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“To Hawk’s Brow,” the other, Dora, said, bottomless envy shining in her dark eyes. “The queen herself is taking you there. You have an appointment with Lorenzo today.”
It was a name Cleo knew well from a simpler time. A famous man known throughout Auranos for his flawless taste and exemplary style, a man who had dressed Cleo and her sister since they reached adolescence.
The reality of the situation dawned. Queen Althea was accompanying Cleo to the fitting of her wedding gown.
Her stomach sank. The sensation of being cornered, of being ordered to do what she didn’t want to, settled over her. But then she realized this would be the first time she left the palace since the day after she had been captured.
There was a chance Lorenzo might secretly assist her, and her thoughts went again to the ring. Hawk’s Brow was the home of many scholars and artists—citizens who were well-versed in history and legend. If she could speak with the dressmaker alone and enlist him to her cause . . .
“Fine,” she said, raising her chin. “Then let’s not keep the queen waiting.”
“I hear you’re going to Hawk’s Brow today, Cleo.”
The slithering words slowed her steps as she moved down the hallway after dismissing Helena and Dora once they’d dressed her in traveling robes.
“Lord Aron . . .” Cleo turned to see him loitering nearby.
The last time she’d been in Hawk’s Brow had been nearly a year ago, she remembered. It was a gathering of friends who’d spent a few days in the large Auranian city, nestled along the coastline, without a single care on their minds apart from having fun. Aron had been there as well. At the time, she’d thought herself infatuated with him.
How times had changed.
“I know you’re still angry with me for revealing your secret.” His eyes glittered from the torchlight set into the smooth stone wall beside him.
She forced a gracious smile. It took effort. “Such unpleasantries are in the past now. Let’s leave them there.”
He took hold of her arms as she tried to slip past him. “You really think I’ve given up so easily?”
The wine was heavy on his breath. He only drank Paelsian wine, which caused deep inebriation with no chance of illness afterward. This, of course, made it difficult to know when best to stop.
“Easily? What part of this has been easy?”
“Despite everything, I still want you.”
She wrenched away from him, shoving him backward. “Don’t be so pathetic, Aron. You never wanted me. You wanted the position marrying me would put you in. You would be very wise to let it go now. You’ve lost.”
We all have . . . for the moment.
Aron narrowed his eyes. “If that’s so, then maybe I’ll set my sights on your little friend, Mira. She wouldn’t deny me—not if she knew what was good for her. Would it make you jealous if I took her as a lover?”
She willed herself to remain calm. “Leave Mira alone, you drunken ass.”
“Or what?”
“Or, trust me, I’ll cut off more than your tongue.”
She had no time for this nonsense, disturbing though it was. Cleo turned and began walking away from him, but his footsteps followed her. She swiftly moved past the library, avoiding looking directly at the portraits of the Damoras that now hung in the place of her family’s.
Eyes focused on her path, she nearly ran right into Magnus as he emerged from the library, books in his arms. He glanced at her disinterestedly, then looked over her shoulder. At the sight of Magnus, Aron’s steps faltered. He nodded to the prince and continued on past them, slowly, to disappear around the next corner.
“Seems you’re being pursued, princess. My father’s new kingsliege doesn’t give up on true love easily, does he?”
True love. Such a notion was laughable. “He will. Eventually.”
She eyed the books the prince held. It surprised her to see they all had to do with magic and legend—books she’d already skimmed only to find they held no useful answers.
He noticed that his selections had drawn her attention. “Just a little light reading to pass the boring days.”
She chanced a look into his dark brown eyes. “You believe in magic?”
