She played with a long tendril of her hair that had come loose from its pins. “I knew him all my life, through good times and bad. To know he’s gone now . . .”
Her grief over the fallen boy was misplaced. Aron deserved neither tears nor heartache from anyone, but Magnus understood grief. He’d felt it himself when his mother was killed. He still felt it, like a dark, bottomless hole in his chest.
Lord Aron had been betrothed to Cleo when, without warning, King Gaius changed their plans and bound Cleo to Magnus instead.
“How did he die?” she asked now, her voice soft.
“While battling the rebels who attacked the road camp we were inspecting.”
“And a rebel killed Aron?”
“Yes.”
Cleo turned and looked at him directly. “He died in battle. That sounds so . . . brave.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Aron was many things, but brave was never one of them.” She turned away. “Perhaps I had him all wrong. If he was courageous in the end—”
“He wasn’t.” All the acidity Magnus had felt this evening poured out of him through those two words.
Cleo regarded him with shock.
“Apologies,” he said, attempting to rein in the poison that threatened to leak from him in a horrible gush of truth. “Lord Aron acted in battle exactly according to his experience, which was lacking. He had no chance. I only regret that I wasn’t able to save him.”
Such lies. He wondered how she’d react if he told her the truth—that Aron was an insipid bootlicker, a pathetic wimp who’d sooner bow down before a conquering king and do whatever was asked of him without question than defend his or his people’s honor.
Aron only got what was coming to him.
Cleo watched him now with a frown.
“This topic has upset you,” she said.
Magnus turned toward the garden to shield his face from her. His sister and the Kraeshians were gone. “I feel nothing other than eagerness to end this conversation. Unless there’s anything else you wish to know tonight?”
“Only the truth.”
“Excuse me?”
“I feel that there’s something you’re holding back.”
“Believe me, princess, even if I were, it’s nothing you’d want to know.”
She looked at him intently as he absently brushed his fingers against the scar that stretched from the top of his left cheek to the left corner of his mouth. He despised such close scrutiny.
There was a time when Lucia had been able to see through his masks, the invisible ones he’d perfected over the years to hide his emotions, to keep a necessary distance between himself and those around him. To appear as a younger version of his father. Now that his sister had lost that ability, he had the deeply unnerving sensation that Cleo had learned how to see past his masks as well.
“Tell me more about what happened in Paelsia,” she urged.
He met her gaze again only to find that she’d drawn alarmingly closer to him. “Careful, princess. Remember what happened the last time we shared a balcony. You don’t want that to happen again, do you?”
He expected to see disgust flash in her eyes at being reminded of their wedding tour, when they’d been forced to share a kiss in front of an eager, cheering crowd.
Their first kiss and, as he’d promised her at the time, their last.
“Good night, Prince Magnus.”
Without another word and only a chill in her voice to indicate her reaction to the memory, Cleo turned and exited the balcony, leaving him alone in the darkness.