CHAPTER 3
CLEO
LIMEROS
Her sister, Emilia, once said that she could tell Cleo’s mood by the state of her left thumbnail. Whenever Cleo was stressed or upset, she chewed it down to the quick. According to her nursemaid, she’d also sucked her thumb many years longer than the average child, so Cleo supposed that her nail-biting habit was a natural evolution.
A quick, sharp pain tugged at Cleo’s scalp. “Ouch!” she exclaimed, pulling her sore thumb away from her mouth.
She saw her attendant Petrina’s eyes widen in the mirror. The girl held a small swath of Cleo’s long blond hair. “Oh, your grace, I apologize! I didn’t intend to . . . I’ve never attempted this sort of style before.”
“Ripping my hair out by its roots is not the best way to learn,” Cleo said, her scalp still throbbing. She willed herself to be patient with Petrina, even though she was certain that even Nic could do a better job plaiting her hair.
How she wished Nerissa were here in Limeros, rather than being at the Auranian palace. Nerissa wasn’t just a good friend and Cleo’s main connection to Jonas Agallon, but she was also an incredibly skilled attendant.
“I don’t know what to say, your highness. The prince will be furious if he learns I’m inept. He’ll have me punished!”
“The prince won’t punish you,” Cleo assured her, patting her hand. “I won’t let him.”
The girl looked at the princess with awe. “You must be the bravest person in the world if you can stand up to someone as strong and . . . determined as him. I admire you more than you know.”
Perhaps Petrina wasn’t so stupid after all. She seemed a very good judge of character. For a Limerian.
“We should stand up to brutish boys whenever we can,” Cleo said. “They need to learn they don’t hold all the power, no matter who they are. Or think they are.”
“Prince Magnus scares me. He reminds me so much of the king.” Petrina shivered, then bit her bottom lip. “Apologies. It’s inappropriate of me to admit these thoughts to you.”
“Nonsense. You absolutely must feel free to speak your mind around me. I insist.” Even though Cleo wouldn’t keep this uncoordinated girl as her attendant, she knew it was best to make friends wherever she could find them. “In fact, if you ever hear any news or information around the palace that you think I should know about, come to me immediately. I promise to keep every secret.”
Petrina’s face whitened. “Are you asking me to spy for you, your grace?”
“No!” Cleo covered her immediate alarm with a bright smile. Nerissa was always happy to spy—she took to it as naturally as breathing. “Of course not. What a silly suggestion.”
“The king has always dealt harshly with spies. It’s said he cuts their eyes out and feeds them to his dogs.”
Nausea rose within Cleo and she fought to hold on to her pleasant expression. “I’m sure that’s only a rumor. Anyway, you may be excused now.”
“But your hair—”
“It’s fine as it is. Really. Thank you.”
Petrina curtseyed and left without further protest. Alone now in front of the mirror, Cleo studied her reflection, dismayed to see that her hair was a mess of half-finished braids and tangles at the back of her head. After working on it unsuccessfully for a few moments with the brush, she gave up.
“I need Nerissa,” she said aloud to herself.
Not only for her skills as an attendant, but also because Cleo needed to know if she’d received any word from Jonas. In Cleo’s last correspondence with the rebel, she’d given him secret information on how to claim three of the Kindred orbs. However, since then she’d heard nothing from him.
For all she knew, Jonas had failed. Or, worse, he’d succeeded and sold the crystals to the highest bidder. Or, much worse than that . . . he was dead.
“Yes, Nerissa,” she said again, nodding to herself. “I desperately need Nerissa.”
But how could she convince Magnus to send for her?
Well, she would simply have to demand it, of course. She would not cower before the prince, not today and not ever. Though, truthfully, she’d been deeply appalled and confused by the dramatic display she’d witnessed with Lord Kurtis. It was as if Magnus had been possessed by the spirit of King Gaius, turning him cruel and heartless; into something everyone within a ten-mile radius should fear.
She narrowed her eyes at her reflection. “Clearly,” she said to herself, “you’re forgetting that he is cruel and heartless. What happened in Ravencrest doesn’t change that. For all you know, he was trying to manipulate you. Why do you constantly make excuses for his foul behavior? Are you that much of a fool, to let a few pretty words and a regrettable kiss change your mind?”
Magnus had saved her from certain death in the Auranian dungeon, that was undeniable. But there were many reasons why he would have done it beyond her being . . . being . . .
How exactly had he put it?
“As if you’ve forgotten a single word he said,” she whispered.
But Cleo wasn’t a romantic fool, a silly girl who believed a villain could become a shining hero overnight, even if he had saved her life once. She was a queen, who would reclaim her throne and destroy her enemies—all of them—once she possessed the magic and power she needed.
With one or more Kindred in hand, she would get justice. For her father. For Emilia. For Theon. For Mira. And for the Auranian people.