“Leave it to me to learn more,” Ioannes said instead. “I will keep watch over her and report back anything I see. This means I must abandon my search for the Kindred.”
“The others will focus on that.” Timotheus’s brow raised. “Yes, keep watch over this girl whose identity you wish to protect from me.”
Ioannes looked at him sharply. “I know you mean her no harm. Why would I wish to protect her from you?”
“This is a good question.” A small smile touched the elder’s lips. “Do you wish to leave the Sanctuary entirely to go to her side or continue to watch from afar?”
Ioannes knew several who had become deeply enamored with the world of mortals and with those they watched, but to leave the Sanctuary meant one could never return.
“I’ll stay right where I am,” he said. “Why would I wish for anything other than to be here?”
“That is what your sister once said.”
His heart gave a sharp twist. “She made a mistake.”
“Perhaps. Do you ever visit her?”
“No. She made her choice. I don’t need to witness the result. I prefer to remember her as she was—young forever. She would be an old woman now, fading away just as the land she loved more than this one fades away with only her precious seeds to keep her company.”
With that, Ioannes laid his head back against the soft, warm grass, closed his eyes, and transformed, returning by air to the cold and unforgiving world of mortals.
“The birds are watching me,” Cleo said as she paced back and forth in the palace courtyard.
“Really?” Emilia repressed a smile as she added another stroke of paint to her canvas. It was an image of the Auranos palace, well known for its façade of gold set into the polished stone, which made it appear like a glittering jewel upon the lush green land that surrounded it. “Is my little sister paranoid or is she beginning to believe in old legends?”
“Maybe both.” Cleo’s citron-colored skirts swished as she shifted direction and pointed to the corner of the grassy enclosure. “But I swear that white dove in the peach tree has studied every move I’ve made since I came out here.”
Emilia laughed and shared an amused look with Mira, who sat nearby working on her embroidery. “The Watchers are said to see through the eyes of hawks, not just any random bird.”
A long-eared squirrel scurried up the tree trunk. The bird finally flew away. “If you say so. You’re the expert on religion and myth in our family.”
“Only because you refuse to study,” Mira pointed out.
Cleo stuck her tongue out at her friend. “I have better things to do with my time than read.”
For the last week, those “better things” had included much fretting and worrying while awake and nightmares while asleep. Even if she wanted to read, her eyes were bloodshot and sore.
Emilia finally put down her paintbrush to give Cleo her full attention. “We should go back inside, where you’ll be safe from the beady eyes of spying birds.”
“You can make fun of me as much as you like, sister, but I can’t help how I feel.”
“Indeed. Perhaps it’s guilt over what happened in Paelsia that makes you feel this way.”
Nausea welled within her. She turned her face up toward the sun, so very different from the coldness in Paelsia that had sunk down to her bones. The entire trip home she had shivered, unable to get warm. The chill had stayed with her for days afterward, even once she returned to the warmth of home. “Ridiculous,” she lied. “I’ve already forgotten it.”
“Do you know that is what Father is meeting with his council about today?”
“About what?”
“About...well, you. And Aron. And everything that happened that day.”
Cleo felt the blood drain from her face. “What are they saying?”
“Nothing to be concerned with.”
“If I wasn’t to be concerned, you wouldn’t have brought the subject up at all, would you?”
Emilia swung her legs around and rose from her chair. She steadied herself for a moment and Mira looked up, concerned, and put down her needlework to come to her side. Emilia had been having some difficulty with headaches and dizziness the last couple of weeks.
“Tell me what you know,” Cleo urged, watching Emilia worriedly.
“The death of the wine seller’s son has apparently caused some political difficulties for Father. It’s become a bit of a scandal, really. Everyone’s talking about it and placing blame in various places. He’s doing his best to ease any ill feelings this has raised. Even though Auranos imports a great deal of Paelsian wine, export of it has all but shut down until the crisis eases off. Many Paelsians refuse to deal with us. They’re angry with us—and with Father for letting this happen. Of course, they’re blowing everything completely out of proportion.”
“It’s all so horrible,” Mira exclaimed. “I wish I could forget it ever happened.”
That made two of them. Cleo wrung her hands, her dismay mirrored on Mira’s face. “And how long will it take before everything goes back to normal?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Emilia replied.
Cleo despised politics mainly because she didn’t understand them. But then, she didn’t have to. Emilia was the heir to their father’s throne. She would be the next queen, not Cleo.
Thank the goddess for that. There was no way that Cleo could deal with endless council meetings and being cordial and polite to those who hadn’t earned it. Emilia had been raised from birth to be a perfect princess who could deal with any issues that arose. Cleo...well, she enjoyed sunning herself, taking her horse out for long rides in the countryside, and spending time with her friends.
She’d never been associated with such a scandal yet. Apart from the secret Aron kept, there was nothing scandalous anyone could say about Princess Cleiona. Until now, she realized anxiously.
“I need to talk to Father,” Cleo said. “To find out what’s going on.”
Without another word spoken, she left Emilia and Mira in the courtyard and entered the castle, hurrying through the well-lit hallways until she came to the council room. Through the arched doorway, sunlight shone through the many windows, their wooden shutters wide open. A large fire in the hearth also lent light to the large room. She had to wait until they were finished and all filed out before her father was alone. She paced outside the room, bristling with energy. Patience was a gift Cleo had never received.
Once everyone had left, she burst inside to find her father still seated at the head of a long polished wooden table large enough to seat a hundred men. Cleo’s great-grandfather had commissioned it from the wood of olive trees that grew outside the palace walls. A wide colorful tapestry hung on the far wall, detailing the history of Auranos. Cleo had spent many hours as a child staring at it in awe and admiring the great artwork of it. On the opposite wall was the Bellos family crest and one of many bright, sparkling mosaics depicting the Goddess Cleiona, for whom Cleo had been named.
“What’s going on?” Cleo demanded.
Her father looked up at her from a stack of scrolls and paperwork. He was dressed casually, in leathers and a finely knit tunic. His neatly groomed brown beard was threaded with gray. Some said Cleo and her father’s eyes were the exact same color of vivid blue-green, while her sister, Emilia, had inherited their late mother’s brown ones. Both Emilia and Cleo, however, had been born with their mother’s fair hair, unusual in Auranos, where the people tended to be darker-complected from the sun. Queen Elena had been the daughter of a wealthy landowner in the eastern hills of Auranos before King Corvin had seen and fallen in love with her on his coronation tour more than two decades before. Family lore had it that Elena’s ancestors had emigrated from across the Silver Sea.
“Were your ears burning, daughter?” he asked. “Or did Emilia tell you of cur
rent events?”
“What difference does it make? If it concerns me, then I should be told. So tell me!”
He held her gaze easily, unmoved by her demands. The fiery nature of his youngest daughter was nothing new to him and he weathered it as he always did. Why wouldn’t he? Cleo never caused more of a fuss than a few words spilled. She would grumble and rant but then swiftly forget about whatever troubled her as her attention caught on something else. The king recently compared her to a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower. She hadn’t taken this as a compliment.
“Your trip to Paelsia last week is a topic of contention, Cleo. A growing one, I’m afraid.”
Fear and guilt immediately crashed over her. Until today, she didn’t realize he even knew about it. Except for unburdening herself to Emilia, she hadn’t said a word about it from the moment she stepped on the ship in the Paelsia harbor. She’d hoped to put the murder of the wine seller’s son out of her mind, but it hadn’t worked very well. She relived it every night when she closed her eyes and fell asleep. Also, the murderous glare of the boy’s brother—Jonas—as he threatened her life before she, Aron, and Mira ran away haunted her.
“Apologies.” The words caught in her throat. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“I believe you. But it seems as if trouble follows you wherever you go.”
“Are you going to punish me?”
“Not precisely. However, these recent difficulties have made me decide that you will stay here at the palace from this day forward. I won’t allow you to take my ship again on your explorations until further notice.”
Despite her shame over the events in Paelsia, the very idea of this grounding made her bristle. “I can’t just be expected to never leave, like some sort of prisoner.”
“What happened is not acceptable, Cleo.”
Her throat tightened. “Don’t you think I feel horrible about it?”
“I’m sure you do. But it changes nothing.”
“It shouldn’t have happened.”
“But it did. You shouldn’t have been there at all. Paelsia is no place for a princess. It’s too dangerous.”
“But Aron—”
“Aron.” Her father’s eyes flashed. “He’s the one who killed the peasant, correct?”
Aron’s violent and unexpected turn in the market surprised even Cleo. Even though she harbored distrust for the boy, she was dismayed by his lack of guilt.
“He was,” she confirmed.
The king was quiet for a long moment as Cleo held her breath, fearful of what he would say next.
“Thank the goddess he was there to protect you,” he finally said. “I’ve never trusted the Paelsians and have encouraged the dissolution of trade between our nations. They’re an unpredictable and savage people—quick to violence. I’d always admired Lord Aron and his family, but this recent turn of events has confirmed that for me. I’m very proud of him, as I’m sure his father is too.”
Cleo had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything that might contradict her father’s opinion.
“Still,” the king continued, “I’m not happy that this unfortunate altercation happened in the midst of a large crowd. When you leave this palace, when you leave this kingdom, you must always remember that you are a representative of Auranos. I’ve been informed there is some unpleasantness now brewing in Paelsia. They’re not happy with us right now, even less so than usual. They’re already jealous of our resources while they’ve allowed their own to waste away to next to nothing. Of course, they’d see the murder of one of their own—no matter how it came about—as a statement of Auranian superiority.”
Cleo swallowed hard. “A—a statement?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “It will blow over. Auranians must be very careful when traveling through Paelsia. Such poverty and desperation inevitably leads to robbery, mugging, assault...” His face tightened. “It’s a dangerous place. And you are never to go there again for any reason.”
“Not that I want to, believe me, but...never?”
“Never.”
Overprotective, as usual. Cleo restrained herself from arguing. Much as she hated the idea that Aron had come out looking like a hero to the king for killing Tomas Agallon, she knew when to stop talking so she wouldn’t get herself into any further trouble.
“I understand,” she said instead.
He nodded and shifted through some of the papers before him. His next words struck her cold. “I’ve decided to announce your official engagement to Lord Aron very soon. It will clearly show that he killed the boy to protect you—his future bride.”
She stared at him with horror. “What?”
“Do you have a problem with that?” There was something in the king’s gaze that betrayed his otherwise casual manner this afternoon. Something restrained below the surface. Cleo’s words of protest died on her lips. There’s no way her father could know about her secret…could he?
Cleo forced a smile. “Of course, Father. Whatever you say.” She would figure out a way to change his mind when things had had time to blow over—and when she’d established for sure that he had no knowledge of that night. If he ever found out what she’d done, Cleo knew she would never be able to bear it.
He nodded. “Good girl.”
She turned toward the archway, hoping to make a quick escape.
“One more thing, Cleo.”
She froze and slowly turned back around. “Yes?”
“I’m assigning a full-time bodyguard to you, one whose main job is to keep my youngest daughter out of any future trouble.”
Her horror intensified. “But there’s no trouble here in Auranos. If I promise not to go back to Paelsia, what’s the problem?”
“Peace of mind for your father, my darling. And, no, this is not negotiable. I’m appointing Theon Ranus to the job. I expect him here soon so I can inform him of his new position.”
Theon. The guard who’d accompanied her to Paelsia. As handsome as she’d found him, that paled in comparison to the thought that he’d be around her at all hours of the day. No matter where she went. Leaving her no privacy or time to herself.
She looked at her father to see a very small glint of amusement now in his eyes. This, she realized, was part of her punishment for dragging Auranos’s name through the mud and straining relations between the lands. She forced herself to remain calm and bowed her head slightly. “As you wish, Father.”
“Very good. I knew you could be every bit as agreeable as your sister if you try hard enough.”
Cleo was certain that Emilia had simply learned over the years to bite her tongue when it came to dealing with their father in order to be the perfect princess. Cleo wasn’t that perfect. Nor had she ever wanted to be.
It was clear to her what she had to do. As soon as Theon presented himself to her for his newfound duty, she would simply relieve him of that duty. He could do what he wanted and she would do the same. The king, who usually only saw her at meals, would never know the difference.
Simple.
Her upcoming engagement to Aron was more of a problem. After what had happened in Paelsia, and Aron’s ridiculously vain and selfish behavior during the trip back home when all he seemed concerned with was the fact he’d lost his precious dagger in the wine seller’s son’s throat and hadn’t acquired any wine for his efforts, she’d decided that there was no way she would ever want to associate with him again, let alone marry him.
Not negotiable, indeed. Her father couldn’t force her to do this.
What was she thinking? Of course he could force her to marry someone she didn’t want to. He was the king! Nobody said no to the king, not even a princess.
She rushed away from the council room, through the courtyard, up a flight of stairs, and down a hall into an open corridor befo
re she let out a harsh scream of frustration.
“Ouch. You have absolutely no consideration for my eardrums, do you, princess?”
Cleo spun around in shock, heart pounding—she’d thought she was alone. She let out a long sigh of relief to see who it was. And then she promptly burst into tears.
Nicolo Cassian leaned against the smooth marble wall, his arms crossed over his chest. The curious expression on his thin face fell and his brows drew together.
“Oh, no. Don’t cry. Tears are not something I can deal with.”
“My—my father is cruel and unfair,” she sobbed, then collapsed into his arms. He gently patted her back.
“The cruelest ever. There has never been a crueler father than King Corvin. If he wasn’t king, and if I wasn’t his squire who had to follow his every order, I would strike him down, just for you.”
Nic was the older brother of Mira. Only a year separated the siblings, making Nic seventeen. Where Mira’s hair was dark with streaks of sun-kissed red, her figure warmly voluptuous, Nic’s hair was unusual for Auranos: pure red, the color of a carrot, and it stuck up in every direction. His face was more gawky, sharp angles, and with a nose that tilted slightly to the left. And his skin was covered in freckles that only intensified with the more time he spent outside in the sun. She could easily wrap her arms all the way around his waist as she buried her head in his chest and her tears sank into his wool tunic.
Nic and Mira had been the children of Sir Rogerus Cassian, a close friend of the king’s who had died, alongside his wife, in a boating accident seven years ago. The king had given the orphaned children official positions at the palace, allowing them to live here and take meals side by side with him, Cleo, and Emilia and to be educated by the palace tutors. While Mira was the lady-in-waiting to Emilia, Nic had proved himself a very useful squire to the king himself—a position envied by many.
If Mira was Cleo’s closest friend, then Nic was Cleo’s closest friend who was a boy. She felt more comfortable in his company than anyone except her sister’s—even Mira’s, if she was being honest. And this was not the first time, nor did she think it would be the last, that she would cry on his shoulder.