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Suddenly, Cleo heard a key slip into the lock and the door creaked open.
She squinted in the torchlight to see Amara Cortas herself step inside.
She offered Cleo a big smile. “Good evening, Cleo. It seems like a very long time since I last saw you.”
“It has,” Cleo answered, offering a small smile of her own. “And I can see you’ve been very busy. I suppose I should congratulate you on your victory.”
Amara glanced at the guard standing at the doorway. “Fetch us something to drink,” she ordered. “Some Paelsian wine. Since most Limerians seem to be hypocrites about their religious beliefs, I’m sure Lord Gareth keeps a stash of it somewhere in his home.”
“Yes, Empress,” the guard said, then exited the room.
Amara turned back to Cleo. “You’re probably still angry about how we left things between you and me.”
“Anger fades, Amara. Even the most intense anger.”
“I ordered my guards to have you killed.”
“I remember. But, clearly, they failed.”
“Clearly. Truthfully, though, I’m rather glad for my guards’ shortcomings. My emotions were running very high that night. Looking back on it now, I’m ashamed of how drastically I lost my composure.”
“It’s in the past now.” Cleo held on to her smile, willing herself not to remind Amara that she’d lost more than her composure that night. She’d lost her brother—had murdered him in cold blood without any hesitation. “So, this is Lord Gareth’s home?”
“Yes. A rather quaint castle, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t trust Lord Gareth if I were you. And I would especially not trust his son.”
Amara laughed. “Don’t worry, I don’t trust any man.”
The Kraeshian princess moved to the window and took a seat on the sill.
“It seems we have a problem, Cleo.”
“Oh?”
“The king wants you dead. And he wants to perform the execution himself.”
A shiver shot down Cleo’s spine, but she fought to show anything but surprise on her face. “That’s . . . I . . . but I don’t understand. What kind of threat could I pose to someone as powerful as King Gaius?”
“You don’t know?” Amara raised a brow. “I thought it was obvious. My new husband believes you are the one obstacle standing in between him and his son’s loyalty. And I must say, Cleo, given your prince’s recent actions, I don’t think he’s wrong.”
“Apologies,” said Cleo, her mind reeling, “but did you just refer to the king as ‘your husband’? You’re . . . you married King Gaius?”
Amara shrugged. “My father’s idea. He thought our marriage would symbolically bind him into the Cortas bloodline, making him worthy of sharing his power.” She regarded Cleo with amusement. “Don’t look so appalled. It’s not nearly as repulsive as it sounds.”
“But he’s . . .” Cleo faltered, grasping to comprehend this strange new situation. “King Gaius . . . even apart from all the things he’s done, he’s . . .”
“Exactly like Magnus, only twice as old? That reminds me, I hope you’re not still upset about my brief dalliance with your husband. I can assure you that it meant nothing—to me, at least.”
“I couldn’t care less about such matters.”
“Of course not.”
Cleo remembered the sting she’d felt when she realized that Amara had spent the night with the prince. At the time, she’d been convinced that sting was one of annoyance, of disappointment that Magnus would so quickly jump into bed with a potential enemy.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
The guard returned, holding a bottle of wine and two goblets. “As you requested, Empress.”
