Perhaps she could try to use that curiosity to get out of here unharmed.
“I can’t help it if your father chooses to speak so openly,” she said. “It wasn’t as if I was crouched in a cupboard in a private room. You were in the hallway. I happened along and knew if I showed my face while you were in the midst of such an intense discussion, it would anger the king.”
“Of course. What were you to do but stand in the shadows and listen?”
She couldn’t give in to her fear. She was no ordinary sixteen-year-old girl. She was a princess. A rebel. And she could take charge of this situation. Not all was lost.
She needed to push Magnus off the solid ground he currently stood upon. And she believed she knew what to say to make him lose that careful balance.
“I didn’t know you believed in magic,” she said.
Magnus blinked. “What makes you think that?”
“Talk of legends doesn’t normally transpire between those who think they’re too civilized to follow such trivial subjects.”
Magnus sighed and leaned against the wall, perhaps to try to appear bored and unaffected. “You have a talent for talking in riddles. I prefer plainer words.”
“You’ll have to see Princess Amara for that. She prides herself on her bluntness.”
“Our Kraeshian visitors are irrelevant to this discussion.” He cocked his head and intensified his gaze, as if it would help him to unravel her mysteries. “What do you know of the Kindred, princess?”
The word never failed to make her heart skip a beat. “Nothing at all.”
“My, you answered quickly. Far too quickly. Which makes me think you actually know a great deal, especially considering the books I’ve seen you reading lately. Books about magic and witches and Watchers.”
“And sorceresses,” she added, watching him carefully for a reaction and seeing only the slightest flicker in his dark eyes.
“Allow me to give you a small piece of advice, princess,” Magnus began. “Whatever interests my father, move far away from it. He obsesses over legends and searches for treasures that may or may not exist. And he doesn’t like to share.”
The confirmation sent a shiver down her spine. “I’d never expect him to.”
“Good.”
And with that his expression went blank. She knew wouldn’t be getting any more information out of him today. But this was enough for now.
“May I leave now?” she asked quietly.
“Not yet.” He studied her for an uncomfortable stretch before speaking again. “I have one more question.”
“Yes?” said Cleo, fearing what would come next.
“Why do you pursue a friendship with my sister?”
“Because I like her,” she blurted, blindsided by the question.
“You’re lying.”
Anger rose inside of her. “I’m not lying.”
“I don’t believe it’s possible for you to like Lucia. She’s a Damora, and therefore your enemy.”
“She’s different.”
His gaze raked over her, as if searching her for weapons and expecting to find another Kraeshian bridal dagger hidden behind her back. “You hate me, you hate my father, you hate anything to do with Limeros. Lucia is part of all of that. Do I believe you’re like any other girl who wants to have friends and go to banquets and giggle with her friends? Perhaps you were once, not so long ago, but not anymore. Everything you do, everything you say, is aimed toward your goal to destroy us.”
He was far more perceptive than she’d like him to be. He was causing her to lose her composure, her sense of control. Conflicting emotions welled up in her chest too quickly to hold down. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Wrong. I know everything about you. Your hate fuels you, it gives you purpose. I see it in your eyes at this very moment.” He fell quiet for a spell. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand why you hate me so much.”