Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms 2)

“You should know, princess . . .” Aron’s voice cut between them as effectively as the edge of a blade “. . . the king has instructed that these portraits—apart from the one of you, of course—are to be taken down and replaced with those of the Damoras.”

Cleo spun to face yet another lurker in the shadows. That was what Aron did now that their engagement was called off. Lurk.

She had hoped he would go away, back to his parents’ villa elsewhere in the City of Gold, but it appeared that he had moved into the palace permanently.

“And will you do it yourself?” she asked, her words twisting. “I know, as the king’s new lap dog, you will do anything he asks of you for the mere promise of a treat.”

He gave her a tight smile. “No, why should I? Since I am fully capable of giving orders of my own. And why wait?” He gestured toward the two red-uniformed guards who’d accompanied him. They immediately went to the wall and began to remove the portraits. Mira clutched Cleo’s arm as if to prevent her from lurching forward. Fury rose within her like a tidal wave.

She glared at him. “How can you do this, Aron?”

“Lord Aron, Cleo. As kingsliege, and since we are no longer betrothed, it will show more respect if you begin to use my proper title.”

Of course. Kingsliege. The king had gone ahead with his promise to bestow the lofty—but, in Cleo’s opinion, meaningless—title on Aron. He was still a “lord,” only now it was a title Aron felt he’d earned, rather than having it given to him through his family line. Everyone of importance in the palace had been required to gather in the throne room for the ceremony yesterday. Now Aron wore his new status like a suit of armor, shiny protection against anything that might attempt to hurt him.

It sickened her. He acted as if he’d been born with Limerian blood running through his veins. Once, Cleo might have dismissed this as merely a necessary survival tactic against the enemy now in power. But Aron did everything asked of him with a smile on his face, as if he relished being one of the King of Blood’s trained dogs.

“He finds you an amusement, you know.” She couldn’t stop herself from speaking her thoughts. “Pray to the goddess that you make yourself invaluable to him before this amusement wears thin.”

“I could say the same for you, princess,” Aron said evenly.

“What are you going to do with the paintings, Lord Aron?” Mira asked with the barest edge of sarcasm detectable in her tone. “Hang them in your chambers?”

There was once a time when Mira had had warm feelings for the handsome lord, but no more. She too saw him for what he truly was. An opportunist who would sell his own mother’s soul to a demon from the darklands if it meant he might gain the king’s favor.

“They’ll be burned,” he said simply, and Cleo’s heart wrenched. He gave her a smirk. “On the king’s orders.”

Somehow, the horrible thought that her family’s portraits would be destroyed brought a coolness to her, a calm that held power. Her hatred now burned with ice, not fire.

“I’ll remember this, Aron.”

“Lord Aron.” As the guards finally yanked Emilia’s portrait down from the wall, Aron nodded at them. “Good. Take them outside and leave them by the stables for now. They may as well become coated with filth, just like that idiot friend of yours now is.”

“Idiot friend?” Cleo asked quietly. Cautiously.

“That he yet breathes is a constant surprise to me. But knee deep in horse dung is a fair punishment for—”

But she was already walking away down the long hall, pulling Mira with her.

“Cleo?” Mira asked, uncertain. “Where are we going?”

“I think I know where Nic is.”

Mira’s eyes widened. “Then we must move quickly!”

Ignoring both the shadowy guards and Aron, who now followed them, Cleo and Mira moved swiftly through the castle. She may be little more than a glorified prisoner within these walls, but this was Cleo’s home and she knew the labyrinthine hallways better than anyone. As a child, she and Emilia had played hide and seek with their nursemaids—although the nursemaids had never found much amusement in the impromptu games.

They emerged outside into the courtyard, an walled, open-air space in the center of the palace filled with herb gardens, apple and peach trees, and lilac bushes in full bloom that scented the warm evening air with their perfume. The moon was full and bright, lighting their way along the winding cobblestone path.

No one tried to stop Cleo as she pushed open the gate leading out of the courtyard, down a long hallway, and exited the east side of the castle toward the stables, Mira following close behind. Beyond the stables was the rest of the walled city, home to many thousand Auranian citizens. Here she was as close to freedom as she’d been since King Gaius had destroyed her world and taken her father’s throne. She had no doubt that if she attempted to breach the outer palace walls she would be stopped and dragged back inside.

But escape was not her goal tonight.

As they neared the stables, the stench of manure hung heavy in the air. And there she saw him.

“Cleo . . .” Mira whispered, then louder: “Cleo! You’re right— he’s here!”

Heart in throat, Cleo hurried her pace as the girls rushed toward Nic. A few other stable hands looked on with interest. Nic watched their approach with wide eyes, then dropped the two buckets he carried. They sloshed against the ground. However, before Cleo or Mira could get any closer, the guards closed in and grabbed each of the girls’ arms to stop them.