“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 disinterestedly, 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 kingsliege 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 with 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 among 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?”