Rebel Spring A Falling Kingdoms(77)

But of course not. This wasn’t a barren and isolated location in Paelsia where the king could hide such treatment. For one who wished to be embraced by his new subjects here in Auranos, to show them such clear evidence of his cruelty might push more to oppose him and join the ranks of the rebels. This was only more proof of his lies. And it was just one more reason the king needed to be stopped.

Several of her father’s former council members and their wives—important nobles, one and all—drew closer to her as they emerged from their carriages. They purred compliments and admired her dress. They squeezed her hands as they bowed and curtseyed before her. Each and every one wished her all the best on this, the most important day of her life.

Cleo’s cheeks began to ache as her false smile quickly grew difficult to maintain. Still, she lingered outside near the crowd for as long as she could.

“It’s time, your highness,” a tall, imposing man with dark hair and green eyes said. It was Cronus, the captain of King Gaius’s palace guard. A man Cleo distrusted every bit as much as the king himself, since he followed every order without hesitation no matter what that order might be. If the king commanded Cronus to kill Cleo with his bare hands, she had no doubt he would crush her without delay. He frightened her, but she refused to let that fear show on her face.

Cleo cast a final glance over her shoulder, scanning the area for any sign of Jonas. Then her gaze locked with Nic’s. He nodded, his expression tense. Finally, she took Nic’s arm and he led her up the stairs to the temple, with Cronus right behind them.

A second massive statue of the goddess Cleiona blocked Cleo’s view of the main hall until she moved past it to see the tall and thick white marble pillars lining the long aisle. It was a huge, cavernous space, three times as large as the palace’s great room. On either side of the aisle were hundreds of guests.

There were very few red-uniformed guards in here. Most were outside controlling the crowd.

Good.

“I wish I could save you from this, Cleo,” Nic whispered.

She couldn’t reply to him past the lump of fear and dread in her throat.

With a last squeeze of her arm, Nic let go of her and moved to take his position near the wall at the front of the temple, his attention not leaving her for a moment.

By the altar, forty paces away, Prince Magnus waited. He was dressed all in black, including a stiff, formal black overcoat edged in gold and red, which had to be stiflingly hot today. The king was by his side, along with a Limerian priest in red robes who would perform the ceremony. Standing nearby were his temple attendants, also in red robes. Red and white flowers were everywhere, along with literally thousands of lit candles.

Every face turned toward her.

“Walk,” Cronus commanded.

Cleo tensed.

She had to give the rebels a chance to make their move. Because they would. They had to.

And yet, for a moment she wasn’t sure her feet would carry her. Her legs had turned to jelly. But there was nothing else she could be right now except strong. Anything she had to do to help Auranos, she’d do.

And at the moment, it was to walk and to meet her fate at the altar of this temple.

So, thinking of her father, of Emilia, of Mira and Theon, she walked.

She’d been to weddings before, and this was really no different, apart from the scale and grandeur. On her way up the aisle she saw many smiling and approving faces she recognized, marking them in her mind as friends of her father’s who now welcomed his enemy with open arms. Cowards, one and all. Anyone loyal to her father, loyal to Auranos, would not be smiling at the sight of her being forced to marry her enemy’s son.

There were also many, though, who looked stricken at the sight of her, their faces drawn and filled with sympathy. She tried very hard not to look these people in the eyes for fear they’d see her own pain.

She once had imagined marrying Theon, she remembered. In her fantasy, the temple had been filled with joy and happiness, and it was her father standing next to Theon at the front of the temple. Not the King of Blood.

Cleo didn’t spare a look at the king. She didn’t even glance at the prince, although she felt his dark eyes on her. She concentrated on the aisle only, and anyone in her peripheral vision.

Aron sat near the front, his expression difficult to read. He looked annoyed, mostly. And, as usual, drunk.

Next to Aron sat a man Cleo knew to be Prince Ashur Cortas from the Kraeshian Empire. She’d heard of his arrival for the wedding, as representative of his father, the emperor. Many whispers had traveled through the palace in the last few days about this very important guest, most from the servant girls, who were excited to be anywhere close to the famously handsome, incredibly powerful bachelor from across the sea. Perhaps he’d come here also to find a bride, some guessed. Some hoped.