Jonas . . .
The gown sparkled even in the dim light of Cleo’s chambers with the sheer amount of crystals sewn onto it. And it weighed nearly as much as she did. Helena and Dora laced her up mercilessly, cutting off her breath.
She tried not to worry that she’d received no message from Jonas confirming the rebels’ plans to attack in the week and a half since she’d returned to the palace.
Did she really trust him?
Currently, she had no other choice.
Jonas would do this for Paelsia—to save his people. Despite the kiss they’d shared, she knew he wasn’t doing this for her.
How you’d laugh at me, Mira. A kiss from a Paelsian rebel a week ago and I remember it as clearly as if it happened just now. I’d give anything to have you here to talk about it with.
She watched herself in the mirror as the girls worked on her hair. The glint of the purple stone in her ring caught her eye. Knowing she wore it, hidden in plain sight, made her heart race. But there was no way to know how this day would turn out, and it was her most precious and important possession.
In the reflection, she caught sight of Nic, who’d appeared at her doorway, his expression grim. She hadn’t seen him smile once since she’d broken the news to him about Mira. The pain on his face had shattered her heart. He felt that he had failed to protect his sister when she needed him the most. But he swore he would never fail Cleo.
Now he stood at the doorway to her chambers, waiting to accompany her to the carriage that would take her to the site of her wedding.
To the site of her destiny.
This day would go down in history. The Auranian people would speak of today for centuries to come. They would write books, compose songs, and pass tales down through generations of the day that Princess Cleiona joined forces with the rebels to defeat her enemy and free the entire kingdom from a king’s tyranny— even if that kingdom had never fully realized the extent of the evil the King of Blood could unleash.
And peace would reign across all of Mytica for another millennium.
The crowd of thousands cheered upon seeing her step out of the carriage when she reached the Temple of Cleiona. Guards were everywhere outside controlling the masses, holding them back.
She coaxed a smile to her lips and waved at the crowd.
This was good to see. The rebels could use such a large gathering as camouflage, even with the many guards patrolling on foot and on horseback.
Gaius’s Imperial Road began here at the temple. It stretched out into the distance, a perfectly formed ribbon of gray rock against the green landscape.
Jonas had said that there were people enslaved and abused on the road sites in Paelsia, where most of the long miles of construction were taking place. But here, and along the path they’d taken in the carriage where they’d passed workers, she didn’t witness such atrocities. Those who toiled appeared clean and well rested, working hard, but not to any extremes.
But of course not. This wasn’t a barren and isolated location in Paelsia where the king could hide such treatment. For one who wished to be embraced by his new subjects here in Auranos, to show them such clear evidence of his cruelty might push more to oppose him and join the ranks of the rebels. This was only more proof of his lies. And it was just one more reason the king needed to be stopped.
Several of her father’s former council members and their wives—important nobles, one and all—drew closer to her as they emerged from their carriages. They purred compliments and admired her dress. They squeezed her hands as they bowed and curtseyed before her. Each and every one wished her all the best on this, the most important day of her life.
Cleo’s cheeks began to ache as her false smile quickly grew difficult to maintain. Still, she lingered outside near the crowd for as long as she could.
“It’s time, your highness,” a tall, imposing man with dark hair and green eyes said. It was Cronus, the captain of King Gaius’s palace guard. A man Cleo distrusted every bit as much as the king himself, since he followed every order without hesitation no matter what that order might be. If the king commanded Cronus to kill Cleo with his bare hands, she had no doubt he would crush her without delay. He frightened her, but she refused to let that fear show on her face.
Cleo cast a final glance over her shoulder, scanning the area for any sign of Jonas. Then her gaze locked with Nic’s. He nodded, his expression tense. Finally, she took Nic’s arm and he led her up the stairs to the temple, with Cronus right behind them.
A second massive statue of the Goddess Cleiona blocked Cleo’s view of the main hall until she moved past it to see the tall and thick white marble pillars lining the long aisle. It was a huge, cavernous space, three times as large as the palace’s great room. On either side of the aisle were hundreds of guests.
There were very few red-uniformed guards in here. Most were outside controlling the crowd.
Good.
“I wish I could save you from this, Cleo,” Nic whispered.
She couldn’t reply to him past the lump of fear and dread in her throat.
With a last squeeze of her arm, Nic let go of her and moved to take his position near the wall at the front of the temple, his attention not leaving her for a moment.
By the altar, forty paces away, Prince Magnus waited. He was dressed all in black, including a stiff, formal black overcoat edged in gold and red, which had to be stiflingly hot today. The king was by his side, along with a Limerian priest in red robes who would perform the ceremony. Standing nearby were his temple attendants, also in red robes. Red and white flowers were everywhere, along with literally thousands of lit candles.