He tried to repress his grin. “I’ve told you what I need from you. Now tell me what your plan is, princess.”
“My plan?” She touched her chest. “Why do you think I even have one? Perhaps I’m simply grateful to still be alive.”
Jonas knew that if she didn’t feel there was still a chance to reclaim her throne, she would have escaped long ago. With Jonas, with her friend Nic, with someone who could help her escape the Damoras forever.
“You won’t be alive for long if you continue to stay in the midst of your enemies,” Jonas said. “Do you think I’m wrong?”
Cleo looked unflinchingly into his eyes. “No, you’re not wrong.”
She trusted about as easily as he did. He’d managed to gain a lot of that trust, but there was still some ground to rebuild between them after so long without contact.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” he asked.
“You would help me?”
“I have no personal interest in Auranos, but I don’t want the King of Blood to hold it under his thumb a day longer than he has to. More land gives him more power. If I can’t do it myself, I’ll help anyone who has the means to destroy him. Could that person be you?”
She gave him that look that was half distrustful, half endlessly hopeful. “It could be.”
“Then consider me at your service, your highness.” They didn’t have much more time. He’d already stayed too long and Felix would be wondering where he was. “You can send word to me through Nerissa.”
Cleo’s brow shot up. “The seamstress from Hawk’s Brow?”
He nodded. “She’s working at the palace as a servant. If you hear any information, no matter how minor it might seem to you, get a message to Nerissa and she’ll deliver it to me.”
“You’re still aligned with her? And you trust her?”
He nodded. “She’s proven herself, time and time again.”
Her gaze grew more scrutinizing. “Yes, I’m sure she has.”
What was that he saw in her eyes? Mistrust? Or jealousy? Certainly not the latter, although the thought was intriguing.
Cleo’s serious expression then gave way to a smile so bright and beautiful it could stop the cruelest killer in his tracks. “Once my enemy, Jonas Agallon now wishes to be my shining hero. How times can change.”
Not so long ago, he’d despised Cleo, who had stood by Lord Aron while his brother bled to death. He’d blamed her every bit as much as the coward who’d held the blade.
But as far as she’d fallen, as much as she’d had to endure, she was still a pampered princess who had no idea what a life such as Jonas’s had been like.
And he had no desire to be anyone’s personal hero.
Cleo could potentially help him, and he her. That was all that would ever be between them.The thought made everything so much simpler.
“Do you have anything else to say to me?” she asked after silence stretched between them.
“Only this.” He grabbed her, pressed her up against the wall, and kissed her hard and deep. He let her go, pulled his cloak up over his head, and slipped out of the temple.
Perhaps things weren’t that simple after all.
CHAPTER 10
CLEO
AURANOS
Cleo walked away from her secret meeting with Jonas filled with new purpose, which had very little to do with the rebel’s stolen kiss.
Not that it hadn’t been a rather intriguing way to end their conversation.
She might not be a fighter, wielding a sword for the rebel cause, but she had eyes and ears. Information was power, and the king had gotten a bit lazy with the private conversations he held in corridors and dark corners.
Cleo already knew of a certain alcove in the heart of the palace where a hidden observer could overhear many interesting secrets.
She used to frequent this hiding spot to spy on her sister and her friends, until Emilia caught Cleo being nosy and told their father, who had scolded Cleo about minding her own business.
But minding one’s own business wasn’t very interesting. Or useful.
The day after meeting Jonas, she came upon Magnus and the king talking in this very alcove. She quickly drew back around the corner and hid in the crevice between two columns where she could peer out, unseen, for a clear view of the area just outside of the throne room. Hanging on the white marble wall behind father and son was a gigantic tapestry of the Limerian coat of arms—a cobra before a pair of crossed swords.
She pressed her hands against the cool marble and strained to hear them.
“Gregor, the rebel boy, knows something,” the king said. “He’s denied what he told you in Limeros over and over, but I know he’s lying.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Magnus replied. “He attacked me in clear view of a dozen guards while raving about Watchers. He could simply be insane.”
Cleo’s breath caught. She immediately knew whom they were speaking of—the moment had been branded into her memory. Gregor was the boy who’d attacked them during their wedding tour, claiming that a Watcher guided him in his dreams.
He had nearly killed her—and perhaps would have succeeded if Magnus hadn’t shoved her out of the way.
But instead of having him executed on the spot, Magnus had ordered him delivered here to the palace dungeon.
It seemed now that he was still alive.
Interesting.
“He can’t be mad,” the king said. “I need him to be sane. He has a clue, a connection to the Sanctuary. I have sent word to Xanthus that I want more information, but I’ve heard nothing from him.”