He had to focus. He had to decide if he was going to tell Ashur the king’s plans and hope it was the right decision or make up a meaningless message from the king and get out of there as quickly as he could before someone at the palace noticed his absence.
More guards were probably already on their way.
“I shouldn’t have brought this up,” Ashur said, his expression strained. “There’s no reason for you to feel uncomfortable around me. I mean you no harm.”
Nic groaned, his storming emotions in turmoil. “I don’t think you want to harm me. And you’re wrong. I’m not sorry you kissed me.”
“No?”
Damn. Enough of this.
Nic’s cheeks had suddenly grown very warm. He was tired of being timid, fearful, and uncertain. He may have been once, but no longer.
He met Ashur’s gaze directly. “I overheard the king give orders to arrest you and Princess Amara. He believes you’re still at the banquet, but I saw you leave so I came here myself to warn you. He means to detain you in the dungeons indefinitely to prevent your father from launching an armada.”
There, he’d said it.
And now he felt as if he were going to be sick.
“I see.” Ashur leaned back in his chair, seemingly unfazed by the monumental information Nic had just committed treason in order to tell him. “Why would you tell me this?”
“Because I hate him,” he replied simply and truthfully. “Because he killed my sister. Because he destroyed everything I love, and to this day controls the fate of my dearest friend. He is evil. And he needs to be defeated.”
Ashur watched him intently for another long moment, then nodded. “You made the right decision.”
“You need to flee immediately.”
“Kraeshians do not flee.” He fixed Nic with a slow smile. “Ever.”
“Pardon me for saying, but when his fleet of guards arrive here they will far outnumber yours—and you’ll be taken easily. The king will win.”
“You underestimate me. And you underestimate my sister. Much gratitude to you, Nic, for following us here with this warning.” He reached across the table and placed his hand on top of Nic’s. “I appreciate it more than you know.”
Nic studied Ashur’s hand: dark and flawless against his own pale, freckled skin. “You’re welcome.”
Ashur glanced toward the entryway as his servant returned with a tray bearing a pitcher of apple cider and two silver goblets. Nic yanked his hand away from Ashur’s as she set it down on the table between them. As the servant left, another figure brushed past her.
“We speak of her,” Ashur said, “and she appears as if by magic.”
As she emerged onto the patio, Amara’s gaze fell on Nic. “Has Princess Cleo decided to align with us?”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“No, Amara, Nic is here to warn us of the king’s plans. They’re exactly what we expected. He means to capture us both tonight.”
She sighed with annoyance. “How deeply inconvenient.”
How could neither sibling seem frightened by the possibility of spending the rest of their life in the dungeon?
Ashur filled the goblets with cider and pushed one toward Nic. “I’d like to make a toast.”
“To what?” Nic asked. He raised his glass and found that his hand still shook with anxiety despite the unexpected atmosphere of absolute serenity at the villa.
“I have a suggestion,” Amara said. “Let’s drink to Princess Lucia, the sorceress reborn. The girl who will lead us to the Kindred.”
Nic’s stomach flipped upon hearing Amara repeat the same secrets Cleo had entrusted him with. “To Princess Lucia,” he whispered.
He took a quick sip of the sweet drink.