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“Now—have I heard of your father’s plans?” He crossed his arms over his chest and walked a slow circle around her. She suddenly felt like a fawn being observed by a hungry wolf. “Your father is the king. He has many plans.”
“The plan involving the two of us,” she said simply, turning as he turned so they could maintain eye contact.
“Our engagement.”
She stiffened. “That’s the one.”
“When do you think he’ll announce it?”
A cold trickle of perspiration slid down her spine. “I don’t know.”
He nodded. “This came as a shock to you.”
She let out another shaky sigh. “I’m only sixteen.”
“It’s young for an announcement like this, I agree.”
“My father likes you.”
“The feeling is entirely mutual.” He cocked his head to the other side. “I like you too, Cleo, in case you’ve forgotten. Don’t doubt that, if that’s what this is all about.”
“It’s not.”
“This shouldn’t have been a huge surprise for you. There’s been talk for some time that we’d eventually be matched.”
“So you’re fine with this?”
He shrugged a shoulder, his gaze sweeping the length of her in a predatory manner. “Yes, I’m fine with it.”
Say it, Cleo. Don’t let this go on a moment longer.
She cleared her throat. “I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”
He stopped circling. “Excuse me?”
“This—this match. It doesn’t feel right. Not right now, anyway. I mean, we’re friends. Of course we are. But we’re not...” Her mouth was dry. For a fleeting moment, she wished for some wine—any wine—to help the world seem golden and wonderful again.
“In love?” Aron finished for her.
She blinked and nodded, casting her eyes to the ornately tiled marble floor. “I don’t know what to say.”
She waited for Aron to say something, to take the pressure off and ease her anxiety, but he stayed quiet. Finally she braved a glance at him.
He studied her, his brow furrowed. “You want to ask your father not to make the announcement, don’t you?”
She swallowed hard. “If we’re both in agreement, then it’ll be simpler to convince him that this isn’t the right time.”
“This has to do with what happened in Paelsia, doesn’t it?”
She flicked her gaze to his. “I don’t know.”
“Of course you do. You’re upset about what happened to someone of no consequence to your life. Do you cry over felled deer as well? Do you sob into your plate every night when you’re served dinner from a hunt?”
Her cheeks flushed. “It’s hardly the same thing, Aron.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Killing a deer, killing that boy—felt as if it had about as much significance to me, one to the other. I think you simply lack the right perspective. You’re too young.”
She bristled. “You’re only a year older than me.”
