Page 80 of Royal Rebel

His hand tensed against her back. “Were you afraid of him?”

“A little,” she admitted. “But I told Serene about it. And then so much happened . . . I truly didn’t think of how he’d asked me to spy for him until recently.”

Bennick absorbed this, and she hoped he believed her. Finally, he spoke. “When Serene began making arrangements to bring your brothers here . . .”

“Yes,” she said, though he hadn’t really asked. “It was because I worried for them. But not just because of Grandeur.”

Bennick’s hand slid, moving to curve around her waist so he could bring her closer against his side. “I hope Latif finds the truth,” he said. “And no matter what he finds, I’ll stand by you.”

She knew what that truly meant. If Grandeur and the Hunthadkilled her brothers, Bennick would seek vengeance with her, even if that required standing against Prince Grandeur and King Newlan. And his father, if Commander Markam was involved.

She rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped her own arm around his back. “Thank you,” she whispered.

In answer, Bennick’s fingers curled more tightly around her side, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Later that day, Clare wandered the physician’s ward dressed in one of Serene’s simple day gowns. It was dark purple with gold accents, the material gathered at the waist with a gold sash. Vera had pinned her hair up, and that was a relief from the Mortisian heat. The day was warm, and the rooms she walked were filled with people injured during the attack before Desfan’s coronation.

She recognized some of the names from Serene’s hurried introductions, but luckily the princess hadn’t had a chance to get close to too many of the lower nobles. Clare sat with them, visiting briefly with everyone in the ward. She mourned with widows who had lost their husbands, and men who had lost their wives; she held children who were now motherless or fatherless. She asked the physician’s staff what else she could do, though they were hesitant to put her to work. But a few of the more badly injured nobles needed assistance writing letters to loved ones, or having letters read to them, so Clare did that, grateful once again that languages came quite naturally to her. Her Mortisian wasn’t flawless, but it was perfectly acceptable, and no one seemed to suspect she wasn’t exactly who she pretended to be.

Bennick and Venn shadowed her, and every time Clare saw them standing together or talking in low tones to each other, her heart warmed. Thank the fates Venn and Vera had returned safely. She’d missed them both so much, and she truly didn’t know how much more loss she could survive.

Being among the wounded was emotionally draining, yet also healing in a way. After being consumed with her own loss, it felt good to think of others in need and help where she could.

A girl of about three years old—who had mercifully been safe in her parents’ suite during the attack—currently sat curled in Clare’s lap, her soft cheek pressed against Clare’s chest. The girl had whined when the physician had come over to check her mother’s wound, so Clare had hurried to scoop her up. Bouncing her gently on her lap and telling her stories she used to tell Mark and Thomas had sufficiently distracted her. Before the physician was finished, the girl had fallen asleep in her arms.

When the physician left, the mother looked to Clare with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Your Highness. You have a tender way with children.”

Clare continued to stroke the sleeping girl’s dark hair. “She’s beautiful.”

The noblewoman’s eyes shone, though there was sadness there. “Sidrah looks very much like her father.”

Clare’s stomach dropped. “Is he . . .?”

“Still alive, thank the fates,” the woman said, though tears swam in her eyes. “But he isn’t doing well. He has a terrible fever. They took him to another room . . .” She blinked quickly. “I was shot first, in the shoulder. When he realized we were under attack, he covered my body with his own. He was hit twice. The physicians don’t know if he’ll survive.” She dashed a hand across her face, swiping away her tears as her voice broke. “Kashif didn’t even want to come. He hates leaving Dorma. But I insisted we couldn’t miss the coronation. I . . . I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him. And Sidrah . . . I just pray to the fates he’ll recover.”

“I’ll pray for him as well,” Clare said, now rubbing the little girl’s back.

The woman managed a wavering smile. “Thank you, Your Highness. That would mean a great deal to me.” She took a full breath, and that seemed to help settle her emotions. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to burden you with any of that. Especially not before we’re truly introduced. I’m Ilah Hassan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Serai Hassan.”

“Please, call me Ilah. It seems only right, since my daughter is currently sleeping in your arms.” Ilah Hassan’s gaze softened as she viewed Sidrah. “She refuses to stay with her nursemaid, so she’s been spending most of her days and nights here with me. But I know she gets restless. She just hates to be away from me. And, in truth, I hate to be parted from her.”

Clare thought of all the children she’d met today, most of them visiting their parents in the physician’s ward. “Perhaps I can speak to Desfan about setting up an activity for all the children.”

“That is most thoughtful of you, Princess. I’m sure the children would enjoy a diversion. And I know all the parents would appreciate it as well.”

Clare stayed a little longer, but once Sidrah woke, she set the girl back on Ilah’s bed and excused herself to give the mother and daughter some privacy.

When Clare turned, she was surprised to see only Venn standing nearby. She hurried over to him, her voice low. “Where is Bennick? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Venn said at once. “Karim came a few moments ago to ask Bennick to join him and the serjan for Prince Liam’s interrogation.”

Clare stiffened at the mention of Liam Kaelin. She’d only met the Rydenic prince once, but that had been enough. He’d been in the process of trying to escape the prison, and when he’d seen her, he’d assumed she was Serene and ordered Latif to kill her. Latif hadn’t—obviously—but Liam Kaelin was not one of Clare’s favorite people—and that was before he’d kicked her down the stairs. Liam hadn’t orchestrated her abduction by Salim and his mercenaries, but he’d learned that Amil Havim had, and he’d used her abduction to his advantage.

Venn touched her arm. “You’ve spent hours here. Why don’t you visit Imara? According to Vera’s last conversation with Hanna, the princess is bored to the point of tearing out her hair.”

Clare didn’t need to be convinced to visit the Zennorian princess; Imara was her friend, and she could use some time with her. And, she thought, with one last look at Ilah and Sidrah, she just might have a task to combat Imara’s boredom.

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