It shouldn’t have sliced her so deeply, but she struggled to find her voice again. “I . . . I could appeal to the king.”
Actual amusement sparked in his eyes. “I doubt King Newlan would grant you an audience.” He cocked his head, almost musing as he said, “Most peasants wouldn’t dare address a commander in such a way.”
The words could have been insulting or threatening, except for the calm way he spoke them. The shift in his behavior unnerved her, making her wary. Her spine stiffened. “You’re not giving me a choice.”
“No, I suppose not.” He glanced at the bearded man, who gave a nod. Clare frowned, but didn’t have time to question their silent communication; the commander stepped closer, putting him right in front of her.
Clare tensed. “I’ve told you, I’m—”
“Innocent. Yes.” His mouth curled faintly upward. “I know.”
She stared at him, her breath wavering as she tried to make sense of those simple but bewildering words. “You . . . know?”
The commander straightened. “The princess spoke for you, corroborating your story. Two of her guards did as well.”
“But . . .?”
He arched a brow. “Why haven’t I let you go?”
She chafed against his cruelly mocking tone. He’d threatened her with execution, even though he’d known she was innocent. Why?
The commander smiled slowly. “You’re going to make a choice, Miss Ellington. A choice between life and death.”
Clare’s eyes flew to the bearded man who shifted closer, asilent
