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Cronus stepped forward. “Follow me, princess.”
There was no room for argument in the guard’s harsh tone.
Cleo cast a glance at the gathered guests, who offered her tense smiles as she trailed after Cronus. Nic’s attention was also on her, his body rigid, an apology in his tortured gaze that he was unable to save her from what was to come.
The chambers Cronus guided her to had been prepared specially for the bride and groom. It included a room that had once been reserved for very important guests of her father. A massive four poster bed sat against the far wall. A fire blazed in an enormous fireplace, and the room was otherwise lit by hundreds of flickering candles. Rose petals of all colors had been artfully strewn across the floor in looping patterns, leading toward the bed.
Her attendants were there and they worked feverishly to loosen her braided hair, to change her into yet another gown, this one gauzy and flowing, its thin fabric leaving little modesty for her to cling to. They rubbed her wrists and her throat with scented oils that had the same cloyingly sweet perfume as the rose petals.
“You’re so very lucky, princess,” Helena said. “I would give my younger sister’s life to spend even one night with Prince Magnus. And now you get to spend all of your nights with him.”
“And I’d give my older sister’s life,” Dora said pointedly, with a sharp look in Helena’s direction.
“I only hope that the rumors aren’t true.” Helena’s gaze snapped to Cleo’s and she gave the princess an unpleasant smile. “For your sake.”
Cleo frowned. “What rumors?”
“Helena,” Dora said from between clenched teeth. “Be careful what you say.”
Helena laughed lightly. “Don’t you think the princess has the right to know that her new husband is said to have forbidden feelings for Princess Lucia, and she for him? Such love between siblings . . . quite the scandal if many learned of this.”
“Pardon my sister,” Dora said, her cheeks reddening. “She has been drinking tonight in celebration of your wedding. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
Cleo narrowed her eyes. “I’ll remember you attempted to save her from spreading such unsavory lies.” She would never admit that this information was very interesting to her, whether true or not.
Without another word, the girls moved away from her and were gone from the room like wisps of smoke. Cronus pulled the door shut behind them. Cleo ran to it and tried the handle, only to find it locked from the outside.
She was trapped.
Before, when she’d been able to walk around freely, she could almost fool herself into believing she still had some power. That was such a lie. She had no power here at all.
Magnus would dominate her. He would abuse her as his father had today. As the attendants prepared her for her wedding night, the mirror had reflected the faint bruise on her cheekbone where the king had struck her and on her throat where he’d come close to strangling her.
But Cleo had chosen this. She could have escaped with Jonas, but she’d chosen to stay here. There had to be a reason for that . . . a higher goal than fleeing with the rebel.
She ran over to her discarded banquet dress. Her amethyst ring glinted in the candlelight as she pulled out the gift Prince Ashur had given her. She slowly unwrapped it, only to see an unexpected edge of gold.
It was a golden dagger. A beautiful one, with an artfully carved hilt and a curved blade. She remembered the prince’s words: “It is something given in my land to a bride on her wedding night.” With a chill she recognized its purpose: something that could be used by an unhappy bride to take her own life if she felt she had no other choice.
Or . . . the life of her new husband.
The sound of the door unlocking and opening had her scrambling to hide the weapon behind her back. A moment later, Magnus entered. His black gaze moved through the large room, pausing on the candles, the rose petals, and then finally coming to rest on her.
Again, she regretted having drunk so much wine. She desperately needed her thoughts to be sharp, not muddy.
“So it seems we’re finally alone,” he said.
Cleo was certain he could hear how loud her heart now beat.
Magnus leaned over and picked up a red rose petal, squeezing it between his fingers. “Did they really think this all was necessary?”
She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “You don’t find it . . . romantic?”
He released the petal and it fluttered slowly down to the floor, where it landed like a splash of blood. “As if I care about such drivel.”
“Many men would on their wedding night.”
“About roses and candles? No, princess. Most men could care less about such things. There’s only one thing men are interested in on their wedding night and I think you’re already very aware what that is.”
