Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms 1)

Emilia sighed, but a smile touched her lips. “I assure you I’m fine.”

“Mira is worried.”

“Mira is always worried.”

“You might have a point.” Mira did tend to exaggerate things, Cleo remembered, like the time she’d hysterically insisted there was a viper in her bedroom and it turned out to be a harmless garden snake. Cleo relaxed slightly. Besides, Emilia looked perfectly healthy.

Emilia studied her sister’s face as she glanced toward the door. “You look rather conspiratorial this morning. Are you up to some sort of mischief?”

Cleo couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe a little.”

“Of what sort?”

“Escape.” She glanced out the window. “Using your trellis like we used to.”

“Really. May I ask why?” Emilia didn’t seem surprised by this admission at all. She’d been the one who’d taught Cleo how to climb down to the gardens when they’d been much younger—back before Emilia had started shifting into a much more poised and perfect princess. Back when she didn’t mind getting dirty or her knees skinned with her younger sister. Now Cleo was the only one who would consider such a feat. A proper future queen like Emilia would never do such a dangerous thing and risk hurting herself.

“I need to see Aron. Alone.”

Emilia raised an eyebrow, disapproving. “Our father hasn’t even announced your engagement yet. And you’re sneaking off for some illicit romance before it’s all official?”

Cleo’s stomach lurched. “That’s not why I want to see him.”

“He’ll make you a fine husband, you know.”

“Sure, he will,” Cleo said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Just like Darius made you a fine husband.”

Emilia’s gaze grew harsh. “Sharp tongue, Cleo. You should watch where you point it or you might hurt someone.”

Cleo blushed, abashed. She’d just trod on some extremely unpleasant territory. Lord Darius Larides was the man to whom Emilia had been engaged a year ago at eighteen. However, the closer they got to the wedding day, the deeper Emilia sank into a depression at the thought of marrying him—even though all agreed he was a fine pick: tall, handsome, charismatic. No one knew why, but Cleo guessed her sister had fallen in love with someone else. If it was true, though, she never found out who. Emilia had never so much as cast a flirtatious glance at any of the men in the palace, and for that matter she’d seemed rather sad over the past few weeks. Embarrassed, Cleo changed the subject.

“I need to go while I have the chance,” Cleo whispered, eyeing the balcony. The trellis outside was as good and strong as any ladder.

“You’re that intent on escaping from your new bodyguard? And leave him—I would assume—lurking outside my chambers?”

Cleo smiled pleadingly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. He’ll never even know I was gone.”

“And what do you suggest I tell him if he decides to check in on us?”

“That I suddenly discovered I had air magic or something and made myself disappear.” She squeezed her sister’s hands as she brushed past her at the window, intent on her plan. She would be gone no more than a quarter of an hour, then she’d be back.

“You’ve always had a taste for adventure,” Emilia said, relenting. “Well, romance or not...good luck.”

“Thank you. I might need it.”

Cleo swung her legs over the side of the balcony and climbed easily down the trellis, landing softly on the grass below. Without looking back up at the window, she quickly made her way across the palace grounds, beyond the main castle, to the neighborhood of luxury villas, still within the castle walls. Only the most important of nobles got to live here, protected from any outside threat.

The palace grounds were a city unto itself, with open-air cafés and taverns, businesses, shops, crisscrossing cobblestone streets, and beautifully kept flower gardens, including one with an expansive labyrinth of tall hedges where Cleo and Emilia had hosted a party a few months ago. More than two thousand people lived here happily and prosperously. Some rarely bothered to leave the compound at all.

The Lagaris’s city villa was one of the more impressive homes, only a five-minute stroll away from the castle, and built from the same golden mix of materials as the castle itself. Aron sat outside, smoking a cigarillo, and he watched Cleo’s approach with a lazy smile on his good-looking face.

“Princess Cleiona,” he drawled, exhaling a long line of smoke. “What a delightful surprise.”

She eyed the cigarillo with distaste. She’d never understood the interest some people had in sucking in fiery smoke from crushed peach tree leaves and other herbs and exhaling it. Unlike wine, cigarillos were nasty, their smell not sweet and fragrant like peaches at all.

“I want to talk to you,” she said.

“I was just sitting here watching the morning go by, thinking that I was so incredibly bored I might have to do something about it.” There was a familiar slur to his words, but not too pronounced. Many would think nothing of it, but Cleo knew very well it was a sign that Aron had already started drinking. It wasn’t even midday.