Page 118 of Royal Rebel

“Do any of your issues involve the Hunt?” Venn asked.

Bennick threw his friend a piercing look.

Grandeur’s eyes narrowed. “Grannard, if there’s something you’d like to say to me, do please get on with it.”

Clare glanced over her shoulder at Venn. His face was hard as stone. His anger came from his experiences with the Hunt, and all that had happened to him and Vera, and the Holm children. Clare knew they’d suffered a great deal because of Grandeur’s unchecked actions against anyone he thought might be a rebel.

Bennick cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if we delayed this conversation. You must be tired from your journey, Your Highness, and—”

“No,” Grandeur said. “I wish to know exactly what you all think of me. I won’t tolerate any conversations behind my back. Not anymore.” He focused on Venn. “Do you think the Hunt has gone too far, perhaps? That what I’m doing is unjust?”

“You’re terrorizing innocent families,” Venn said between his teeth. “You’re forcing our people to flee their homes and their kingdom because they fear for their lives—”

“If they fear the Hunt,” Grandeur interrupted, “they must have something to hide.”

“They fear the Hunt because you’ve given them unchecked power,” Venn snapped. “On your orders, the Hunt is making wrongful arrests, torturing innocents, and killing indiscriminately.”

“You’re wrong,” Grandeur said firmly. “You don’t know what’s been happening in Devendra. The rebels have escalated their activity, which forced me to escalate my methods of finding them. The Hunt is thorough, but not vicious. You’ve been misinformed.”

“I’ve seen the Hunt’s actions with my own eyes,” Venn argued. “I’ve seen what you’re doing in Salvation.”

Something flashed in Grandeur’s eyes. Panic? As quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced by a flat mask. “I have heard tales of that camp since I arrived in Mortise, but I’m afraid I don’t know why you’d think I have anything to do with it.”

“You’re lying,” Venn gritted out.

“Careful,” Grandeur said coolly. “To call your prince a liar is treason.”

Clare’s spine stiffened at the threat.

Venn continued to glare. “I know you sent the Hunt to Mortise. You—”

“Venn,” Bennick said, his voice hard. “Get out.”

Venn shot him a look. “But—”

“Go. Now.” Bennick’s steeled tone brooked no argument.

Venn bristled, but he strode into the princess’s bedroom, where Vera and Bridget were working.

As soon as the door closed, Dervish let out a grunt. “A man under my command would never say such things.”

Bennick didn’t acknowledge the weak slight. His focus was on the prince. “What else do we need to discuss?”

Grandeur’s hands landed on the arms of his chair, reclining as if it were his throne. “I want to know everything that’s been happening here. I want to know about Desfan Cassian, and my sister, and my cousin—if Imara is still around, that is. Did she go to Zennor with Serene?”

“No,” Bennick said. “Princess Imara was wounded in an attack the night before the serjan’s coronation. She’s still healing.”

“I’ll have to pay her a visit.” Grandeur’s chin lifted. “Now. Tell me everything.”

Bennick began to share the basic facts of recent events. Clare listened, but the words didn’t penetrate. All she could see was Grandeur sitting there, perfectly at ease, listening to Bennick as if this report was his due. Sitting in front of her, not even looking at her, when he had probably murdered her brothers. And for what? Because he was angry at her? Because he thought she’d betrayed him?

Her blood simmered. Her pulse roared in her ears, and her throat was so thick with swallowed anger and grief that she could barely breathe.

Bennick was still talking. Grandeur was still listening.

Her chest burned, the pressure of unspoken words building until—“Did you kill them?”

The room quieted, and every eye turned to her.

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