The fates may condemn him for this, but he couldn’t bear her tears.
Grayson lifted his chin and brushed his lips against hers. The brief contact sparked every nerve in his body. Heat swelled in his chest and his heart kicked. Everything in his world narrowed to her. The feel of her soft mouth on his, the heat of her neck seeping through his leather glove—the way she melted toward him, as if the fates themselves were pulling her closer.
When he drew back from the gentle kiss he held his forehead against hers, eyes squeezed shut. “I love you, Mia,” he whispered. “Always.”
She held her forehead to his for another heartbeat before easing back, lifting the hand from her lap.
Confusion filtered through him, until her fingers reached the edge of his glove. He tensed, fingers clenching on instinct. “Mia . . .”
When their gazes locked, he couldn’t breathe. Her soft brown eyes were full of warmth, acceptance, and love. “You don’t need to hide from me,” she whispered. “I love you. Every part of you.”
He didn’t stop her this time as she tugged his gloves away. His pale hands were riddled with scores of old scars and the burns on his fingers were an ugly smear of purple and red, but Mia wrapped her fingers around his without hesitation. The feel of her skin on his sent a jolt through his entire body.
She lifted his hands to her face, his calloused fingertips brushing her cheeks before she pressed his palms against her smooth skin. He could feel her smile against his bare hands and her soft breaths were caught by his thumbs resting on her lips.
Mia leaned in for another kiss and Grayson grinned. He’d never felt so freed as he did now, locked in this prison with her.
Chapter 36
Clare
Clare stepped into the princess’s bedroom and stopped short. Wilf stood with his enormous back to her, head bent as he fiddled with the room’s only window. Silver moonlight outlined him sharply and the dim lamplight played over his heavily muscled back. At her surprised intake of breath, he shot a look over his shoulder, his usual scowl in place.
Clare tensed and cinched the neck of her robe around her throat. “What are you doing?”
His thick brows dragged down.“Bennick ordered nightly sweeps of the room.”
She frowned. “I know. I thought Venn did it before he left.”
Wilf shrugged one shoulder and turned back to the window. The double-paned glass rattled a little as he tugged on the lock. Clearly, he wasn’t going to say anything more.
Clare remained in the doorway, watching him as he finally left the window and strode to the bed. Vera had already turned down the blankets, but Wilf flipped them completely, gaze cutting over the sheets. He knelt, bracing one hand on the bed as he scanned the space beneath. She should probably be grateful for his thoroughness, and if it had been anyone else, she would have been. But despite Bennick’s assurances that Wilf was trustworthy, standing in the room alone with him caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise.
Finally, Wilf pushed to his feet. “Clear.”
She continued to clutch the folds of her robe together as she cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
The skin around his eyes tightened; maybe he sensed thedoubt in her words. He grunted and strode for the door. Claresidestepped to let him pass and the moment he was gone she closed the door, her palm pressed against the smooth wood as her attention dropped to the lock. She hesitated only a moment before twisting it, the tension in her shoulders easing a little at the comforting click. It would make sleep easier, since Wilf was the one standing guard all night.
Clare took a moment to make her own inspection of the room, lingering at the window. She checked the lock, but it was engaged. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She was paranoid—she knew that. But Serene’s enemies were becoming bolder. The attack on the orphanage had revealed a carelessness for life that sickened her. Whether it had been the assassin or the rebels, it showed desperation. People wanted to kill Serene before she left for Mortise, and they only had three weeks left to do it.
Clare moved to the bed, quickly righting the tousled covers before she tossed her robe aside and eased between the sheets. Silence covered the suite, and though she was tired, she didn’t lie down. She kept the lamp on, casting the room in a soft light. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she surveyed the room. It had been a stranger’s room two months ago, but now it felt like hers. Her journey to Mortise was becoming increasingly real, and there was a pang in her chest when she thought about the possibility of not making it back. She was grateful Bennick had arranged the meeting at the orphanage so she could see her brothers again, but she hated to think that would be the last time she held them.
She needed to survive. She would survive.
Exhaling, Clare leaned over and extinguished the lamp. The light blinked away and darkness pooled.
The window exploded as a dark form hurtled through it, shattering the glass and spraying shards everywhere.
Clare scrambled back across the bed, horror seizing her lungs and stopping her breath as she watched the dark form straighten and become a man. His clothes were black and a dark hood covered his face. He lunged for her, a dagger flashing in his hand.
Clare rolled away from the plunging blade, kicking blankets aside as she dropped over the side of the bed. She landed hard on her feet and bolted for the door. She jerked the handle, but it didn’t open. Fates, she’d locked the door after Wilf had left.
The attacker sprang for her—she sensed more than she saw
