Page 112 of Royal Rebel

He looked down at the petals, artfully arranged at the end of the green stem. His fingers tightened around it, and then he looked out over the crowd. Some were staring at the carriage—wondering what the delay was about, no doubt. Bennick scanned every face he could see, peered into the shadowed alleys. He didn’t know if Zilas was there. But if he was, he wanted to make sure his brother understoodhismessage.

Bennick snapped the blossom from the stem. He tossed both pieces of the rose under the carriage, and he joined Clare inside.

The drive back to the palace was tense. Bennick sat beside Clare, and he didn’t hesitate to take her hand. With the curtains drawn, no one could see them.

Venn sat on the cushioned bench across from them, his expression hard. “If he really did leave that . . . I don’t know what to tell Vera.”

“We can’t keep her in the dark,” Clare said at once. “She needs to know.”

Of course Vera had to be told. The Rose had murdered her sister.

And yet, with every moment that passed, Bennick began to wonder if Karim was right. Maybe the rose had been an innocent gift after all. If the rosehadbeen from Zilas, he wasn’t following his usual pattern—there had been no note. No body or other horrific thing. Just the single red rose.

Clare’s fingers tightened around Bennick’s. “Are you all right?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, ignoring his concern.

He squeezed her hand. “I’m fine. I’m actually wondering if we overreacted.”

Venn’s brow furrowed. “Either way, I’m telling Vera.”

“Of course,” Bennick said. “But instead of letting fear rule us, I think we simply take some added precautions—especially until we know for sure if it was from him.”

Venn and Clare both nodded. Their tension remained, but it relaxed a little. They were trusting him. Fates, he hoped he was handling this the right way. But he truly didn’t know what else to do.

When the carriage slowed, Bennick brushed the curtain aside to check their position. They were at the castle, but still outside the main gate. Another carriage was ahead of them, and from what he could tell, the guards weren’t ready to wave it through. Since Desfan had increased security at the gates, it wasn’t a surprise to see a stalled carriage there, awaiting admittance.

“What is it?” Venn asked.

Before Bennick could say anything, one of the guards spotted their carriage and hurried over. He looked concerned.

Not a good sign.

Bennick released Clare’s hand. “Stay with Venn,” he said, reaching for the door.

Clare and Venn both frowned, but said nothing as he stepped out. He closed the door before the Mortisian guard reached him. “Captain Markam,” the man said, relief drawing across his face. “I’m glad you’re here.” He started back toward the main gate and the carriage waiting there.

Bennick quickly fell into step beside him. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’m not sure what to do,” the guard confessed. “There’s a man here, claiming to be—”

“Claiming to be?” a familiar but unexpected voice snapped from inside the unmarked carriage. “IamPrince Grandeur Demoi, heir to the Devendran throne.”

Bennick stiffened as Grandeur pushed open the carriage door and stepped down. He wore fine clothes, though they were travel-worn, and an irritated scowl twisted his normally handsome features. Captain Dervish, Grandeur’s lead bodyguard, was right behind him.

Bennick despised Dervish. The man was insufferable, but more than that, he’d manipulated circumstances and stolen Wilf’s position when Wilf had been at his lowest after his wife’s death. Dervish was a snake. But then, Grandeur had turned out to be a snake as well.

Once, Bennick had thought the Crown Prince of Devendra to be a calm, kind man. Grandeur had befriended Clare when she’d first become Serene’s decoy, and he’d never shown any tendency toward the fits of temper Serene sometimes displayed, or the dark sourness King Newlan had a reputation for. Now, Bennick knewthatGrandeur was a lie.

Even if the man standing before him had nothing to do with the deaths of Clare’s little brothers, he was in charge of the Hunt. Bennick’s pulse suddenly thudded harder and faster.

Grandeur’s gaze sliced to Bennick, and his shoulders drew up. “Captain Markam. Good. Tell this man who I am.”

Bennick’s throat tightened. Grandeur was the future king of Devendra. Until Bennick had irrefutable proof of his crimes, there was nothing he could say or do. He faced the guard. “This is Prince Grandeur Demoi. You may admit him.”

The Mortisian guard dipped his chin and moved for the gate, ordering for it to be opened.

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