“To you?” Cleo’s words burst forth without any forethought. “Never.”
His expression tightened. “Oh, come now. I know we’ve had some unpleasantness between us in the not-so-distant past, but there’s no reason why you can’t be nice.”
“I can think of about a million reasons why I would never want to be nice to you.”
“Princess, you must not be rude to those who are now guests in your land. I’m offering you my hand in friendship right now.”
Her cheeks burned. “You dare invade my home, and now you treat me like an ignorant child?”
“My sincere apologies if you’ve taken it that way. My father will be pleased to finally make your acquaintance. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. I’ve failed to bring you before him once. I don’t intend on that happening again.”
Cleo clutched Aron’s arm, waiting for him to do something, to say something. To show that underneath the drunken, selfish exterior that he was a true hero she could forgive for anything horrible he’d done in the past.
“The prince is right,” Aron replied, his expression grim. “If we want to live through this, we need to do as he says. We need to surrender.”
She gave him a cold and enraged glare. “You are so incredibly pathetic, you make me want to vomit.”
“Uh-oh, don’t tell me there’s trouble between you and the boy you love, even before your wedding day.” Magnus’s dry words twisted with amusement. “Don’t make me give up on my romantic ideals of true love.”
Cleo turned to face this monster. “No, actually you killed the boy I loved right in front of me.”
He looked at her with confusion before clarity slid through his dark eyes. Then his brows drew together. “I told him to stand down.”
“He was protecting me.” Her bottom lip trembled. “And you killed him.”
That small frown that contradicted his usual icy expression grew a fraction deeper.
“Wait,” Aron said. “Who are we talking about?”
She ignored him and forced herself to keep her expression neutral. “Prince Magnus...”
“Yes, Princess Cleiona?”
“I want you to give your father a message from me.”
“You can certainly deliver it yourself, but all right. What is it?”
“Tell him that his son has failed again.”
Cleo turned and began running away as fast as she could. She knew the halls of this castle better than anyone. The prince’s roar of anger echoed against the stone walls as he lost sight of her.
Another time, another place, she might have smiled at this small victory. And while she felt a twinge of regret at leaving Aron behind, it was only a twinge. If he wanted to surrender to the Limerians so easily, he still had every chance to do so—without her at his side.
Angry shouts and the clash of metal on metal came from up ahead and she froze, pressing up against the wall. Can’t go that way. She’d have to find another path. She couldn’t give up on finding her father.
As she turned the next corner, someone grabbed her by her hair, wrenching her so hard that it felt as if it would be pulled out by its roots. She screamed and tried to kick and claw at whoever it was. A Limerian soldier eyed her curiously.
“What do we have here?” he asked. Her gaze shot to his sword, which dripped blood to the marble floor. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”
“Let go of me,” she snarled. “Or you’re dead.”
He laughed. “You have spirit. I like that. Won’t last long, but I like it.”
Then, astonishingly, he let go of her and staggered forward. Out of the corner of her eye, Cleo watched his companion fall to the ground, collapsing at the same time as her attacker. Both bled out onto the floor.
King Corvin stood there, his face a mask of fury, his sword covered in blood to its hilt.
“Father!” she gasped.