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  Finally, she opened her hand to look at the small piece of jewelry. “It belonged to your mother,” her father had told her moments before his death. “She always believed it had the power to help find the Kindred. If you can find it, you’ll be powerful enough to take back this kingdom from those who seek to destroy us all.”

  “I’m trying, Father,” she whispered, tears of frustration and grief stinging her eyes. “But I don’t know how. I wish you were here. I miss you and Emilia so much.”

  The weeks of searching in the palace library had yielded nothing.

  Maybe he was wrong.

  There was a hard knock on her door and she quickly scrambled to hide the ring behind the loose stone in her wall. A moment later, the door opened and two young attendants entered, one fair, one dark. Both Limerian. Cleo wasn’t allowed to have servants from her own kingdom anymore.

  “We’ve been sent to help you get ready for your trip,” the fair-haired one, Helena, said.

  “Trip?” Cleo repeated. “Where am I going?”

  “To Hawk’s Brow,” the other, Dora, said, bottomless envy shining in her dark eyes. “The queen herself is taking you there. You have an appointment with Lorenzo today.”

  It was a name Cleo knew well from a simpler time. A famous man known throughout Auranos for his flawless taste and exemplary style, a man who had dressed Cleo and her sister since they reached adolescence.

  The reality of the situation dawned. Queen Althea was accompanying Cleo to the fitting of her wedding gown.

  Her stomach sank. The sensation of being cornered, of being ordered to do what she didn’t want to, settled over her. But then she realized this would be the first time she left the palace since the day after she had been captured.

  There was a chance Lorenzo might secretly assist her, and her thoughts went again to the ring. Hawk’s Brow was the home of many scholars and artists—citizens who were well versed in history and legend. If she could speak with the dressmaker alone and enlist him to her cause . . .

  “Fine,” she said, raising her chin. “Then let’s not keep the queen waiting.”

  • • •

  “I hear you’re going to Hawk’s Brow today, Cleo.”

  The slithering words slowed her steps as she moved down the hallway after dismissing Helena and Dora once they’d dressed her in traveling robes.

  “Lord Aron . . .” Cleo turned to see him loitering nearby.

  The last time she’d been in Hawk’s Brow had been nearly a year ago, she remembered. It was a gathering of friends who’d spent a few days in the large Auranian city, nestled along the coastline, without a single care on their minds apart from having fun. Aron had been there as well. At the time, she’d thought herself infatuated with him.

  How times had changed.

  “I know you’re still angry with me for revealing your secret.” His eyes glittered from the torchlight set into the smooth stone wall beside him.

  She forced a gracious smile. It took effort. “Such unpleasantries are in the past now. Let’s leave them there.”

  He took hold of her arms as she tried to slip past him. “You really think I’ve given up so easily?”

  The wine was heavy on his breath. He only drank Paelsian wine, which caused deep inebriation with no chance of illness afterward. This, of course, made it difficult to know when best to stop.

  “Easily? What part of this has been easy?”

  “Despite everything, I still want you.”

  She wrenched away from him, shoving him backward. “Don’t be so pathetic, Aron. You never wanted me. You wanted the position marrying me would put you in. You would be very wise to let it go now. You’ve lost.”

  We all have . . . for the moment.

  Aron narrowed his eyes. “If that’s so, then maybe I’ll set my sights on your little friend, Mira. She wouldn’t deny me—not if she knew what was good for her. Would it make you jealous if I took her as a lover?”

  She willed herself to remain calm. “Leave Mira alone, you drunken ass.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or, trust me, I’ll cut off more than your tongue.”

  She had no time for this nonsense, disturbing though it was. Cleo turned and began walking away from him, but his footsteps followed her. She swiftly moved past the library, avoiding looking directly at the portraits of the Damoras that now hung in the place of her family’s.

  Eyes focused on her path, she nearly ran right into Magnus as he emerged from the library, books in his arms. He glanced at her uninterestedly, then looked over her shoulder. At the sight of Magnus, Aron’s steps faltered. He nodded to the prince and continued on past them, slowly, to disappear around the next corner.

  “Seems you’re being pursued, princess. My father’s new kings-liege doesn’t give up on true love easily, does he?”

  True love. Such a notion was laughable. “He will. Eventually.”

  She eyed the books the prince held. It surprised her to see they all had to do with magic and legend—books she’d already skimmed only to find they held no useful answers.

  He noticed that his selections had drawn her attention. “Just a little light reading to pass the boring days.”

  She chanced a look into his dark brown eyes. “You believe in magic?”

  “Of course not. Only a fool would believe in such nonsense.” He gave her an unpleasant smirk. “You care what I might believe in?”

  “I thought you only cared about power and position at any cost. What more should I know?”

  “Nothing at all.” His smirk held, but his eyes were cold. “Seems your other admirer also lingers nearby. So many boys seem to be enamored of you, I’d need a ledger to keep track of them all.”

  “Princess,” Nic’s voice called out from her left, “I was sent to find you.”

  She tore her attention from the loathsome prince. Nic approached her swiftly, but his wary gaze was focused on Magnus.

  The sight of Nic was always a relief and lightened her mood—even in the presence of an enemy. But today, her expression soured to see his clothes. Not clothes. Uniform.

  Red. Familiar. Hateful. But necessary.

  After finding Nic toiling in the stables, and the morning after her shocking and unwelcome visit from Jonas Agallon in the darkness of her chambers, Cleo had gone directly to the king himself. She made no mention of the rebel but asked—or, rather, begged—for Nic to be reassigned to another part of the palace. Magnus had been present during this and had argued for Nic to remain indefinitely exactly where he was.

  “You sent the former king’s squire to work in the stables and didn’t tell me?” the king asked, perplexed. “Such a boy would have more value than that to me elsewhere.”

  Cleo had been surprised to learn Magnus hadn’t shared anything with his father about what Nic had done to gain him such a punishment. Nor did the prince choose to reveal such details presently. Perhaps he was ashamed and embarrassed by what had happened in Paelsia the day he’d killed Theon.

  He should be.

  “There are reasons for everything I do,” was all Magnus would say. “Nicolo Cassian deserves to remain in the horse filth indefinitely.”

  “Unless you can give me a solid reason why, I will have to disagree with you.”

  Magnus kept his mouth closed but cast a dark look at Cleo, who inwardly glowed from this small victory.

  Cleo had won this round. However, instead of shoveling muck and horse filth, Nic had been assigned to the palace guard and was now forced to wear the uniform of their enemy. Nic’s jaw was tight and his focus didn’t leave Magnus. “Princess, is everything all right?”

  “Of course,” she said quietly. “As well as can be expected.”

  Magnus actually snorted at this. “Don’t worry. I haven’t heaped any indignities upon your fair princess today. Then again, it is quite earl
y.”

  Nic’s gaze burned with hatred. “If you should ever think to harm her, you will answer to me.”

  “And you should be very careful how you speak to your superiors. That sounded very near a threat.”

  “Make no mistake, Prince Magnus, no matter how low you try to push me, I won’t let anything unpleasant happen to Cleo ever again.”

  Magnus’s expression remained amused. “You entertain me, Cassian. Perhaps I’m glad I didn’t ask for your head.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Cleo asked curiously. “And why didn’t you tell the king what happened that day?”

  Magnus’s mouth tightened. “I felt it . . . unnecessary. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must visit my sister. May you have a fruitful journey to Hawk’s Brow with my mother, princess.”

  Cleo studied the prince as he walked away. The boy was a complete and utter enigma to her.

  She preferred to keep it that way.

  “I hate him,” Nic said through clenched teeth.

  “Really?” Cleo turned to him, angry now. “You hide it so well.”

  “You expect me to—”

  “You must not say such things to him no matter how you feel! Say them to me in confidence, but not to him. He could still order your execution for the slightest insult and you know it!”

  Nic grimaced, eyes now lowered to the ground. “You’re right. Apologies, Cleo.”

  “No apologies necessary. I only ask that you be more careful.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I refuse to lose you. Ever. Understand?”

  “The feeling’s entirely mutual.” He was smiling now.

  “What is it?” she asked, confused. She saw no humor at all in this conversation.

  “You’re different than you used to be. More opinionated. More . . . forceful.” His smile faded. “However, such strength has been forged through pain and loss. I wish I could take it all away so you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.”

  Cleo felt an urge to tell him about her ring, but she held her tongue for fear of endangering him with such information. The ring would remain her secret . . . at least until she learned all of its secrets.

  “Let’s go,” she said instead. “Off to Hawk’s Brow. I shall insist that you’re to be my personal bodyguard who will stay by my side every moment we’re gone.”

  This summoned a grin once again. “Do you need such protection for a simple dress fitting?”

  “I think so,” she said, finally finding her own smile. “Don’t forget, I will be forced to spend the entire day in the company of the queen.”

  • • •

  “I haven’t seen very much of Auranos in my life,” the queen said a few hours later, sitting across from Cleo in the enclosed carriage. They had a half dozen guards on horseback riding in front and behind them. Nic sat up front with the driver, leaving Cleo to her fate within.

  “Oh?” She forced herself to respond. To say the ride had been awkward, with the two stuck making small talk about the warm spring weather and the sweeping green landscape stretched out before them, would be putting it mildly.

  “Of course, Gaius and I included Auranos in our tour of Mytica after our wedding. Gaius’s father felt it was an excellent idea to strengthen relations between the lands. Alas, it didn’t last long. Apart from our short-lived trip back here ten years ago to meet your family, I’ve remained in Limeros ever since.”

  And I can’t wait to send you back there with great force, Cleo thought.

  “How did you meet King Gaius?” she asked, feeling as if she was required to keep up her side of this strained conversation, as if she cared to learn more about Queen Althea or her horrible family.

  “I was chosen to be his bride. My father was a friend to King Davidus, Gaius’s father. My father was rich. I was . . . beautiful. It seemed the perfect match.” The queen folded her hands on her lap, her expression serene. “Arranged marriages are a necessity of royalty, my dear.”

  “I know that.” After all, it had been drummed into her head since she was a child.

  “You should also know that I love my son very much. I want him to be happy, no matter whom he marries. That Gaius has decided it is to be you, I must admit, gives me some reservation.”

  “Really?” That made two of them, but that the queen chose to admit this aloud was very interesting.

  “There have been moments of . . . strain . . . in my marriage.” The queen’s pallid cheeks tightened. “But I have always done what is right to uphold my position as a dutiful wife. For nearly twenty years I have stood by my husband’s side in times both dark and light. Even when I’ve disagreed with his decisions, his actions, I have not publicly said a thing against him. This is how a proper queen must conduct herself.”

  “Of course it is,” Cleo said, the words sticking in her throat. That was not how she would conduct herself, if and when she retrieved her kingdom.

  “I’m not blind, princess. I see how difficult it’s been for you, and believe me, I do empathize with all you’ve lost due to my husband’s lust for power. But I need you to know one very important thing . . . and I mean this with all my heart and soul, speaking as one woman forced into an arranged marriage to another.”

  Her soft, almost kind words came as a great surprise. “What is it?”

  Queen Althea leaned forward and grasped Cleo’s hands. “If you cause my son any pain, I will see you dead. Do you understand me, my dear?”

  The woman said all this quietly, but there was no mistaking the weight of such a warning. A shiver ran down Cleo’s spine. “I understand, your highness.”

  “Good.” The queen nodded and released her grip on Cleo’s hands. She glanced out the window. “Ah, very good. We’ve arrived in Hawk’s Brow.”

  Heart pounding from the unexpected threat, Cleo peered out the small window to see the city she remembered so well, the home to forty thousand Auranians.

  Cleo had always loved it here so much. The color. The spectacle. The flamboyant citizens and the music in the air no matter where one went. The carriage wound its way along streets made from polished, interlocking brick that sparkled under the bright sun. The shops and taverns lining the street gleamed silver and bronze, with bright copper roofs. Large trees heavy with the pink and purple blossoms of the season leaned over the roadways, creating natural arches of colorful and fragrant beauty.

  With King Gaius on the throne, she’d expected it to be different now. Perhaps the music would be silenced. The colors would be muted. She’d expected to see shutters closed as the carriage rolled past small homes and larger villas.

  But there was nothing like that. The city seemed much the same as the last time she’d been here, with one major difference. Red uniformed guards spotted the cityscape like drops of blood, mixing with Auranians as if this was a normal sight.

  The king wished to rule over her people, to fool them into believing he was a good king with an unfortunately harsh reputation. It was easier to control gullible citizens fearful of losing their status or lifestyle than those who were downtrodden and abused and motivated to rise up and oppose him. So, except for some increased security, Hawk’s Brow appeared just as it had the last time she was here.

  She should be glad for this, that her people were not suffering as horribly as she’d expected with a greedy king perched upon Auranos’s throne.

  Instead, cold dread slithered into her gut.

  This will not last.

  How long would it be before everything changed and the people here, unsuspecting and soft from generations of luxurious living, would feel the pain caused by the King of Blood ruling over them? Or before those who did not so readily accept their new king caused enough unrest to unleash his wrath upon the innocent, rather than only upon accused rebels? It was a disturbing thought.

  The carriage came to a halt in front of the dress shop Cleo remembered so well. T
here was a crowd of about a hundred citizens gathered here, a burst of welcome color and friendly greeting.

  “Princess Cleo!” a group of young girls called out to her. “We love you!”

  Their collective voices caused a lump in her throat. She waved from the window in their direction and tried to smile brightly.

  Nic jumped down off the top of the carriage to open the door and help the queen out and then Cleo herself. “And here we are,” he said, a half grin on his face.

  “Here we are.”

  He lowered his voice so the queen would not hear. “Are you ready for this?”

  “I suppose I must act as if I am.”

  “A warning. Do not look to your left if you wish to keep ahold of your breakfast.”

  Of course, with a warning like that, she had to look to her left. There, two artists were toiling feverishly on a mural on the side of a popular tavern: a plaster fresco that looked a great deal like a portrait of her and Magnus. She shuddered.

  “How can they accept all this so easily?” she whispered. “Are they really so naive?”

  “Not everyone,” Nic replied, his jaw tight. “But I think most are too afraid to see the truth.”

  A familiar man moved out of the store before them and rushed enthusiastically toward Cleo and the queen. The tunic he wore was the most vivid shade of purple Cleo had ever seen. It reminded her of squashed grapes on the brightest summer day. He was completely bald, and his large ears gleamed with gold hoop earrings.

  He bowed so deeply it looked painful. “Queen Althea, your gracious majesty. I am Lorenzo Tavera. I am deeply honored to welcome you to my humble store.”

  The store he referred to could never honestly be described as humble. It was roughly the size of Aron’s family’s large villa in the palace city, three stories tall and encased in sparkling stained glass windows trimmed with silver and gold.

  “I am pleased to be here,” she replied. “I was told you are the best dressmaker in this or any other land.”

  “If I might be so bold to say, you were told correctly, your highness.”