Cleo’s breath left her in a rush.
The world blurred before her eyes and there was a ringing in her ears. She felt a tug as the king pulled her closer, and the next moment something warm and dry grasped her hand. She looked up to see Magnus next to her, his face as impassive and unreadable as always. His black hair hung low over his forehead, framing his dark brown eyes as he focused on the crowd—a crowd that cheered and yelled as if this stomach-churning horror was wonderful news.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Magnus dropped her hand and turned toward his mother, who had taken hold of his arm.
Aron grabbed her wrist and drew her back into the castle past the others on the balcony. His breath, as always, smelled like wine and acrid cigarillo smoke.
“What just happened out there?” he hissed.
“I—I’m not sure.”
Aron’s face was as red as a beet. “Did you know this would happen? That he planned to break our engagement?”
“No, of course not! I had no idea until . . . until—” Oh goddess, what just happened? It couldn’t be true!
“He can’t change what is meant to be.” Aron was so livid he was literally spitting. “We’re supposed to be together, no one else! It was decided!”
“Of course we are,” she managed to say, much more demurely than she felt. She had no deep affection for handsome but vapid Lord Aron, but she would rather spend a thousand years in his constant company than an hour alone with Magnus.
The dark prince had killed the first boy she’d ever loved—stabbed him through the back with a sword while Theon had been trying to protect her. The memory of Theon’s death made a fresh swell of grief rise within her, hot and thick enough to choke on.
Imprisoned for weeks at the palace after her capture, Cleo had experienced the very depths of despair and grief—for Theon, for her father, for her sister, Emilia. All ripped away from her. Such sorrow had carved a cold, bottomless hole in her chest that could never be filled. She could lose herself in such darkness if she wasn’t careful.
“I can fix this.” The scent of wine on Aron’s breath was even greater than normal today. His gaze moved toward the king as he exited the balcony. “Your majesty, it’s imperative that I speak with you immediately!”
The king wore a bright smile on his face to match the golden, ruby-encrusted crown Cleo’s fingers itched to tear from his head. That crown and everything it represented belonged to her father.
It belonged to her.
“Of course I’d be happy to speak with you on any matter, Lord Aron.”
“In private, your majesty.”
King Gaius raised an eyebrow, dark humor lighting his face as he gazed at the sputtering young lord before him. “If you insist.”
The two departed without delay, leaving Cleo standing there alone, supporting herself against the cool, smooth wall as she tried to gather her breath and her thoughts—both racing.
Magnus was next to leave the balcony. He glanced at her, his face like stone. “Seems that my father had a little surprise in store for us today, didn’t he?”
The prince was both coldly handsome, like his snake of a father, and imposingly tall. Cleo had seen many girls look at him in the last three weeks, their eyes sparkling with interest. The only thing that marred his good looks was a vicious scar on his right cheek, an arc that went from the top of his ear to the corner of his mouth.
The taste of bile rose in her throat at the sight of him. “Don’t try to make me believe you knew nothing about this.”
“I’m not trying to make you believe anything, princess. Frankly, I don’t particularly care what you believe about me or anyone else.”
“It won’t happen.” Her voice was quiet but strong. “I will never marry you.”
He lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Explain that to my father.”
“I’m explaining it to you.”
“My father makes the decisions and he likes them followed without argument. You’re more than welcome to fight him on this.”
Her outrage had quickly dissipated and she was left only with disbelief. “This has to be a dream. No, not a dream. A nightmare—a horrible nightmare.”
Magnus’s lips thinned. “For us both, princess. Make no mistake about that.”
Queen Althea approached and clasped Cleo’s hands. Hers were dry and warm, just like her son’s. It seemed as if she were attempting a smile, but the expression looked as false on her finely lined face as feathers on a goat.
“My dear, it’s my honor to welcome you into our family. One day I’m sure you’ll make an extraordinary queen.”
Cleo bit her tongue nearly hard enough to draw blood in order to keep from blurting out that she already was queen. Only the King of Blood stood in the way of her rightful title.
“We will have a great deal to do to plan a wedding befitting my son,” the queen continued, as if she hadn’t noticed Cleo’s lack of reply. “And we’ll need to do it quickly given the swiftness of the wedding date. I have heard of an exemplary dressmaker in Hawk’s Brow who will be perfect to create your gown. We’ll make a trip there soon. It will be good for the people to see their beloved golden princess walking among them once again. It will raise spirits throughout the entire kingdom.”
Cleo couldn’t find enough words to speak, so she didn’t even try. She nodded and looked down, eyes lowered to conceal her rage. Through her lashes she saw Queen Althea glance at Magnus, as if delivering some sort of message through her pale blue eyes, before she nodded at them both and moved away down the hall.
“My mother knows a great deal about fashion and beauty,” Magnus said flippantly. “It’s her passion, one she always wished my sister shared.”
His sister—Princess Lucia. For three weeks now the Limerian princess lay comatose after being injured in the explosion that tore open the entrance to the palace and allowed King Gaius and his army their violent victory.
Cleo had noticed that the mention of his ailing sister was the only thing that ever seemed to bring a flicker of emotion to Magnus’s steely gaze. Many healers had come to see Lucia, some of the greatest and most accomplished in the land. No one could determine what was wrong with her or find any wound she’d sustained to explain her condition.
Cleo had suggested that her own dear friend, her sister’s former lady-in-waiting, Mira Cassian, be assigned as Lucia’s attendant in hopes that the king would find Mira too useful to demote to scullery maid. Thankfully, it had worked. Mira told Cleo the princess would rise up from her slumber as if in a trance, enough to consume food specially blended smooth to ensure her ongoing survival, but was never truly conscious. It was a true mystery what had befallen the princess of Limeros.
“Let me make this very clear, Prince Magnus,” Cleo said evenly, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice. “I will never be forced to marry someone I hate. And I hate you.”
He regarded her for a moment, as if she was something he could easily crush beneath the sole of his boot if he chose to. “Be very careful how you speak to me, Princess Cleiona.”
She raised her chin. “Or what will you do? Will you run a sword through me when I turn my back on you as you did with Theon, you spineless coward?”
In an instant, he grabbed hold of her arm tight enough to make her shriek and pushed her up against the stone wall. Anger flashed through his gaze, and something unexpected—something like pain.
“Never, ever call me a coward again if you value your life, princess. Fair warning.”
His current fiery expression was so different from his usual look of ice that it confused her. Was he furious or wounded by her words? Could he be both?
“Release me,” she hissed.
His eyes—cold, like black diamonds, soulless, evil—pinned her for another moment before he let go of her so abruptly that she slumped down against the wall.
&nbs
p; A guard wearing the all-too-familiar red Limerian uniform approached. “Prince Magnus, your father summons both you and the princess to his throne room immediately.”
Magnus finally tore his gaze from hers to cast a dark look toward the guard. “Very well.”
Cleo’s stomach tied itself into knots. Could Aron have been successful in his argument against this new betrothal?
In the throne room, King Gaius had draped himself upon her father’s golden chair. Sprawled on the floor at his feet were two of his horrible dogs—large, slobbering wolfhounds that growled whenever she came even a step too close. They always seemed more like demons from the darklands to Cleo than dogs.
A sudden memory from her childhood flashed before her eyes—her father seated upon this very throne, his arms stretched out to her when she’d successfully slipped away from her strict nursemaid to run directly toward him and crawl up on his lap.
She prayed that her eyes didn’t reveal how very much she wanted to avenge her father’s death. On the surface, she was just a girl not yet out of her teens, small in stature and slight in figure, born and bred into a spoiled life of excess and luxury. At first glance, no one would ever perceive her as a threat.
But she knew that she was. Her heart now beat for one reason, the only thing that helped stanch the flow of incapacitating grief.
Vengeance.
Cleo knew she continued to live and breathe because King Gaius saw value in keeping the Auranian princess alive and well. She was required to represent what remained of the royal Bellos family line in all matters when it came to the king’s agenda and his power over the Auranian people. She was a sparrow in a gilded cage, taken out to show others how pretty and how well-behaved she was when needed.
So she would be pretty and well-behaved. For now.
But not forever.
“My dear girl,” the king said as she and Magnus approached. “You grow lovelier with each day that passes. It’s quite remarkable.”
And you grow more hateful and disgusting.
“Thank you, your majesty,” she said as sweetly as she could. The king was a snake in the skin of a man and she would never underestimate the strength of his bite.
“Were you pleased by my surprise announcement today?” he asked.
She fought to keep her controlled expression from slipping. “I’m very grateful that you’ve allowed me such an honorable place in your kingdom.”
His smile stretched, but it was one that never met his dark brown eyes—the exact same shade as Magnus’s. “And you, my son. I’m sure you were caught unawares as well. It was a last-minute decision, to tell you the truth. I thought it would please the people, and I was right. It did.”
“As always,” Magnus replied, “I defer to your judgment.”
The sound of the prince’s voice, low and even and so much like his father’s, set Cleo’s nerves on edge more than they already were.
“Lord Aron wanted to speak with me in private,” the king said.
Private? A half dozen guards stood around the edges of the room, with two on the outer side of the archway leading into the throne room. Next to the king on a smaller throne sat Queen Althea, her gaze straight forward, her lips set into a measured expression that betrayed no emotion at all. She might as well have been sleeping with her eyes wide open.
Aron stood to the right, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Yes,” he spoke up, his tone arrogant, “I explained to the king that this is an unacceptable change. That the people were looking very much forward to our wedding. Mother has already taken great strides in planning our ceremony. I wanted to talk to the king and have him reconsider his decision today. There are plenty of beautiful, titled girls in Auranos who would be much better suited to Prince Magnus.”
King Gaius cocked his head, regarding Aron with barely restrained amusement, as if he were a trained monkey. “Quite. And how do you feel about this abrupt change, Princess Cleiona?”
Her mouth had gone dry after hearing Aron’s little rant, which sounded like a child stomping his foot when his toys were taken from him at bedtime. Aron was so accustomed to getting his way that it had completely disrupted his common sense. However, she couldn’t entirely blame him for trying to salvage what little power he had in the palace. But if he were smart—and she already knew brains were never Aron’s greatest asset—he would see that Cleo no longer wielded any power here, had no influence apart from being a figurehead meant to keep the Auranian people in line and gain their trust.
She forced a smile. “Of course, I certainly bow to whatever decision the wise king makes on my behalf.” The falseness of the words twisted in her throat. “It’s just . . . Aron might have some weight to his argument. The kingdom was rather smitten by the thought of us together after Aron’s very . . . well, fierce protection of me that day in the Paelsian market.”
She inwardly shuddered at the memory of Tomas Agallon’s murder, an act that had nothing to do with protection and more to do with Aron overreacting to a personal insult.
“I assure you, I did consider this.” The king’s stolen crown caught the torchlight and glinted. “Lord Aron is wholly embraced by the Auranian people, without question. It’s one of the reasons I’ve just informed him of my decision to bestow the title of kings-liege upon him.”
Aron bowed deeply. “And I am very pleased by this honor, your majesty.”
“Kingsliege,” Magnus mused from beside her, loud enough for only Cleo to hear. “Such a lofty title for one who’s never even been in battle. How deeply pathetic.”
King Gaius studied Cleo closely. “Do you wish to remain engaged to Lord Aron?”
She wanted to answer immediately and in the affirmative—Aron, despite his shortcomings, was a more palatable prospect than Magnus—but found herself pausing to think it through. She wasn’t simple-minded enough to believe such “wishes” would be granted. After announcing the wedding date to the citizens outside, there was absolutely no chance the king would renege on his proclamation. All agreeing with Aron would do was make her look like a fool—an ungrateful and disrespectful fool.
Cleo lowered her head and studied the dogs by the king’s feet as if too shy to meet his gaze directly. “Your majesty, I wish only to please you.”
He gave her a shallow nod, as if it was the correct response. “Then I appreciate your allowing me to make this choice on your behalf.”
Aron let out a grunt of disgust. “Oh, come on, Cleo!”
She gave him a wary look, silently cautioning him to be careful what he said. “Aron, you must see that the king knows what is right.”
“But we were meant to be together,” he whined.
“You will find another bride, Aron. But I’m afraid it can’t be me.”
Anger lit his gaze and he spun to face Prince Magnus. “It’s very important for a bride to be pure on her wedding night. Is this not so?”
Cleo’s cheeks began to flame. “Aron!”
He gestured wildly at her. “Cleo already gave her chastity to me. We’ve shared flesh. She is not pure!”
A deadly silence fell.
Cleo grappled to hold on to her self-control but felt it slipping from her grasp. Here it was, her horrible secret kept hidden from the world—tossed out like a landed fish, flopping and slimy for all to see.
Foggy memories of a party, too much wine, a spoiled princess who enjoyed forgetting herself and having fun—and then Aron, a handsome and popular lord all her friends desired, who wanted to be with her more than anyone else. Once she sobered, she realized it was a horrific mistake to sacrifice her virginity to such a vain and shallow boy.
To be viewed now as a fallen princess in a land that valued purity as a bride’s most important virtue could be her ultimate downfall. She would lose what little power she had left in the palace.
Only one choice could help her salvage t
his situation.
“Oh, Aron,” she said as drily as she could manage. “I almost feel sorry for you that you must lie to such extremes today. Can’t you simply accept defeat gracefully?”
His eyes widened so much that she could see the whites all around his irises. “Lie? It’s not a lie! You wanted me as I wanted you! You must admit that this is the truth and be grateful that I even still want you!”
King Gaius leaned back in the throne and regarded them, his fingers templed. “Seems that we have a disagreement here. The truth is very important to me, the most important thing of all. Lies are intolerable. Princess, are you saying that this boy would lie about something so important?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. She gazed at the king, clear-eyed. “He lies.”
“Cleo!” Aron sputtered, outraged.
“Then,” the king said, “I have no choice but to believe you.” He flicked a glance at Magnus. “Tell me, my son, what do we usually do in Limeros with those who would lie to a king?”
Magnus’s face was unreadable as always, his arms crossed over his chest. “The penalty for lying is to have one’s tongue cut out.”
The king nodded, then gestured toward the guards.
Two guards stepped forward and took hold of Aron’s arms tightly. He gasped, his face wild with fear.
“Your majesty, you can’t do this! I’m not lying! I would never lie to you—I obey your command in all ways. You are my king now! Please, you must believe me!”
The king said nothing, but nodded at another guard who approached, drawing a dagger from the sheath at his waist.
Aron was forced to his knees. A fourth guard took hold of his jaw, grabbed a handful of his hair, and wrenched open Aron’s mouth. The guard used a metal clamp to pull his tongue out from between his lips and Aron let out a strangled cry of horror.
Cleo watched all of this unfold in cold shock.
She hated Aron. She hated that she’d allowed herself to share flesh with him—taking solace only in the fact that she’d been too drunk to remember much about the act itself. She hated that he’d killed Tomas Agallon without a moment’s remorse. She hated that her father had betrothed her to him. She hated that Aron was so thoughtless that he didn’t understand why any of this was so vile to her.