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“This isn’t your castle. Despite the king’s affection for you and your sister, you’re really nothing more than glorified servants.” Aron took another gulp from his flask.
Nic gave him a withering glare. “ Are you too drunk to even take a simple joke, you worthless bastard?”
Aron tucked his flask into his pocket and grabbed Nic by the front of his shirt. “Don’t mess with me.”
“Oh, I’ll mess with you if I want to.”
“When did you grow a pair? Did running off with my future bride give you some courage?”
“Your future bride hates you.” Nic shoved the other boy back. “And by the way, your breath stinks like a horse’s ass.”
Aron’s face reddened with anger.
“Enough,” Cleo snapped, turning on her heel. She needed to see her father. Having Aron here was unacceptable, but if it was a sign that negotiations were going poorly, then she needed to know the truth. She left the others and went straight to her father’s meeting hall. Inside, there were many men milling about and arguing loudly with each other. She finally found her father in the very middle of the chaos.
He glanced at her wearily as she approached. “Cleo, you shouldn’t be in here.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
She bristled. “I think if there’s about to be an all-out attack on my home, then I need to concern myself. How can I help?”
The man standing next to her father snorted. “Sure you can help. Can you handle a sword, princess?”
She straightened her posture and gave him a sharp look. “If I have to.”
“They’re very heavy.” The man rolled his eyes. “You should have had sons, Corvin. They would be more use to us right now than daughters.”
“Hold your tongue,” the king growled. “My daughters are more important to me than anything else in this kingdom.”
“Then you should have sent them away before this escalated. Somewhere safe.”
“The castle isn’t safe?” Cleo asked with growing alarm.
“Cleo, go now,” the king said. “Go to your classes. Don’t worry about any of this. It’s too overwhelming for you.”
She looked at him steadily. “I’m not a child, Father.”
The unpleasant man laughed at that. “How old are you? Sixteen? Do as your father suggests and go learn to paint. Or embroider. Or whatever it is that little girls do. Let us men deal with nasty things like this.”
Cleo couldn’t believe how this man dared to speak to her.
“Who are you?” she growled.
He seemed amused, as if a kitten had just shown him sharp claws. “Someone who is trying to help your father with a difficult situation.”
“Cleo, forgive Lord Larides’s rudeness; he—like all of us—is under a great deal of stress right now. But don’t worry, they won’t breach the entrance of the castle. Even if they get through the palace walls, you’re safe here, Cleo. I swear it. Go to your friends. To your sister. Let me handle this.”
She recognized the name—and now she recognized the man himself. He’d grown his beard longer since last she’d seen him. He was the father of Lord Darius, her sister’s former fiancé. His family was in the king’s trusted circle.
All these men saw when they looked at her was a little girl who’d run away on a whim to search for magic seeds. Who caused trouble. Who was utterly useless in every way except looking pretty. Maybe she was. And if that was true, then being here was only causing more problems for her father. Finally Cleo nodded and turned away. Her father caught her wrist and then kissed her quickly on the forehead.
“It will be all right,” he said firmly, pulling her out of earshot of his council members. “I know it’s been difficult, but we will survive this. No matter what happens. Be strong for me, Cleo. Do you promise me to do that?”
He looked so worried that all she could do was nod in agreement. The gesture seemed to help clear some of the darkness from his eyes.
“I promise.”
