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“I can’t say.” The ring was a secret that she refused to share with anyone. She desperately wished she had it with her right now.
Jonas glared at her. “Princess, you are such a—”
But then he froze, grabbed the candle to snuff out its flame, and pushed her against the wall.
Then she heard what he had—voices outside the safety of the cave. The guards had returned to give the area another sweep. Her heart pounded so loud she was certain it would give away their location. It felt like hours that they stayed like that, as quiet and still as marble statues. Pressed up against him, Cleo smelled his scent again, pine needles and open air.
“I think they’re gone,” he said at last.
“Perhaps I should have called out to them. They could have rescued me from you.”
Jonas snorted softly. “I’m good, but I’m not sure I could take on a dozen guards to save not only my neck but yours as well.”
He was so unbelievably frustrating! “Sometimes I really hate you.”
Finally Jonas eased back from her a fraction. “The feeling is entirely mutual, your highness.”
He was still too close to her, his breath hot against her cheek. She couldn’t put her thoughts in proper order. “Jonas, please, would you just consider—”
But before she could speak another word, he crushed his mouth against hers.
It was so unexpected that she hadn’t the chance to even think of pushing him away. His body pressed her firmly against the rough cave wall. His hands slid down to her waist to pull her closer to him.
And just like that, with his proximity, with his kiss, he managed to fill her every sense. He was smoke from the campfire, he was leaves and moss and the night itself.
There was nothing gentle in the rebel’s kiss, nothing sweet or kind. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before, and so very dangerous—every bit as deadly as the kiss of an arrow.
Finally, he pulled back just a little, his dark eyes glazed as if half-drunk.
“Princess . . .” He cupped her face between his hands, his breath ragged.
Her lips felt bruised. “I suppose that’s how Paelsians show their anger and frustration?”
He laughed, an uneasy sound. “Not usually. Nor is it typically the answer to someone who tells you they hate you.”
“I . . . I don’t hate you.”
His dark-eyed gaze held hers. “I don’t hate you either.”
She could easily get lost in those eyes, but she couldn’t let herself. Not now. Not with so much at risk. “I need to go back, Jonas. And you need to find your friends and make sure they’re all right.”
“So he wins?” he growled. “The king spills more blood and gets exactly what he wants?”
“This time, yes.” She absently rubbed her hand, wishing she could feel her ring. It might give her the strength she needed to face what was ahead.
“And you’ll marry the prince so the King of Blood can distract the masses with a shiny ceremony. I don’t like that at all.”
Distraction. Shiny ceremony.
Cleo gripped his arm and looked up at him, his words sparking another plan in her mind like flint to a stone. “The wedding.”
“What about it?”
“The Temple of Cleiona—that’s where it will be. Father took me there as a child and let me explore to my heart’s content. I used to look up at the statue of the goddess, stunned that I was named for such an incredible, magical being. My sister and I—we played hide and seek there, just as we did at the palace. But there are even more places to hide at the temple. This could be the perfect opportunity for the rebel cause—a chance to get close to the king. Closer than anyone is able to get on a normal day. He means to use my wedding as a distraction—but he too will be distracted that day!”
Jonas didn’t speak for a long moment. “What you’re suggesting, princess . . . it could work.”
“It’ll be dangerous.”
