“Tell me more about what happened in Paelsia,” she urged.
He met her gaze again only to find that she’d drawn alarmingly closer to him. “Careful, princess. Remember what happened the last time we shared a balcony. You don’t want that to happen again, do you?”
He expected to see disgust flash in her eyes at being reminded of their wedding tour, when they’d been forced to share a kiss in front of an eager, cheering crowd.
Their first kiss and, as he’d promised her at the time, their last.
“Good night, Prince Magnus.”
Without another word and only a chill in her voice to indicate her reaction to the memory, Cleo turned and exited the balcony, leaving him alone in the darkness.
CHAPTER 3
LYSANDRA
AURANOS
Lysandra pounded on the bars of her cell until she finally earned the attention of a passing guard.
“When is Gregor coming back?” she demanded.
“What do you care? Mind your own business, girl. You might stay alive longer.”
Why did she care? Because Gregor was her brother—something the guards didn’t know. And because she loved him, and wanted him to be safe and strong so they could escape this overcrowded dungeon stinking of filth and death.
Gregor had been arrested after attempting to assassinate Prince Magnus in Limeros during his wedding tour. He’d claimed to have had contact with an immortal Watcher named Phaedra through his dreams—a confession that most would consider to be the ravings of a madman. But it seemed as though King Gaius didn’t share that opinion. Gregor wouldn’t have been spared execution for so long if the king didn’t believe him valuable.
The guard still stood there, staring at Lysandra through the bars with growing interest.
She glared back at him. “What?”
“Pretty little girl, aren’t you? Such prettiness in an ugly place like this.”
“I’m not a little girl.”
Keep looking at me like that, she thought, and I will claw out your eyes.
“You’re a rebel.” He squinted at her. “Not too many girls I know like to fight.”
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, keeping her mouth shut until he left to speak to another guard. Their voices were low, but Lysandra watched as their expressions grew more smug and self-satisfied with every word.
Lit only by torches set into the hallway walls, the darkness of these sunken dungeons was oppressive. The metal bars were coated in slime, the walls caked with filth. The hard dirt floor spread with straw made for an uncomfortable bed during the few fleeting moments Lysandra had been able to sleep since her arrival. Echoing down the corridor were the horrible sounds of other prisoners, those who laughed at nothing, cried at everything, or talked to themselves like men and women who’d lost their minds long before their lives.
It was a nightmare.
But she would stay strong. She had no other choice.
The second guard looked over at her and nodded. “Very well. We need some entertainment today. Get her.”
The first guard unlocked her cell and roughly dragged Lysandra out by her hair. Her first instinct was to fight, but she held back. This might be her chance to escape, and if so, she needed to pretend to be weak and docile. Locked behind the stone walls and iron bars she had no chance, but if he were to take her outside, she might be able to flee—although the thought of leaving without Gregor gutted her.
But he didn’t take her outside. The guard led Lysandra down the dim and narrow corridor to another cell. He shoved her through the door and she fell to the floor hard enough to bruise her knees.
Though it was very dark, she knew someone else was in there.
The two guards stood on the other side of the iron bars, grinning. One threw something metallic into the cell and it landed a few paces away from her on the dirt floor.
A knife. She flicked her gaze up to the guard.
“You like to fight, rebel?” he asked. “Give us a show.”
Suddenly, another prisoner came surging out of the darkness, rising to her feet and shoving Lysandra hard in her chest, causing her to stagger back into the wall. She was a girl, taller and more bulky than Lysandra, with a dirty face and matted hair. She snatched up the blade and stared at it for a moment with a wild look in her eyes.
“Go on, then,” the guard urged. “Whoever wins gets to eat today. Let’s see some blood.”
The other girl’s gaze snapped to Lysandra’s. Then, with a cry, she charged at her, clutching the knife.
Lysandra was hungry and weak, but she hadn’t lost her mind—not yet. She’d arrived here two days ago with three other rebels who’d survived the battle—Tarus, Cato, and Fabius.
She knew King Gaius had ordered them here to be publicly executed, to be made an example of. She didn’t expect to be pardoned for her crimes. And she didn’t expect anyone in shining armor to break in to rescue her.
But those had been her expectations her entire life. She was different from other girls who dreamed of strong husbands and a houseful of drooling babies. She’d been a warrior from the beginning. She would be a warrior till the end.
And that end was not going to be today.
She dodged the knife easily and shoved the girl away.
“What’s your name?” Lysandra asked.
“My name?” the girl said, her gaze narrowing. “Why?”
“I’m Lysandra. Lysandra Barbas.” Introductions could make friends of strangers, and this girl—she wasn’t her enemy. They were both prisoners here; they had common ground.