“You’re forgiven.” Standing with him like this, it was hard to remember her anger. She cleared her throat and tapped a finger off his jaw. “You should probably step back. Anyone could see us.”
He lifted a rebellious brow. “I don’t think I care.”
“Bennick . . .”
He sighed and retreated, his hands sliding off the wall as he moved back.
Clare swallowed at the loss of his nearness. She remained against the stable wall, her flushed skin still humming from his touch. Her lips felt swollen, and when she pressed them together, Bennick watched her with a look so deep it made her toes curl.
He shoved a hand through his hair, swearing softly. “I am really, really in trouble.”
Chapter 38
Eliot
Eliot finished another drink. Blood pounded in his ears as he slammed the empty tankard on the table and roared for another. It was his fourth, and still he couldn’t get the taste of betrayal out of his mouth.
The images were burned into his mind. Clare and Markam, kissing.
Eliot had been watching over his sister, trying to be a decent brother even though she hadn’t listened to him. And what did he see when he came to check on her? Markam pressing his sister against the stable wall, his hands all over her.
Eliot bit out a curse, scrubbing a hand over a bristled jaw that needed a shave. Fates, he still couldn’t believe what he’d seen. Clare’s betrayal was crushing and enraging all at once. She knew those hands that ran over her body and made her shiver had tortured him, yet still she’d kissed him. Eliot had told her thetruth, and she’d turned away from him—embraced Markam instead.
Not the full truth . . .
Eliot smashed the whisper of guilt before it could swallow him. He hadn’t tried to kill Farrell. The drinking had been excessive—he would admit that. But why did Farrell have to spring on him? And why had Markam even spared his life? It would have been more merciful to kill him. Instead he lived on, scarred back, ruinedreputation, riddled with guilt that would never leave. The only thing that dulled the guilt was anger. Anger at himself, but mostly at Markam.
He didn’t want to focus on Farrell. And he didn’t want to think about his last conversation with Clare, either. He’d yelled at her. Tried to make her feel guilty for leaving the boys. He hated that he’d thrown her words back at her, tried to make her hurt. Butwhat else could he have done? She was in danger at the castle. She needed to be home, where it was safe.
His fresh drink arrived. He tried to empty his mind as he tugged the mug to his lips with shaking hands. He’d just finished it when Michael slid into the chair across from him. His friend cocked a thick eyebrow. “You got an early start.”
“Leave me,” Eliot rasped. How could his throat be dry after all he’d drunk?
Michael caught the attention of a passing maid. “Two ales,please.” The maid left with a nod and Michael turned to Eliot. “Are you drunk enough to tell me what’s wrong?”
Sometimes Eliot hated his best friend. “No.”
Michael leaned back in his chair. Behind them, a man crowed as he won at cards. “Does it have to do with your sister?”
A muscle in Eliot’s jaw ticked.
“You’re angry she didn’t leave, even after you told her what Markam did.”
A growl shredded up his throat. “Apparently I don’t have to tell you anything. You’ve guessed it all.”
Michael’s mouth drew into a line. He rested his large forearms on the table, hunching over as he leaned in. “Paven reached meearlier this morning. He wanted to know if you’ve managed to convince Clare to join us.”
“Clearly I can’t convince her to do anything.”
Hesitation crinkled the corners of Michael’s eyes. “The danger she’s in will only increase when she travels to Mortise. As a rebel, she’d have protection.”
“No.”
“Eliot—”
The ugly tangle of emotions in his gut exploded. “She betrayed me,” he hissed. “Her own brother meant nothing, but Markam?She was kissing him. I saw them. That’s why she hasn’t left the castle. It’s his fault. It’s always his fates-blasted fault!” He shoved his empty tankard across the table and scrubbed his hands over his face.
Their drinks arrived. Michael thanked the serving maid quietly, then gripped his mug with both hands. “I’m sorry, Eliot.”
His head dropped, one hand shoved into his hair. “If she betrayed me for him, she’s not going to betray him for the rebels. Her feelings were clear.” The hated images sparked in his mind, their bodies pressed together, Markam’s hand plunging into Clare’s hair. Eliot’s stomach churned and he nearly heaved up the drinks he’d downed. “I don’t understand why she ever accepted the position. I know their lives weren’t perfect,” he whispered brokenly. “But doesn’t she realize what I sacrificed for them?”
Michael looked away, giving Eliot a bit of privacy.
It helped. He swallowed back the knot in his throat, blinked away the burn in his eyes, and lifted the fresh cup to his lips.
When Michael’s eyes found his, they were grim. “I know it hurts. But she wants to be the princess’s maid. Nothing you can do will change that.”
Eliot snorted a harsh laugh and rubbed his aching head. “That’s why I’m here.”
“You can’t drink this away.”
His knuckles were white as he gripped his mug. “My sister shouldn’t have to serve her. Them. Fates-blasted royals. The king wants Mortisian ships and ports more than he wants vengeance for his people. And the princess! She’s a traitor to us, too. She’ll run right to Desfan’s arms like a hired woman, not caring that he’s responsible for spilling innocent Devendran blood. I don’t know how Clare can stomach being around them.”
Michael leaned in. “I know you don’t want her
