Wilf glanced at the palace guardsmen beside them—they thought they were guarding the real princess, and it needed to remain that way. “She retired hours ago.” Wilf’s gaze was also drawn to the light under the door and he frowned. “I hadn’t noticed . . . Perhaps the maid forgot to blow out the lamp.”
“Vera?” Venn’s voice was steadier, joking gone. “She wouldn’t forget that.”
Bennick’s heart drummed faster. He grasped the door’s handle and pushed into the room.
Every lamp was lit, the flames burning brightly behind their glass shields. The scent of lilacs was heavy on the air—the vases must have been recently refilled. Vera was curled in a cushioned chair in the corner, her head tipped to the side, stretching her slender neck. Soft blond hair fell around her shoulders and her face was pale and still, her eyes closed. A dress lay on her lap, as if she’d fallen asleep mending. A spool of thread had rolled across the floor, leaving a thin trail of bright crimson.
Bennick might have relaxed—after all, it appeared as if Vera had simply drifted off—but there was something horribly wrong about the scene.
Vera wasn’t breathing.
Venn cursed and shoved past Bennick. He grasped Vera’s pale face with both of his dark hands, his shoulders bunched with tension. “Vera? Vera!” He threw a hard look over his shoulder, his focus beyond Bennick. “Get a physician—now!”
One of the guards darted away, but Bennick barely heard him. Because only now could he make out the strange scent buried in the overwhelming lilacs—it was too sweet. Too cool.
His stomach dropped.
Night Sigh.
With a strangled curse, Bennick darted for the closed bedroom door, praying to the fates he wasn’t about to find Clare dead. He rushed into the room and bent over the bed, struggling to ignore the chill that raced over his skin and raised every hair on his body. The room was saturated with the heavy smell of lilacs and poison, and Clare had been breathing it for hours.
She was on her side, turned toward him and the door. The light from the sitting room filtered weakly inside, just revealing the pale cast of her usually brown skin. She was unmoving under the blankets. Night Sigh lulled victims into a deep sleep when inhaled, swelling their throat and filling their nose until they no longer breathed.
Bennick gritted his teeth and ripped the blankets off her, scooping her into his arms and dragging her against his chest. “Clare? Can you hear me?”
No response. No flutter of breath or flicker of movement.
Wilf darted into the room and shoved open the window, allowing fresh air to sweep into the room. He began hurling vases of lilacs out the window, anything to get the Night Sigh out of the room. It was still too thick in the air, though. Bennick carried Clare back into the sitting room and saw that Wilf must have already disposed of the lilacs that had been in here. With the doors open, it was easier to breathe in here now.
Across the room, Venn knelt in front of Vera. The girl was doubled over, fully awake and wheezing as she struggled to fill her lungs. Venn’s hands still framed her face as he urged her to breathe, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. She clung to his wrists, her wild eyes locked on his.
Cardon was the only guard still in the hall. “I sent them for a physician,” he explained shortly. His shoulders tensed as he gripped the doorframe, his gaze intent on Clare. “Force her to stand, shake her—whatever it takes to wake her.”
Bennick was already dropping Clare’s legs, supporting her weight when her knees buckled. He shook her, demanded she open her eyes, but she sagged against him, her head bumping against his chest.
Panic knifed him. He shook her again, harder than before, and this time when her head snapped back, her eyes dragged open.
Relief hit him so hard, his legs nearly gave out. “Clare!”
She squinted at him, weary and confused. She tried to suck in a breath and when she failed, her body locked. Terror flared in her eyes and she tried to jerk away from him, as if space would help her breathe. He clung to her—he wouldn’t let her fall. Not even when her fingers scrabbled weakly over his arms, frantic for him to release her.
Bennick ducked his head so their eyes were level. “You’re fine,” he said, his voice too rough to be comforting. “I promise. Just breathe. Slowly. You’re going to be all right.”
Clare trembled, her fingers curling into his sleeves as she inhaled thinly. Rich brown hair fell over her shoulders, her face still pale. Moisture blurred her deep blue eyes and when the first tear slipped over her cheek, it cut him. He cupped the side of her face with one hand and thumbed the wet trail away. She opened her mouth, but no words scratched out and her tears fell faster.
Bennick didn’t think. He pulled her in, his hand at the back of her head as he pressed her cheek to his chest, his other arm banding around her waist. “It’s all right,” he breathed into her hair. “A physician is coming. He’ll be here soon. You’re going to be fine. I promise.” He kept repeating the words as he embraced her, throwing in any useless things that leapt to mind.
Several long minutes passed before the physician arrived, but he soon had Clare and Vera breathing salts to clear the Night Sigh from their lungs.
Bennick had retreated a little so the physician could tend Clare, but he stood rigidly nearby and observed each shallow breath she took—they were becoming more measured, and yet his tension only grew.
Cardon eased up beside him, his voice low. “We need to report this to the king.”
Bennick jerked a nod, but it took a while before he could pull his gaze from Clare. He’d almost lost her tonight. The knowledge rang in his head, pushing out nearly every other
