King Gaius studied Cleo closely. “Do you wish to remain engaged to Lord Aron?”
She wanted to answer immediately and in the affirmative— Aron, despite his shortcomings, was a more palatable prospect than Magnus—but found herself pausing to think it through. She wasn’t simple-minded enough to believe such “wishes” would be granted. After announcing the wedding date to the citizens outside, there was absolutely no chance the king would renege on his proclamation. All agreeing with Aron would do was make her look like a fool—an ungrateful and disrespectful fool.
Cleo lowered her head and studied the dogs by the king’s feet as if too shy to meet his gaze directly. “Your majesty, I wish only to please you.”
He gave her a shallow nod, as if it was the correct response. “Then I appreciate your allowing me to make this choice on your behalf.”
Aron let out a grunt of disgust. “Oh, come on, Cleo!”
She gave him a wary look, silently cautioning him to be careful what he said. “Aron, you must see that the king knows what is right.”
“But we were meant to be together,” he whined.
“You will find another bride, Aron. But I’m afraid it can’t be me.”
Anger lit his gaze and he spun to face Prince Magnus. “It’s very important for a bride to be pure on her wedding night. Is this not so?”
Cleo’s cheeks began to flame. “Aron!”
He gestured wildly at her. “Cleo already gave her chastity to me. We’ve shared flesh. She is not pure!”
A deadly silence fell.
Cleo grappled to hold onto her self control, but felt it slipping from her grasp. Here it was, her horrible secret kept hidden from the world—tossed out like a landed fish, flopping and slimy for all to see.
Foggy memories of a party, too much wine, a spoiled princess who enjoyed forgetting herself and having fun—and then Aron, a handsome and popular lord all her friends desired, who wanted to be with her more than anyone else. Once she sobered, she realized it was a horrific mistake to sacrifice her virginity to such a vain and shallow boy.
To be viewed now as a fallen princess in a land that valued purity as a bride’s most important virtue could be her ultimate downfall. She would lose what little power she had left in the palace.
Only one choice could help her salvage this situation.
“Oh, Aron,” she said as dryly as she could manage. “I almost feel sorry for you that you must lie to such extremes today. Can’t you simply accept defeat gracefully?”
His eyes widened so much that she could see the whites all around his irises. “Lie? It’s not a lie! You wanted me as I wanted you! You must admit that this is the truth and be grateful that I even still want you!”
King Gaius leaned back in the throne and regarded them, his fingers templed. “Seems that we have a disagreement here. The truth is very important to me, the most important thing of all. Lies are intolerable. Princess, are you saying that this boy would lie about something so important?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. She gazed at the king, cleareyed. “He lies.”
“Cleo!” Aron sputtered, outraged.
“Then,” the king said, “I have no choice but to believe you.” He flicked a glance at Magnus. “Tell me, my son, what do we usually do in Limeros with those who would lie to a king?”
Magnus’s face was unreadable as always, his arms crossed over his chest. “The penalty for lying is to have one’s tongue cut out.”
The king nodded, then gestured toward the guards.
Two guards stepped forward and took hold of Aron’s arms tightly. He gasped, his face wild with fear.
“Your majesty, you can’t do this! I’m not lying! I would never lie to you—I obey your command in all ways. You are my king now! Please, you must believe me!”
The king said nothing, but nodded at another guard who approached, drawing a dagger from the sheath at his waist.
Aron was forced to his knees. A fourth guard took hold of his jaw, grabbed a handful of his hair, and wrenched open Aron’s mouth. The guard used a metal clamp to pull his tongue out from between his lips and Aron let out a strangled cry of horror.
Cleo watched all of this unfold in cold shock.
She hated Aron. She hated that she’d allowed herself to share flesh with him—taking solace only in the fact that she’d been too drunk to remember much about the act itself. She hated that he’d killed Tomas Agallon without a moment’s remorse. She hated that her father had betrothed her to him. She hated that Aron was so thoughtless that he didn’t understand why any of this was so vile to her.