Eliot stared, jaw rigid. He wasn’t in uniform but he held himself with a soldier’s controlled posture. His profile was hard as stone.
Once, she would have apologized. But not now. Not when those words had been burning inside her for so long, and for the first time she felt able to speak them. She could not—would not—take them back.
Eliot’s voice was a low growl. “I know my leaving hurt you. I’m sorry for that. But I didn’t have a choice. Maybe I could have visited more, or—”
“Or found a different occupation,” Clare snapped. “One that didn’t make you change your name and run away from us.”
“You can’t throw that at me, Clare. Not now. Not when you abandoned the boys, too.”
His words slapped her and she fell back a step. “I did not abandon—”
“Of course you did! The first chance you got for a better position, you took it, regardless of the danger to you or the cost to the boys.”
Clare’s eyes narrowed, breath seething out between her teeth. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Neither did I!”
Silence stretched between them after his shout.
When Eliot found his voice, it was hoarse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . I didn’t come here to do this. I just . . .I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry you and the boys suffered.” Their gazes locked. “You mean everything to me. You and the boys. Everything I’ve done—everything I do—it’s for you.”
Clare tugged in a wavering breath, tears pooling in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Clare. I know you’re still upset with me, and that’s all right. But you can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.”
Tension lined her shoulders. “You don’t have a right to tell me how to live my life.”
“Then think of the boys.”
“I am.”
“They can’t lose you.”
“I’m protected.”
He huffed a hard laugh. “I don’t trust them to keep you safe. The princess’s bodyguards. Markam.”
Clare jerked at the loathing in his voice—as if Bennick’s name were a curse. “You don’t know—”
“I know him.” The animosity pouring from him was so potent it rolled in waves against her.
“How?” Clare’s voice was suddenly weak, because her mind had already linked the reason. She’d seen this anger in her brother before, and only one man had ever inspired it.
Eliot stared down at her. Though she knew the words before he spoke them, they still stabbed her. “Markam is the one who flogged me.”
Her stomach rolled and her heart thudded in her chest, her ears, her temples—every part of her throbbed. “No.”
Eliot ground his teeth. “You don’t believe me?”
“Bennick wouldn’t have done that.” He couldn’t have.
Her brother’s face flushed. “You think I’m lying?”
Denial screamed inside her. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone who . . .”
“Who what?” Eliot’s face darkened. “Didn’t deserve it? You think I deserved that?”
“No!”
He shoved closer, nostrils flaring. “He nearly killed me!”
Clare had pictured the one who’d tortured her brother. She’d imagined the monster as she’d tended Eliot’s wounds and fought to save him from the ensuing fever. She’d seen the evil eyes and twisted sneer as she’d worked over Eliot’s torn back, his howls of pain piercing her to the core.
That monster wasn’t Bennick—couldn’t be Bennick. He’d saved her life. Comforted her. Made her heart trip with only a look.
“Is he the one who hit you?” Eliot asked tightly. “A training accident, maybe?”
“What?” She touched her bruised cheek, flushing as she remembered the kiss Bennick had placed there. “No!”
Eliot grabbed her wrist, tugging her close. She clutched his shirt to steady herself. His voice blistered with warning. “I saw you walking with him today. If I see him near you again, I won’t stand by.” He tightened his hold on her wrist and it strained her injured arm; she gasped at the shock of pain that flared beneath the bandage.
“What’s going on?” a deep voice demanded.
Clare wrenched away from Eliot, wrist stinging as she whirled to face Cardon. His scarred cheek was drawn tight and his shoulders were tense, a strong hand wrapped around the hilt of his sheathed sword. A vein in his temple throbbed when he saw her rubbing her reddened wrist. Darkness fell over his hard expression and he took a threatening step toward Eliot. “Who are you?”
Her brother stiffened, lifting his pointed chin in something almost like challenge. “Slaton.”
Cardon’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a soldier?”
“Yes, sir.”
Clare touched Cardon’s tense arm. “I’m all right.”
He glanced at her, his eyes still hard. “Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” Clare insisted, throat aching with unshed tears. “Please, Cardon. Let him go.”
His jaw flexed, but he focused back on Eliot. “You won’t approach her again.”
Eliot swallowed hard, flint in his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Leave.”
Clare’s eyes burned. She nearly said it then—admitted Eliot was her brother. But she couldn’t betray him. His career would be totally ruined if anyone learned he was the son of a traitor.
Eliot spun on his heel, his back stiff as he strode away.
Cardon slid in front of Clare, blocking her view of Eliot’s retreat. His voice was flat. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Her chest ached. Everything ached. “Please. I don’t feel well.”
His features tightened, but he took her arm and guided her toward the castle. “Did he hurt you?” Cardon asked again, tension thrumming through the words.
“No,” she whispered.
It was a lie.
Eliot had carved out her heart.
Chapter 29
Clare
Clare walked silently beside Venn through the servants’ passage, headed to her lesson with Ramus. Venn had sensed her mood and wasn’t bantering as he usually did. Clare hadn’t spoken much to anyone since yesterday afternoon. She couldn’t believe she’d stood with Bennick on the training field yesterday, holding his hand and feeling happy. It seemed impossible now, after
