Royal Decoy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 1)

by Heather Frost

  “No, I—”

  He backhanded her and pain burst across her cheek, radiating through her aching head. Hard fingers dug into her arms, holding her upright as the commander glared down at her. “Don’t waste my time with denials.”

  Clare blinked against the tears stinging her eyes. “I swear to the fates, I was only trying to save the princess. There was a man behind her with a knife. Just let me talk with her and—”

  The commander grabbed her chin and forced her head back so their eyes met. “You’ll never get close to her again,” he sneered. “You failed. Your accomplices failed. So tell me everything about your friends.”

  “I’m not one of them!”

  His jaw flexed. “I have the power to make your death swift or agonizing. Now, answer me.”

  A tremble shook her, but Clare tried to remain calm. It was hard with the commander breathing down on her, fingers digging into her chin, while the other two soldiers held her firmly. She swallowed hard but her voice still sounded too thin, too ragged, as it came up her abused throat. “I had nothing to do with the attack. I’m not a rebel. I work in the kitchen—I’ve worked there since I was a child. Ask Cook Towdy. He’ll tell you who I am.”

  The commander’s face was unreadable as he studied her. Then, without warning, he shoved her face away and she would have stumbled if the guards hadn’t been holding her arms.

  The commander took a step back and Clare would have felt relief, except for the darkness swimming in his eyes. “Very well. I will test your story.” His eyes bored into her, and she struggled to keep breathing as he continued. “I’m going to learn everything about you, girl. And you’re going to regret ever stepping foot inside this castle.”

  Chapter 2

  Clare

  Too much time had passed. Clare’s anxiety rose with every pacing step she took in the small cell, the clink of her chains only intensifying her anxiety. It should not have taken this long for the commander to question Towdy.

  The fear that something had gone wrong was all-consuming. Her mouth was dry and she couldn’t stop fingering the bruises around her throat, even though the iron manacles weighted her wrists. Panic spiraled, exploded, and then she forced it back down—only to have it return moments later, a relentless tension coiling her body again and again.

  The silence was horrible. All she heard was the thin gutter of the torch, her own stuttered breaths, and the unsteady leap of her heart. Despair stabbed at her when she thought of her younger brothers. Thomas, who wanted to be a soldier like his older brother, and Mark, whom Clare had raised since infancy.

  If Towdy could not convince the commander of Clare’s innocence, she would never see her brothers again.

  Footsteps thudded beyond the door and a key jangled. Clare trembled with exhaustion, fear, and something horribly like hope.

  The cell door swung open and the commander swept inside, a cloaked man striding in behind him. The door closed with a heavy, fatalistic thud.

  The commander’s eyes were cold, but not as angry as before. He stared at her, his eyes carving over her face. Studying. Evaluating. His expression gave away nothing.

  Clare blinked under his scrutiny, biting her tongue even though she was desperate to ask about his conversation with Towdy.

  “Your name is Clare Ellington,” the commander said at last. “You’ve worked in the castle kitchen since you were eight years old. You begged for your mother’s position while she was on her sickbed, heavy with child. Cook Towdy obliged, with the condition it would revert back to her when she recovered. But she never did. She died in childbirth.”

  Clare exhaled shallowly. She didn’t know why the commander was telling her about her life, but at least he wasn’t condemning her to the gallows. Yet.

  The commander lifted his chin. “You helped raise your brothers because no one else stepped forward—probably because your father was a traitor. He sided with Ivar Carrigan in the civil war and was executed two months before your mother’s death.”

  Clare gritted her teeth against the memory his words sparked. Screams had ripped up her throat as she’d clutched her father’s hand, trying to keep him close as soldiers dragged him from the house. Her father had shouted for her to stay back but she’d only held him tighter. Until a soldier had knocked her to the floor.

  They hadn’t even returned Duncan Ellington’s body. King Newlan didn’t allow proper burials for traitors. After the raids on the city, piles of bodies had rotted in the city square, feeding the crows for weeks and delivering a strong message. The fact that rebels had only started to crawl out of hiding recently was a testament to the effectiveness of that long-ago warning.

  Clare desperately hoped she wasn’t about to become another message.

  The commander stepped forward and every muscle in Clare’s body tensed as she retreated a step, her back hitting the wall.

  His voice was low. “Are you a traitor like your father, Miss Ellington?”

  Clare pressed her shoulders against the wall to steady herself and, summoning every nerve she had, raised her eyes to meet the commander’s. “I am not a traitor.”

  The commander’s intent expression didn’t waver, but the cloaked man standing behind him shifted forward and lowered his hood, revealing an angular face with sharp features and a neatly trimmed dark beard. Clare couldn’t tell if he wore a uniform beneath the long cloak, but he stood with the straight posture of a soldier.

  The commander spoke again, snapping Clare’s attention back to him. “You tried to kill the princess tonight.”

  “No. I saved her.”

  He ignored that. “You will be executed at dawn.”

  Cold fear hit her. Then anger flared and she clenched her fists, chains rattling. “I demand a fair trial.”

  “You’re not in a position to demand anything.”

  “You spoke with Towdy. You must know I’m—”

  “He believes you’re innocent, but I’m not constrained by his beliefs.”

  Clare's heart pounded, but she spoke past that. “Let me speak with the princess or her guards.” One of them had to have noticed she’d saved the princess. The blue-eyed guard had tried to stop the giant bodyguard from striking her—maybe he had seen the truth behind her actions.

  The commander’s lips pressed into a severe line. “I’ve already interviewed them. None of them will speak for you.”

  It shouldn’t have sliced her so deeply, but she struggled to find her voice again. “I . . . I could appeal to the king.”

  Actual amusement sparked in his eyes. “I doubt King Newlan would grant you an audience.” He cocked his head, almost musing as he said, “Most peasants wouldn’t dare address a commander in such a way.”

  The words could have been insulting or threatening, except for the calm way he spoke them. The shift in his behavior unnerved her, making her wary. Her spine stiffened. “You’re not giving me a choice.”

  “No, I suppose not.” He glanced at the bearded man, who gave a nod. Clare frowned, but didn’t have time to question their silent communication; the commander stepped closer, putting him right in front of her.

  Clare tensed. “I’ve told you, I’m—”

  “Innocent. Yes.” His mouth curled faintly upward. “I know.”

  She stared at him, her breath wavering as she tried to make sense of those simple but bewildering words. “You . . . know?”

  The commander straightened. “The princess spoke for you, corroborating your story. Two of her guards did as well.”

  “But . . .?”

  He arched a brow. “Why haven’t I let you go?”

  She chafed against his cruelly mocking tone. He’d threatened her with execution, even though he’d known she was innocent. Why?

  The commander smiled slowly. “You’re going to make a choice, Miss Ellington. A choice between life and death.”

  Clare’s eyes flew to the bearded man who shifted closer, a silent observer. She bristled when she turned back to the commander. “I’m innoce
nt. You have to let me go.”

  “I really don’t.” His chin dipped as he leaned in. She forced herself not to cringe back. “Witnesses may have spoken for you, but that doesn’t mean you walk out of here. Who’s to say I didn’t arrive too late with the knowledge of your innocence? I came to free you, but the guards had already killed you during your interrogation. An unfortunate blow to the head.” His eyes drifted to her temple and Clare shivered. The commander leaned back. “If you want to walk out of this cell, you will answer my questions. Do you understand?”

  Clare jerked out a nod, even though she didn’t understand at all. Sweat gathered on her palms despite the chill that gripped her.

  “How old are you?” the commander asked.

  She hesitated at the unexpected question. “Eighteen.”

  “Do you know how to read?”

  “Do I . . .?” The commander’s mouth drew tight, so she cleared her throat. “Yes, I can read.” Her mother had taught her the basics, anyway.

  “Do you know any other languages?”

  “I speak the common tongue.” Most people learned to speak it, since it was needed in nearly every occupation.

  The commander switched to the common tongue. “Who taught you to speak the trade language?”

  “My parents,” she answered in kind. “My father was a carpenter.”

  He inclined his head, acknowledging her ability with the language before switching back to Devendran. “Do you know how to ride?”

  “No.” They’d never been able to afford a horse, even before her father’s death.

  “Which kingdom is Devendra’s greatest enemy?”

  Were these questions even related? Tension coiled in Clare’s shoulders, but she forced herself to speak. “Mortise. Or perhaps Ryden.”

  The answer wasn’t definitive, but that didn’t seem to be an issue for the commander. “What do you know of the royals in Mortise?”

  She frowned. “Serjan Saernon is sick. Serjah Desfan is helping to rule in his father’s stead. The prince is a sailor, though some say a pirate. They’re the only surviving members of the royal family. The rest died years ago. In a shipwreck, I think. There are rumors that Mortise is plotting another war against us.” Which made the presence of Mortisian emissaries here at the castle all the more alarming.

  The commander didn’t comment on anything she said. He simply moved to his next question. “What do you know of Ryden?”

  The northern kingdom was reclusive. They traded sparingly with the rest of Eyrinthia and rarely crossed borders. One of their previous kings, long before Clare’s birth, had tried to conquer all of Eyrinthia. He’d failed, but the resentment between the four kingdoms lived on. The current king of Ryden was said to foam at the mouth and have red eyes. Stories of his demonic sons were often whispered during stormy nights.

  “Miss Ellington?” the commander prompted, tone sharp with impatience.

  “King Henri Kaelin is rumored to be a demon,” Clare said, coloring a little as she shared the terror-stories she’d heard since childhood. “He hides in his mountain fortress, destitute after his grandfather’s armies were destroyed. He has five sons. It’s said they drink the blood of their kills—animal and human alike.”

  The commander didn’t mock her for repeating the over-dramatic stories. “What do you know of Zennor?”

  “They’re our allies. King Zaire Buhari has ruled the southern kingdom for years. Even the tribes look to him to manage Zennor’s borders, though they don’t always agree with his laws. King Buhari has many children. His sister was Queen Aren.” The Devendran queen had died three years ago, but her kindness was still remembered by everyone in Devendra.

  Disappointment crossed the commander’s face. “I would have expected you to know more.” He scanned her face. “You clearly have some Zennorian blood. A grandparent, perhaps?”

  Clare raised her chin and spoke tightly through her growing frustration. “I’m loyal to Devendra.”

  The commander glanced again at the bearded man, whom Clare had almost forgotten, he was so quiet. “What do you think?” the commander asked.

  “Her voice isn’t quite right.” The cloaked man studied her. “Though as you said, she speaks surprisingly well. Her posture could use correcting, but she doesn’t cower. And did you notice how she lifted her chin? That in particular is right.” His hooked nose wrinkled. “She’s smaller than I wanted. Her skin isn’t dark enough, but that can be managed. Her eyes are nearly a perfect match, which I never imagined we’d find—it’s so rare. And her hair is almost the same shade. How long is it? Unbraid it, girl.”

  Her cheeks warmed but her words came out strong. “I’m not some woman for hire.”

  The bearded man’s mouth twitched. “You’re right, Commander. In spirit, they’re nearly equal.” He stroked his short beard and Clare caught the glint of a gold ring on his forefinger. “Miss Ellington, I would like to offer you a unique opportunity.”

  Clare’s eyes darted between the two men. They’d arrested her, threatened her, and now they were offering her something? Suspicion sang through her. “I don’t understand.”

  “What is there to understand?” Apparently the bearded man had taken over the conversation. “I believe the commander laid things out clearly. You will accept my offer, or you will not leave this cell.”

  She clenched her jaw. “What offer?”

  “To become Princess Serene’s decoy.”

  It took a moment for the words to make any sort of sense. “You want me to be the princess’s decoy?”

  “Yes.” His eyes sharpened. “The threats against her are mounting, as you witnessed tonight. She needs a double. You resemble her and your deficiencies could be remedied. You could learn to act like her.”

  “But, my brothers—”

  “You’ll never see them again if you refuse.”

  Desperation pinched Clare’s throat. “I’ll die either way.”

  He shrugged one broad shoulder. “Probably. But if you become the decoy, I give you my word your brothers will be cared for. Even if you lose your life as a consequence.”

  Clare’s wrists ached with the weight of the chains that bound her. She was trapped in every way. Their threats were real. They would kill her if she refused.

  And if she accepted?

  Her life wouldn’t be her own. She would become the princess’s decoy—a target for assassins. She would live in the castle until she died. And while she was apart from her family . . . they would have everything they needed. Thomas and Mark would no longer have to work in the stable at Motley’s Tavern. They could have real tutoring—Thomas wouldn’t have to become a soldier; he and Mark could be anything they wanted. They could have everything they’d dreamed of—a real future.

  But she wouldn’t be with them.

  An ache pierced her heart, because she knew what she was going to choose. What she had to choose. There wasn’t a real choice. She could die, or she could provide for her family.

  She would do what she’d always done.

  Clare cleared her throat, hating how brittle and weak it sounded in the awful silence of the shadowed cell. “I’ll do it.”

  The bearded man lifted his chin. “You’ll swear an oath?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes flashed with triumph. He straightened, his voice deepening. “Do you, Clare Ellington, willingly give your oath to serve King Newlan Demoi until your death and keep his secrets as your own?”

  Her mouth had dried, but she forced herself to speak. “I do.”

  He stretched out his hand, the one with the gold ring she’d noticed before. When the crest caught the flickering light, instinct overcame her and she fell to her knees.

  “Seal your oath,” King Newlan ordered.

  Dizziness stole her breath but Clare leaned forward, pulse pounding in her ears as she kissed the royal crest. The stone beneath her knees was hard and cold. She fought back a shiver. The man who’d ordered her father’s death and would have looked on as the comman
der killed her in this cell now owned her completely.

  Newlan’s deep voice boomed in the small cell. “Stand.”

  She pushed up from the floor, avoiding the king’s eyes.

  “Take those chains off her.”

  The commander fished a key from his pocket and obeyed the royal order. But even when the chains fell and Clare fingered her sore wrists, she knew she wasn’t free.

  The torchlight brushed the king’s face as he viewed her. “In the morning you’ll go home and tell your family you’ve been promoted to serve as one of the princess’s maids and that you’ll live at the castle now.”

  So many emotions roiled inside her, but the thought of going home—even briefly—was a lifeline and she clung to it.

  “The visit will be short,” the king continued. “You will need to be prepared to attend a private dinner tomorrow night. I want to show you to those few who will be aware of your role. Not many will be told the truth. You’re only useful if our enemies don’t know about you.” He glanced at the commander. “See she’s given whatever she requires—for herself and her family—and keep her secure. I want her in your suite tonight.” Without another word, the king lifted his hood and strode from the cell. In the torch-lit corridor, a group of soldiers took up positions around him, following him out of sight.

  Clare stood rooted to the floor. Each heartbeat thudded through her entire body and a chill snaked down her spine. She’d had no real choice, but she still wondered if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

  The commander held the cell door open and Clare ducked her head as she stepped out. He led her down a long hall, then up a flight of stairs. They kept to side passages, encountering no one as they ghosted through the sleeping castle. Clare’s eyes snagged on the fine carpets, oil paintings, and antique side tables all gleamingly polished and holding vases of fresh flowers. The finery of the upper castle was unfamiliar to her, making this night feel even more surreal.

  The commander finally stopped and opened the door to a large suite. The sitting room held a long settee, a couple armchairs near a dead fire, and several tidy bookshelves. A short hall led to four closed doors, though the closest one opened and a maid peeked out, irritation tightening her features. She softly closed the door behind her and kept her voice low as she strode toward them. “The lady just drifted off. She needs quiet.”