Royal Decoy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 1)

by Heather Frost

  “An attack?” Mark’s grip on her hand spasmed.

  Clare tightened her hold on him, her words for all of her brothers. “I’m fine, as you can see. I was caught in the attack and detained for questioning. We all were.” She swallowed, not able to hold anyone’s stare as she continued. “I actually helped save the princess, and, to thank me, I’ve been promoted. I’m now one of her maids. I’m to live at the castle.”

  They all began talking at once, but Eliot’s firm voice overrode Thomas and Mark’s shocked protests. “You can’t take this position.”

  “I don’t have a choice.” It sounded horribly like the truth, so she softened it by adding, “We don’t have a choice. I’ll finally make enough to take care of the family. The boys won’t have to work anymore—”

  “Can we talk about this privately?” Eliot cut in, already moving for the bedroom.

  Clare sighed, glancing at Thomas and Mark. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Once in the closed bedroom, Eliot faced Clare, one hand grasping the back of his neck. “I’ll give you more coin,” he said lowly. “I’ll work another job if I have to, but don’t do this.”

  “I’ve already given my word.”

  “You can change your mind. You need to change your mind. You don’t know what you’re getting into. I’m a soldier—I know the danger the royals are always in.” His eyes sharpened. “I forbid you from taking this position.”

  His hard tone sparked the anger and frustration that had been building inside her since everything had fallen apart last night. Anger swelled in her chest. “You forbid?”

  “Yes,” he gritted out. “I’m the head of this family and—”

  “You left us!” The words burst free, all her frustration coming out at once. “The moment you were old enough, you took Mother’s name so you could go play soldier without the stain of Father’s treason. You left me here to raise the boys on my own.”

  Hurt splashed Eliot’s face and regret instantly shot through her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyeing the space between them. She didn’t know when she would see him again—she couldn’t leave like this. Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his chest. She could feel every thump of his heart, going too fast. “I know you want me safe, but I’ve made my choice.”

  He was stiff against her, his back painfully straight. Beneath her hands she could feel the rough scars hidden by his shirt; two-year-old lash marks from a flogging that had nearly killed him. By the time Clare made it to his barracks, Eliot was wracked with fever, his back a bloody mass of ruined flesh. The captain who’d whipped him near to death and ensured Eliot would never advance from the city guard hadn’t even had a good reason; he’d simply wanted to assert his dominance on someone he viewed as lesser. Clare hated him for it.

  Gradually, Eliot relaxed and embraced her in return, tucking her head under his chin. “I don’t like this,” he muttered.

  He’d like it even less if he knew the truth.

  On the other side of the door, voices flared; Thomas and Mark were talking about the soldiers waiting on the street outside.

  Clare sighed and pulled back from her older brother. “You should go. Sneak out the back door. Mistress Keller can meet you later, but it would be best if she doesn’t see you avoiding the soldiers.” She took a step toward the door, but Eliot gripped her hand.

  “Wait.” He fumbled with the belt around his waist before holding out a simple dagger, hilt wrapped in leather as it dangled in the sheath.

  Her scalp prickled at the sight of the weapon. “Eliot—”

  His eyes hardened. “You’ll take it, or I’ll march out there and tell those soldiers to give your regrets to the princess.”

  Clare rolled her eyes and Eliot watched as she secured it around her waist. She set her hands on her hips. “Happy?”

  His eyebrows drew together. “No.”

  Warmth spread through her chest; her brother wanted her safe. It was a good feeling, even if there was nothing he could do to protect her. Clare planted a kiss on his smooth cheek before they returned to the main room. Eliot promised the boys he would check in soon and then, with a last look at Clare, he slipped out the back.

  When Clare invited Mistress Keller into the house, the caretaker swept inside with a beaming smile and an eagerness to meet Thomas and Mark. The boys were a little wary, but their eyes widened when they saw the two trunks the soldiers carried in. The first trunk held food. The second was filled with clothing, books, and toys.

  Thomas and Mark made quick work of unpacking that trunk while Clare and Mistress Keller put the food away. Clare showed the older woman around the house, and when they’d returned to the main room they found the boys had lined up small tin soldiers and were eagerly playing.

  Clare had never seen them look so youthful. So happy. Despite the fear, she also felt a measure of peace. Even if she died tomorrow as the decoy, her brothers would still have this.

  She smiled as she knelt beside them on the floor. She plucked a blue-uniformed soldier from the pile. “He’s my favorite.”

  Mark frowned. “He’s got a dent.”

  She rolled the figurine in her palm, easily finding the dent in his back. “It’ll make him easier to find.”

  “I suppose.” Mark glanced away, a toy soldier clenched in each hand. “I don’t need toys,” he whispered.

  Clare’s shoulders dropped and she wrapped an arm around him. “I want you to have them, Mark. And I don’t want you to work at Motley’s anymore. This is a chance for all of us to have a better life.”

  Thomas watched her closely. “You too?”

  “Yes. Me too.” The words burned in her throat and she hoped they wouldn’t hear the lie. “I’ll come visit as often as I can.” She doubted the king would ever let her visit, and that made her gut churn.

  Clare made a show of looking through the trunk, and when she pulled out a set of wooden blocks they all built a castle for the soldiers to defend. As they played, Mark pressed the dented tin soldier into Clare’s hand. His voice was quiet. “You should keep him, since he’s your favorite. He can keep you safe.”

  Pressure sparked behind her eyes and she blinked to clear the haze.

  The morning bled into afternoon and Clare wanted to ignore the passage of time. But too soon a knock sounded on the door and it opened before she could speak. The princess’s bodyguard ducked in, thrusting a hand through his sand-colored hair. Clare stiffened at the sight of him.

  He viewed their game, apology edging his expression. “I’m sorry, but a storm’s building. We need to start back.”

  Mark latched onto her wrist, instantly tensing. “You can’t go!”

  Clare laid a hand over his small one before looking back at the blue-eyed guard. “I need a moment.”

  He darted a look at Mark and his features softened. “Of course.”

  But a moment wasn’t long enough to say goodbye. Clare’s heart cracked when Mistress Keller had to pry Mark’s clawed fingers from her arms. His frantic eyes and panicked cries cut her, and as she strode away, her arms ached to hold him.

  Wind tore up the narrow street, dirt stinging her skin and eyes as she moved for the waiting carriage. The air itself felt different. It caught painfully in her lungs and she didn’t think the coming storm was to blame. No, everything felt raw because her little brother was screaming her name and she couldn’t go to him.

  The dented toy soldier bit painfully into her hand, but she only squeezed it tighter.

  Chapter 5

  Clare

  Tears dashed down Clare’s cheeks as the carriage rolled toward the castle. Her teeth grated and her knuckles whitened as she gripped the tin soldier Mark had given her. To watch her. Protect her.

  No one could protect her.

  The storm broke and rain hammered the city, pelting loudly off the canvas roof of the carriage. It was only late afternoon but the storm cast the city of Iden into premature darkness. C
lare thought of the blue-eyed soldier, drenched on his horse. Let him be wet. He’d been sent to ensure she didn’t run from the king. He was as bad as the commander. He deserved some misery.

  A shout rent the air and the carriage lurched to a stop, nearly throwing Clare from her seat. Screams rose above the drumming rain and the agonized shriek of a horse pierced through the chaos. A chill raced over Clare’s skin, lifting the hairs on her arms and neck. The crash of metal striking metal echoed through the street.

  The carriage was under attack.

  Her heart kicked in her chest and her breathing spiked. She let out a strangled cry when something heavy—a body?—crashed into the side of the carriage, rocking it. The same adrenaline she’d felt when the princess had been ambushed rushed through her, and Clare grasped the door handle with a trembling hand. She wouldn’t wait in here to be slaughtered.

  Clare crouched behind the opening door, using it as a shield as she dropped to the ground. She was grateful for the braided crown that kept her long hair out of her eyes; the sheeting rain did enough to blur her vision. A tall building rose directly in front of her, the thin opening of an alley only several paces away. The soldiers fought in front and behind the carriage, struggling against men with dark cloths tied around the lower halves of their faces. Even at a glance, Clare could see that the masked attackers horribly outnumbered the uniformed guards.

  “Get back inside!”

  Clare jolted at the shout, looking to the blue-eyed guard. He stood mere paces away, twisted toward her, expression hard as he gripped his sword. Rain soaked him, darkening his sandy hair and sluicing off his face and shoulders. “Get inside!” he repeated.

  A masked man popped up behind him, raising his sword for a deathblow.

  Clare’s heart seized. “Look out!”

  The bodyguard whirled, ducking as he spun. He avoided the attacker’s blade and slashed up with his own, the two of them exchanging blows too quickly to track. Rain flew off the swinging blades, but Clare didn’t stay to watch. She bolted for the nearby alley, abandoning the carriage and the brutal fighting. She launched herself onto the narrow street, rain stinging her face as she ran. Beggars huddled against the alley walls, a feeble shelter from the storm. They stared as she darted past and one even called after her.

  Escape. She needed to escape the danger and—

  Escape.

  She nearly stumbled. She could actually escape. She could run home and grab her brothers. By the time the king learned of her disappearance, it would be too late. And, thanks to the king, they had enough food and coin to make the journey possible. They could leave Devendra and her oath. Forever. She didn’t have to be the princess’s double.

  It was a split-second decision, but Clare embraced it. She reached the end of the alley and turned left. Away from the castle, back toward home.

  The street was crowded with people hurrying to escape the storm and Clare plunged through them, ignoring the bruising elbows and curses flung after her.

  A scream shattered the normalcy of the street and Clare twisted a look over her shoulder. Her stomach dropped.

  A masked man with a drawn sword shoved through the crowd, heading for her. Air punched out of Clare’s lungs and she pushed through the people now scrambling to escape the armed man. Her long dress beat against her legs and she hitched up the sodden skirt as she ran. The cobblestones were uneven and the rain made for slick footing—she stumbled, but caught herself. She threw herself down another alley, shoulder knocking painfully against a stack of wooden crates. Her hands slid over the wet wood, fingers curling to wrench them to the ground behind her.

  She was nearly to the end of the alley when her stalker swore, wood snapping and scraping as he kicked the crates aside.

  Clare crossed another street, running hard for the next alley which was narrower than the last. She couldn’t resist looking back, praying she’d lost him.

  The masked man was getting closer and another man followed him. People on the street cried out when they spotted the two armed men and Clare’s fear surged, locking her throat. Her heart beat so wildly she didn’t know how it was still inside her chest.

  She kept running, not looking back even when she heard a grunt and a body hit the ground. Had one of the attackers shoved someone in the crowd?

  Clare flew into the alley, wishing the shadows could swallow her. She could almost feel the whisper of a blade against her back, straining to reach her. Footsteps pounded behind her, cutting through the shrinking space between them.

  “Stop!”

  Her body jerked but she ignored the furious shout and kept running. She was nearly to the end of the alley when fingers swiped her arm, a failed grasp. She cried out, adrenaline spiking.

  The reaching hand snagged her skirt and Clare stumbled as she fell, rearing her head back to protect her face. Her palms scraped against the cobblestones and the breath was knocked from her lungs. Her attacker landed on top of her, his weight crushing her. For a split second, she wasn’t aware of anything but the pain. Then terror exploded in her gut.

  The man exhaled hotly against her ear before he levered back, knees digging into her sides as he braced himself above her. His fingers bit into her shoulder and he twisted her onto her back.

  Clare blinked as rain fell into her eyes, blinding her. She shoved her hands against his chest, as if that would stop him from killing her. His body was hard as rock beneath her stinging palms, a muscled wall she would never be able to move. His knees gripped her sides, pinning her in place beneath him. Her shuddering breaths made her chest rise and fall sharply, and her eyes flicked to her splayed hands, still pressed against him. Her attention snagged on the material peeking between her spread fingers.

  Blue. It was a blue uniform.

  Her eyes cut to his face.

  The princess’s blue-eyed bodyguard stared down at her, his stubbled jaw tight. His breathing was as ragged as her own and his hair swung wetly around his hard face. Tension rolled from him as he hunched over her, a soldier still locked in battle. “I told you to stop,” he ground out, the storm in his voice rivaling the elements raging around them. “Why didn’t you?”

  Fear clogged her throat, snaring her words. His strong hands gripped her shoulders, keeping her trapped against the wet cobbled road. Her dress was already soaked, but the puddled water caused a shiver to rip through her. When lightning flashed and thunder clapped, every hair on her body lifted.

  His grip tightened. “Why didn’t you stop?” he repeated.

  “I didn’t know it was you!” she snapped.

  His expression hardened, all rigid lines and harsh angles. Her stomach churned, her heart still thumping madly. Caged against the hard alley floor by the man who had ruined her best chance to truly escape, Clare felt a stab of anger.

  Not fair, a distant part of her recognized. He saved your life.

  The rain fell harder, muffling all other sounds and effectively cutting them off from the rest of the world. After the chaos of the fight and the panic of running, this moment felt locked in time. Drawn out. Slow.

  Clare was aware of each place their bodies touched. His fingers digging into her shoulders. His knees bracketing her sides. His short breaths against her face.

  A raindrop rolled to the tip of his long nose and splashed against her chin.

  Clare flinched.

  He released her and shifted into a crouch, every muscle in his body coiled. His gaze was wary as he studied her, and his tone came out more evenly as he asked, “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” She sat up stiffly, glancing back down the alley. “What happened to the man chasing me?”

  “He’s not a problem anymore.”

  Clare blinked at the level response. His face was smooth, revealing nothing, but his meaning was clear. He had killed her pursuer. The same hands that had just touched her body had taken a life. She wasn’t sure if that fact rattled her more than the realization that—if he hadn’t—the assassin would have tackled her instead. She sh
ivered, crossing her arms over her chest so she could finger her aching shoulders.

  She cleared her suddenly dry throat. “What happened to the other soldiers?”

  “They were losing.” He extended a hand. “We need to get you to the castle.”

  Clare eyed his offered palm before slowly taking it. He squeezed her fingers as he tugged her to her feet. Clare cringed at the spark of pain across her hand, and his sharp eyes caught it.

  He instantly flipped her hand over and examined the abrasions on her palm. Blood seeped from the largest cut and he thumbed the edge of it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  His soft touch sent a disconcerting shock through her, almost as much as his genuine tone. The glimpse of kindness was at odds with his cold efficiency as a soldier, and certainly didn’t match the type of man who knew—and didn’t care—that she had been forced to become the princess’s decoy.

  Clare tugged her hand free. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”

  He dipped his head in a nod, his long fingers falling as he paced a few steps away and bent to retrieve his sword. He must have thrown it before tackling her. He examined the blade with a critical eye, and while he did, Clare swiped at the wet strands of hair clinging to her face and took inventory of her cuts and bruises. She nearly cursed when she found Eliot’s dagger hanging at her waist. In her panic, she hadn’t even thought to grab it.

  With instincts like hers, it would be a miracle if she survived a week as the decoy.

  A painful throb drew attention to her hip and Clare drew the tin soldier out of her pocket with a scowl.

  “An interesting choice of weapon.”

  Clare raised her head. The soldier had sheathed the sword at his waist and now gripped the hilt. Drenched by rain, no one should look as confident and controlled as he did, though there was something reassuring in the strong set of his jaw. His eyes were on the toy in her hand and she curled her fingers around it. “It was a gift from my brother. He thought it might protect me.”