“Why did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie.” He slapped her hard across her face, the sting of it more satisfying that he’d expected. Inflicting pain upon this beautiful golden creature gave him great pleasure.
o;That son of a bitch shoved you,” Nic whispered to Cleo. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” But confusion still clouded her thoughts and not only about the boy’s claims. Magnus had acted instinctively at the sight of the dagger. He hadn’t shoved her to be cruel. He’d done it to . . . protect her.
Cleo was breathless as they were led to the black balcony overlooking the gathered crowd in the square below. Snow still fell in soft flakes, coating the ground with a layer of pristine white. The sky was the color of slate. The moment she and the prince came out into view, the crowd began to cheer at the top of their voices. Such a welcome would have been close to pleasant before, but after the drama that had just occurred . . .
It was an important reminder that this was all lies. A thin layer of snow that would soon melt to reveal the ugliness that lay beneath its beauty.
The prince moved to the railing, holding up his hands to silence the crowd. And then he began to speak—confident, proud, and with command . . . Or so it seemed.
His mask was perfectly in place. He was Prince Magnus, heir to the throne. And he held his own, even a short time after an assassination attempt.
Even Cleo had to admit that it was impressive. That he was impressive.
“And here we are,” Magnus said, his voice loud and clear, his breath freezing in the cold air, “after much struggle and conflict. It has not been an easy path, but to achieve great change it takes great strength and fortitude. My father’s road, which will end at the Temple of Valoria, represents this change, this uniting of three lands. Beside me is another symbol of such a change to this kingdom. Princess Cleiona is the bravest girl I’ve ever known—one who has faced so many hardships in such a short time and weathered them all with incredible strength and grace. I’m honored to now stand by her side.”
He flicked her a glance, his gaze hard and unreadable. She returned it with one of her own. Such beautiful words, she could almost fool herself into believing he spoke from his heart.
“I am certain that for every day of happiness the princess and I will share together, this kingdom will benefit in kind.”
Oh, he was droll. And he knew it, too. There was now just the edge of humor in his gaze that he might ever refer to their forced union as a path to romantic bliss.
An uproariously loud cheer accompanied the end of his speech. His shoulders relaxed a fraction—barely noticeable if she hadn’t been looking. Her gaze moved to the tear in his shirt and the wound beneath that still bled, dripping down his arm to fall to the floor.
Red. The color of Limeros.
The crowd had started to chant something, but for a moment she couldn’t understand.
“What are they saying?” she asked.
Magnus’s jaw tensed.
“A kiss,” said Lord Gareth, who stood further back in the shadows. As one of the king’s closest friends, he had been invited to join them on the balcony for the speech along with several guards, including Nic. “The crowd wishes for the royal couple to show their love with a kiss.”
Magnus turned his head away from the cheering crowd. “I’m not interested in such irrelevant public displays.”
“Perhaps not. But they would like it anyway.”
“A KISS! A KISS!” the crowd chanted.
“I mean,” their advisor continued wryly, “it would not be the first, would it? What difference would such a small request matter to please this hungry crowd?”
“I don’t know,” Cleo began, sickened by the thought of it. How far was she willing to go to appear agreeable? “Quite honestly, it seems like a bad—”
Magnus took a tight hold of her arm and turned her around. Before she could say another word, he put his hand behind her neck, drew her closer to him, and kissed her.
Every muscle in her body stiffened. It was the sensation of being a bird caught in a hunter’s trap. Her wings screamed out for her to fly away as fast and as far as possible. But he held her firmly in place, his mouth against hers, soft but demanding a response.
She gripped the front of his shirt. It was all too much—she wasn’t sure if she was pushing him away or pulling him closer. Much like diving into deep water, she had no idea which way would find her air to breathe or which way would drag her down deeper into the depths where she would surely drown.
And for a moment, just a moment, she found it didn’t seem to matter.
The warmth of his body against hers on such a cold day, his now-familiar scent of sandalwood, the heat of his mouth against hers . . . it all made her head spin, and logic fell away.
When he pulled back, her lips felt as if they’d been set ablaze, a fire that continued to burn as bright as the flames now spreading across her cheeks.