Bennick’s eyes burned her, begging her to meet his gaze, but she didn’t look away from the king.
A muscle in Newlan’s jaw ticked. “You forget your place.”
She lifted her chin. “I won’t allow you to hurt them.”
“You won’t allow?”
Everyone stared. The frantic whispers ceased, every eye fixed on the drama before them—the princess, defying her father.
That would have been inexcusable enough, but the truth was far worse. Clare was an imposter. She had no power, only theillusion of it. Yet strength coursed through her. Adrenaline and a sense of rightness kept her spine straight and her gaze firm.
“No,” Clare said, voice ringing through the room. “I won’t allow it.”
A vein in Newlan’s forehead pulsed and his nostrils flared.
Grandeur stepped forward, placing himself at Clare’s side. His voice was low as he addressed the king. “Serene is upset. Perhaps it would be best to defer to her wishes.” He glanced at Clare, the worry in his eyes barely veiled before he focused back on Newlan. “She’s been through a great deal tonight. Please show leniency.”
The king’s attention darted between them and the silence stretched.
Clare’s pulse roared in her ears.
Finally, Newlan spoke. “Take the vermin to the dungeon. Their fates will be determined in court.”
The entertainers were herded to their feet. Men and women shot Clare grateful looks, but fear still smothered them as they kept their arms around their children.
Clare opened her mouth, ready to order that Newlan let thewomen and children go, but Grandeur sent her a quelling look, his eyes sharp with warning.
“Everyone out,” the king ordered.
Nobles and guards made their way to the double doors at once, muttering amongst themselves, some with arms still wrapped consolingly around each other. Bennick moved to Clare’s side and grasped her arm. His face was lined with tension, his entire body stiff. Before he could tug her toward the door, the king’s glare froze them. “You stay.”
Clare’s body locked and Bennick’s fingers tightened against her wrist. “Sire—”
“Get out,” Newlan barked.
Bennick froze, and for a horrible moment, Clare thought he might refuse the king. But then his hand fell from her arm and he backed up. Clare held her breath the whole time he retreated, Dirk following him out.
Grandeur hesitated, but one look from the king and he dipped his head. As he turned, he gave Clare a short nod. She hoped he caught the gratitude in her eyes. While she no longer trusted the prince, she was thankful he’d risen to her defense.
The doors closed, leaving Clare alone with the king.
Newlan’s low voice cut through the vaulted room. “You undermined me tonight. I don’t tolerate that from Serene. Fates know I won’t tolerate it from you.”
Her hands fisted at her sides, the blood on her gloves now cold. “Killing them would have been wrong.”
Newlan shot forward, eyes flashing. “I am never wrong. I’m the king.” His hand swung and the back of it caught her cheek. Her breath hitched and pain sparked across her face. The gold ring on his finger added a bruising weight and the slap echoed in the empty room.
Clare pressed her palm to her throbbing cheek. She breathed hard, face heated, cheek throbbing as she met his furious stare.
“You are no one,” he said through gritted teeth, hot breath hitting her face. “Nothing. Your life has meaning only because I say it does. You will never forget your place again. You won’t be the only one punished if you do. Do I make myself clear?”
Thomas and Mark’s faces swam before Clare’s eyes and she jerked out a nod.
Newlan studied her, letting the threat settle between them before he dismissed her with a flick of his chin.
But even as Clare moved for the door, her cheek throbbing, she could not regret standing up to the king.
Chapter 43
Bennick
Bennick stood rigid in the corridor, eyes fastened on the closed banquet hall doors. His body twitched with the need to be inside that room, standing beside Clare, but he couldn’t disobey his king. So he stood with his feet firmly planted, spine straight, shoulders locked as he fingered the blood staining his hands. Venn had lost so much blood; Bennick prayed the physicians could save him.
So many had died. Clare could have been killed so many times because Gavril . . . Fates, Bennick didn’t even know what to think. He could only feel.
Shock—Gavril had been the assassin all along.
Fury—Bennick had trusted him, given him access to the princess’s room, and he’d hurt Clare and Serene, nearly killing them both.
Guilt—Bennick should have known. He hadn’t done enough for Gavril. Hadn’t realized he was so consumed with hate and grief.
He wanted to shake Gavril. Demand answers. Rage at him for what he’d done. Apologize for not seeing the depth of his pain. But he couldn’t do any of that.
He thought of the orphanage attack—Gavril had looked panicked when he came into the alley and had immediately askedabout Clare and Bennick’s injuries. He hadn’t needed to study them—he knew they were hurt, because he’d been the one to do it. He probably hadn’t meant to hurt Clare, and he’d been holding back when Bennick fought him, which was why he’d delayed drawing the knife. Even tonight, Gavril had tried to draw Bennick from the room to save his life.
Bennick didn’t know how to feel about any of it.
One of the tall doors pushed open and Clare slipped out, her head ducked. Her unbound curls shielded her face as she moved stiffly into the hallway. The king’s bodyguards passed her, returning to the dining hall.
Bennick strode to Clare’s side, Dirk right behind him.
