King Newlan stood near the head table, his face flushed and his eyes livid. Grandeur stood at his side as they watched the guards gather the entertainers and force them to kneel in the corner. The men and women clung to their small children, their eyes darting to the soldiers standing over them.
Newlan’s attention sliced to Clare, relief momentarily pushing through his rage. He motioned for her to join him as he moved toward the entertainers.
Dread curled inside her, but she couldn’t disobey. She stepped forward, Bennick and Dirk moving with her.
One entertainer shuffled forward on his knees. He had gray hair, his colorful cape a horrible contrast to the panic carved into his upturned face. “Your Majesty, I assure you, we’re innocent. The attackers are not from our troupe. We joined with them for this occasion only, by your order—”
“Silence!” Newlan towered over the man, his jeweled hands fisted at his sides. “You consorted with killers. You took part in this attempt to destabilize my court. You helped attack my royal person!”
The children shook before his wrath, tears streaking their faces. Clare’s eyes skipped over them, past the weeping parents to the guards who corralled them. They still had their weapons drawn, mostly swords, but one held a crossbow—Gavril.
Clare felt a blast of relief at seeing him unharmed.
His gaze shifted, and his eyes met hers. She gave a small smile, not thinking about the fact that Serene probably wouldn’t have done so.
Gavril’s scarred face tightened. In one fluid motion he lifted the crossbow, aiming it at her.
Clare sucked in a breath.
Bennick cursed when Gavril discharged the crossbow. The small bolt cut through the space between them, shooting at Clare’s chest.
Chapter 41
Grayson
Tyrell was with Mia.
The knowledge stabbed through Grayson as he ran, jarring him with each step. He shoved servants and nobles aside as he tore down the hallway, his breathing ragged and his pulse riding high. The bloody dagger was still clenched in his hand, the spray of blood still on his skin. His whole body shook and the knot in his core burned.
Tyrell was with Mia.
Grayson’s nostrils flared and the dagger in his hand suddenly felt more solid than the stones flying beneath his feet. His father had sent Tyrell to hurt Mia. All to control him.
King Henri wanted Grayson to be cruel. Cold. Merciless. In this moment, he was.
Fletcher stood before the cell door. He snapped to attention when he saw Grayson charge down the narrow corridor. He didn’t even have to give an order—the old guard was already grabbing his keys.
Grayson skidded to a halt before the cell. Every muscle in his body jerked, willing him to keep moving, to break through the thick door even though that was impossible. Rage flexed his throat and his hold on the dagger was strangling. “How long?”
“Several minutes,” Fletcher ground out.
Beyond the closed door, Mia screamed.
Grayson roared.
When Fletcher’s hands fumbled, Grayson snatched the keys and grabbed the longest one. He thrust it into the lock and twisted harshly. There was a solid click and he kicked the door in, eyes cutting over the room.
Mia knelt on the floor, her wrists tethered to a post at the foot of her bed. Her shoulders were hunched as she cried, unable to escape Tyrell’s folded belt. It flew even as Grayson watched, the leather striking her back with a violent snap. Mia shrieked, her ragged breaths catching on a sob.
Grayson’s vision hazed.
Tyrell’s eyes rounded when Grayson lunged. He tensed a split second before Grayson’s shoulder punched into his middle and slammed the air from his lungs. They crashed onto Mia’s bed and Grayson knocked Tyrell’s hands aside as he straddled him. Clutching the bloody dagger, Grayson used the added weight in his fist to pound Tyrell’s face.
His brother grunted and hissed, bucking beneath him, but Grayson kept him locked against the bed. He kept hitting him. The need to make Tyrell bleed controlled every brutal movement. Scarlet blood streaked his brother’s pale face and it coated Grayson’s knuckles, but the beating didn’t slow. It escalated. Because he could still hear Mia crying and the snap of the belt hitting her body was trapped in his head.
His chest exploded and he vented a wordless scream. He raised the knife, blade aimed down.
Tyrell’s breath caught, dark eyes flaring with fear.
“No!” Mia’s shout ripped through Grayson, halting the knife. From the corner of his eye he saw her, still on her knees, wrists tied to the bedpost. She trembled, brown curls spilling around her tear-stained face.
Grayson’s blade wavered.
His hesitation cost him. Tyrell kneed him in the back and Grayson pitched forward. Mia cried out as Grayson landed hard on the stone floor. He rolled with the impact and sprang to his feet. He slid in front of Mia as Tyrell levered up, shoulders squared, his face already swelling and his nose and mouth dripping blood.
“You’ll suffer for this,” Tyrell sneered. “I obeyed father’s orders. I did nothing wrong!”
Grayson snarled and dove for his brother. Tyrell fell back, hands flinching to the knife belted at his waist.
He didn’t get to draw it. Grayson’s fist plowed into Tyrell’s temple and he crumpled to the stone floor.
Breathing hard, Grayson stared down at his brother’s unconscious body. He wanted to rip him apart for what he’d done to Mia. He wanted him to suffer as much pain as Mia had—a thousand times more. Rage filled him and he needed to get it out.
Mia’s shuddering breaths were behind him, breaking the silence in the cell.
She needed him more.
Clenching the knife in his hand, Grayson twisted away from Tyrell and dropped to a crouch beside Mia, murmuring useless words of comfort as he sawed through the rope binding her. Her wrists were red, the soft skin horribly abraded. Her sleeves ended just below her elbows, revealing already-forming bruises on her forearms where Tyrell must have grabbed her.
His fury swelled.
The moment Mia was freed she threw her arms around his neck and
