He found he could not look away.
“Someone looks rather unhappy tonight.”
The voice cut through his concentration and tightened the muscles in his back.
Without turning around, he said, “I thought I was alone out here.”
“And yet, clearly, you’re not.”
“I would like to be alone out here.”
“I’m sure you would. But I was here first. Actually, I was here for sixteen years before you arrived and murdered practically everyone I know and love, so I believe that definitely grants me the right to this particular balcony.”
He turned to face the girl standing in the shadows and was shocked that he hadn’t noticed her immediately. Known as the Golden Princess to the citizens of Auranos, Princess Cleiona’s hair was so pale it nearly glowed beneath the moonlight. She had eyes of aquamarine, as vibrant as a lake’s surface under a summer sky.
Perhaps he hadn’t seen her because her dress was so dark: bluish, like the deepest shade of dusk in the moments just before nightfall.
Cleo emerged from her cloak of shadows and joined him at the balcony’s edge. Following his gaze, her eyes locked on Lucia and the visiting prince and princess.
“I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve become rather well acquainted with Lucia in your absence,” Cleo said.
“Have you, now.”
“Yes. I might go so far as to call us friends. She’s very special, your sister. I see why you love her so much.”
Taken at face value, it was a cordial observation.
But taken another way . . .
Magnus knew that rumors about his unrequited desire for Lucia were circulating the palace. Servants always enjoyed gossiping about people of higher stations. And sometimes they gossiped to those of higher stations.
“I’m very pleased to see that Lucia has been up and around the palace during my absence,” he said, ignoring Cleo’s unspoken accusations. “Have you met Princess Amara yet?”
“Briefly,” she said crisply and without warmth.
“Is she also to become one of your friends?”
Cleo’s demure smile remained, but her eyes stayed cold. “I certainly hope so.”
He couldn’t help but be amused by this girl. Princess Cleiona Bellos was an incredibly deceptive creature.
But there was something besides lies and passive aggression in her expression tonight. He saw fresh pain there—an edge of it that she couldn’t hide.
He waited for her to speak again.
Cleo returned her attention to the garden. “They buried Lord Aron today.”
His mouth went dry. “I heard.”
She played with a long tendril of her hair that had come loose from its pins. “I knew him all my life, through good times and bad. To know he’s gone now . . .”
Her grief over the fallen boy was misplaced. Aron deserved neither tears nor heartache from anyone, but Magnus understood grief. He’d felt it himself when his mother was killed. He still felt it, like a dark, bottomless hole in his chest.
Lord Aron had been betrothed to Cleo when, without warning, King Gaius changed their plans and bound Cleo to Magnus instead.
“How did he die?” she asked now, her voice soft.
“While battling the rebels who attacked the road camp we were inspecting.”
“And a rebel killed Aron?”
“Yes.”
Cleo turned and looked at him directly. “He died in battle. That sounds so . . . brave.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Aron was many things, but brave was never one of them.” She turned away. “Perhaps I had him all wrong. If he was courageous in the end—”
“He wasn’t.” All the acidity Magnus had felt this evening poured out of him through those two words.
Cleo regarded him with shock.
“Apologies,” he said, attempting to rein in the poison that threatened to leak from him in a horrible gush of truth. “Lord Aron acted in battle exactly according to his experience, which was lacking. He had no chance. I only regret that I wasn’t able to save him.”
Such lies. He wondered how she’d react if he told her the truth—that Aron was an insipid bootlicker, a pathetic wimp who’d sooner bow down before a conquering king and do whatever was asked of him without question than defend his or his people’s honor.
Aron only got what was coming to him.
Cleo watched him now with a frown.
“This topic has upset you,” she said.
Magnus turned toward the garden to shield his face from her. His sister and the Kraeshians were gone. “I feel nothing other than eagerness to end this conversation. Unless there’s anything else you wish to know tonight?”
“Only the truth.”
“Excuse me?”
“I feel that there’s something you’re holding back.”
“Believe me, princess, even if I were, it’s nothing you’d want to know.”
She looked at him intently as he absently brushed his fingers against the scar that stretched from the top of his left cheek to the left corner of his mouth. He despised such close scrutiny.
There was a time when Lucia had been able to see through his masks, the invisible ones he’d perfected over the years to hide his emotions, to keep a necessary distance between himself and those around him. To appear as a younger version of his father. Now that his sister had lost that ability, he had the deeply unnerving sensation that Cleo had learned how to see past his masks as well.