Grayson had been raised on one.
With one dagger he delivered a few painful cuts. Nothing fatal. Just enough to frustrate Reeve. Distract him. Draw other soldiers to the sound of the fight so the Hogans had a little more time to escape.
When he’d taken as much time as he dared, Grayson kicked Reeve’s knee so the man staggered. The hilt of Grayson’s dagger found the captain’s temple and Reeve crumpled to the icy ground.
Grayson took a step back, breathing deep. Air misted in front of him and his eyes raked the snow-crusted ground, stopping when he spotted his thrown dagger. Sheathing both knives, he strained his senses, but the woods were silent. Reeve must have entered the woods alone and the soldiers had been too deep in the village to respond to his call.
No reinforcements were coming.
Grayson glanced back at Reeve’s still form, his grip on his knives flexing. He should return to camp now, before Reeve woke and could discover him missing. He’d done his job—he’d helped the family escape. No more was required.
He took a step forward, back toward camp, but instead of continuing on that path he found himself tracking the family.
It took a few minutes to locate them.
The woman startled at his approach, her hold on her youngest child cinching tight, but when recognition flashed in her eyes, her shoulders sagged in relief. “It’s you. Thank the fates.”
Not the response he usually got.
The older boy’s eyes brightened. “You came back!”
“We should keep moving,” Grayson said, probably too gruffly. He tried to even his tone. “I’ll escort you to the river.” He reached out and the woman was quick to lay her young son in his arms—her own visibly trembled from the strain of carrying the small boy.
Grayson wished he could slow their pace, but the family needed distance and he needed time to slip back into camp before Reeve made it back.
Several long minutes passed before they reached the Julne river and Grayson passed the sleeping child to the mother. His shoulders tensed at the loss of the weight. “You know the way from here?”
“Yes.” Her chin quivered as she fought tears. “I don’t know how to repay you. I don’t even know your name . . .”
Grayson grabbed the pouch at his belt and dropped it in her hand. The weight of the coins stunned her; she nearly dropped it. “Find a physician,” he told her. “Then get as far from here as you can. Don’t linger in Kevid.” It was too close, if Reeve insisted on continuing the search for her.
Tears still brimmed, but the woman smiled. “Fates bless you.”
Brant stepped up to Grayson, a grin splitting his tired face. “I’m going to be like you one day. I’ll even carry a sword.”
“Pray you don’t have to.” Grayson hesitated, then pulled the small ball from his pocket. “Does this belong to you?”
“It’s Garyn’s.” Brant took the ball. “He loves it.”
Something in Grayson’s chest tightened. “You’ll take care of him?”
Brant’s eyebrows drew together, confusion coloring his tone. “Of course. He’s my brother.” As if there could be no other answer.
A wry smile twisted Grayson’s lips. “Good.” He took a step back. “You need to go now.”
“Thank you,” the mother said again, before the family slipped into the night.
Grayson watched them disappear, a small smile still on his face.
Chapter 18
Clare
“I thought tea was normally something ladies shared?” Clare asked, taking a sip from her cup.
Prince Grandeur’s lips curved smoothly. “Yes, well, I enjoy a good cup of tea, and the list of people you can invite to practice with is quite limited—you being a secret and all.”
They were in a small sitting room near the royal apartments, sharing a late morning tea. Clare fingered the fine porcelain cup in her hands. It was delicate and hand-painted with small blue daisies. It felt fragile in her hands—almost as fragile as she felt.
It had been two days since the Night Sigh incident. A shiver skated down her spine every time the memories came. The jolt of surprise she’d felt when she’d shaken awake in Bennick’s arms. The rush of confusion at finding herself in the sitting room with Bennick talking sharply at her, his expression etched in alarm. The bite of panic she’d felt when she tried to take a breath and couldn’t.
In that terrorized moment, reality had hit her hard. She was a decoy. Her whole purpose was to be in danger—to face death—so Serene could live. She’d known it from the beginning and she’d thought she understood. But she’d gotten caught up in the day-to-day activities of her new life. Her lessons. Her new friends. But as she’d stood there, staring up at Bennick’s pale face, she hadn’t been able to stop the tears from falling.
Fear was cold and unshakable. She’d nearly died. Would have, if Bennick hadn’t checked the room. She and Vera would have lost their lives. Thomas, Mark, Eliot—she never would have seen them again. She might still be killed and lose them forever, and they would never know the truth about her death. That gut-wrenching loss had pierced through everything, and when Bennick had seen her tears, his fingertips brushed her cheek before he pulled her into a firm embrace. She had leaned into him, let him support her as the tears fell. There was no point in regret, yet she wished she’d never gotten caught in the ambush that fateful night. She wished she hadn’t been arrested and forced to make an impossible choice.
The good and bad were tangled together. Her family was cared for, yet she’d lost them. She was learning more than she’d ever dreamed, but she was treading the edge of a cliff—the slightest mistake would cause her to fall. She was building a new family with her friends here, yet she might lose them, too.
As if that wasn’t enough to have on her mind, she also had
