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“But, your highness,” Lord Loggis went on, “nothing about the current situation suggests that your sister is in any danger. Perhaps . . .” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps once the princess has had enough time to think through her recent actions, and how they might have caused some alarm, she will simply return to the palace and all will be well and forgiven.”
When Magnus had tripled the number of guards assigned to scour the land for Lucia, he hadn’t given them or their commanders any additional details about her disappearance. He didn’t reveal that her tutor was an exiled Watcher. That Lucia was a sorceress. That the last place he knew for certain that she’d been was left with a floor splattered with blood, dead bodies outside, and an ice storm summoned by pure, unleashed elemental magic.
“Another week,” Magnus said. “If the guards don’t find her by then, I’ll call half of them back.” Lord Loggis opened his mouth to protest further, but Magnus raised his hand. “That’s my final decision.”
The lord nodded, his dark eyes empty of anything friendly. “Yes. Of course, your highness.”
Magnus gestured to the door and the council members filed out of the room.
“Princess, wait,” he said, stopping Cleo short on the threshold.
She turned to him, her face once again full of surprise, as he pushed the doors closed behind the others, leaving them alone in the cavernous throne room.
“Yes?” she said.
“Strangely, I find it necessary to thank you for your input today.”
She raised her brow. “Thank me? Am I dreaming?”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t happen again anytime soon.” Magnus drew even closer to her, and her smile faded at the edges.
“Was there something else you wanted from me?” she asked.
If only you knew, he thought. You’d probably run away from here and never look back.
“No,” he replied.
She cleared her throat. “Nerissa arrived this morning.”
“So she’s the one responsible for your hair today, is she?” He wound a silky, golden lock around his finger and studied it carefully, taking in its scent, like an intoxicating, exotic flower.
“She is,” Cleo said after a lengthy pause.
“In Limeros, proper women don’t wear their hair loose like this. Tell her to braid it or tie it back from now on. That is, unless it’s your goal to look like a courtesan.”
She pulled her hair from his grip. “I should thank you too, Magnus.”
“For?”
“For constantly reminding me who you really are. Sometimes, I forget.”
With that, she slipped past him and left the room.
• • •
The reason, it was said, that the goddess Valoria had forbidden alcohol in her land was to ensure that her people always maintained purity, health, and clarity of mind.
But in any land where something was forbidden, there were always ways to acquire it. Magnus had heard rumors of one—and how to gain entry to it—only a couple miles away from the palace, a shabby-looking inn called the Ouroboros.
Magnus entered the inn, leaving the single guard he’d brought with him to wait outside with the horses. It was nearly empty; only a handful of patrons occupied the small eating area, none of them bothering to look up at who had entered.
Magnus scanned the room from beneath the heavy hood of his black cloak, his gaze falling on a wooden door with a bronze knocker in the shape of a snake devouring its own tail. He grasped this and knocked three times quickly, three times slowly.
The door creaked opened a moment later and he strode through into another room—much larger and busier than the one before. He scanned the ruddy faces, hands clasping tankards of ale at twenty or more tables, until he came across a face that was painfully familiar.
“Wonderful,” he grumbled as he drew closer to the table in the far corner.
“Well, well!” Nic slurred and raised his tankard, causing ale to slosh over the rim. “Look who’s here. Shall I make a formal announcement of your arrival?”
