Rebel Spring A Falling Kingdoms(6)

“Let me make this very clear, Prince Magnus,” Cleo said evenly, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice. “I will never be forced to marry someone I hate. And I hate you.”

He regarded her for a moment, as if she was something he could easily crush beneath the sole of his boot if he chose to. “Be very careful how you speak to me, Princess Cleiona.”

She raised her chin. “Or what will you do? Will you run a sword through me when I turn my back on you as you did with Theon, you spineless coward?”

In an instant, he grabbed hold of her arm tight enough to make her shriek and pushed her up against the stone wall. Anger flashed through his gaze, and something unexpected—something like pain.

“Never, ever call me a coward again if you value your life, princess. Fair warning.”

His current fiery expression was so different from his usual look of ice that it confused her. Was he furious or wounded by her words? Could he be both?

“Release me,” she hissed.

His eyes—cold, like black diamonds, soulless, evil—pinned her for another moment before he let go of her so abruptly that she slumped down against the wall.

A guard wearing the all-too-familiar red Limerian uniform approached. “Prince Magnus, your father summons both you and the princess to his throne room immediately.”

Magnus finally tore his gaze from hers to cast a dark look toward the guard. “Very well.”

Cleo’s stomach tied itself into knots. Could Aron have been successful in his argument against this new betrothal?

In the throne room, King Gaius had draped himself upon her father’s golden chair. Sprawled on the floor at his feet were two of his horrible dogs—large, slobbering wolfhounds that growled whenever she came even a step too close. They always seemed more like demons from the darklands to Cleo than dogs.

A sudden memory from her childhood flashed before her eyes—her father seated upon this very throne, his arms stretched out to her when she’d successfully slipped away from her strict nursemaid to run directly toward him and crawl up on his lap.

She prayed that her eyes didn’t reveal how very much she wanted to avenge her father’s death. On the surface, she was just a girl not yet out of her teens, small in stature and slight in figure, born and bred into a spoiled life of excess and luxury. At first glance, no one would ever perceive her as a threat.

But she knew that she was. Her heart now beat for one reason, the only thing that helped stanch the flow of incapacitating grief.

Vengeance.

Cleo knew she continued to live and breathe because King Gaius saw value in keeping the Auranian princess alive and well. She was required to represent what remained of the royal Bellos family line in all matters when it came to the king’s agenda and his power over the Auranian people. She was a sparrow in a gilded cage, taken out to show others how pretty and how well-behaved she was when needed.

So she would be pretty and well-behaved. For now.

But not forever.

“My dear girl,” the king said as she and Magnus approached. “You grow lovelier with each day that passes. It’s quite remarkable.”

And you grow more hateful and disgusting.

“Thank you, your majesty,” she said as sweetly as she could. The king was a snake in the skin of a man and she would never underestimate the strength of his bite.

“Were you pleased by my surprise announcement today?” he asked.

She fought to keep her controlled expression from slipping. “I’m very grateful that you’ve allowed me such an honorable place in your kingdom.”

His smile stretched, but it was one that never met his dark brown eyes—the exact same shade as Magnus’s. “And you, my son. I’m sure you were caught unawares as well. It was a last-minute decision, to tell you the truth. I thought it would please the people, and I was right. It did.”

“As always,” Magnus replied, “I defer to your judgment.”

The sound of the prince’s voice, low and even and so much like his father’s, set Cleo’s nerves on edge more than they already were.

“Lord Aron wanted to speak with me in private,” the king said.

Private? A half dozen guards stood around the edges of the room, with two on the outer side of the archway leading into the throne room. Next to the king on a smaller throne sat Queen Althea, her gaze straight forward, her lips set into a measured expression that betrayed no emotion at all. She might as well have been sleeping with her eyes wide open.

Aron stood to the right, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Yes,” he spoke up, his tone arrogant, “I explained to the king that this is an unacceptable change. That the people were looking very much forward to our wedding. Mother has already taken great strides in planning our ceremony. I wanted to talk to the king and have him reconsider his decision today. There are plenty of beautiful, titled girls in Auranos who would be much better suited to Prince Magnus.”