Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms 1)

Cleo stuck her tongue out at her friend. “I have better things to do with my time than read.”

For the last week, those “better things” had included much fretting and worrying while awake and nightmares while asleep. Even if she wanted to read, her eyes were bloodshot and sore.

Emilia finally put down her paintbrush to give Cleo her full attention. “We should go back inside, where you’ll be safe from the beady eyes of spying birds.”

“You can make fun of me as much as you like, sister, but I can’t help how I feel.”

“Indeed. Perhaps it’s guilt over what happened in Paelsia that makes you feel this way.”

Nausea welled within her. She turned her face up toward the sun, so very different from the coldness in Paelsia that had sunk down to her bones. The entire trip home she had shivered, unable to get warm. The chill had stayed with her for days afterward, even once she returned to the warmth of home. “Ridiculous,” she lied. “I’ve already forgotten it.”

“Do you know that is what Father is meeting with his council about today?”

“About what?”

“About...well, you. And Aron. And everything that happened that day.”

Cleo felt the blood drain from her face. “What are they saying?”

“Nothing to be concerned with.”

“If I wasn’t to be concerned, you wouldn’t have brought the subject up at all, would you?”

Emilia swung her legs around and rose from her chair. She steadied herself for a moment and Mira looked up, concerned, and put down her needlework to come to her side. Emilia had been having some difficulty with headaches and dizziness the last couple of weeks.

“Tell me what you know,” Cleo urged, watching Emilia worriedly.

“The death of the wine seller’s son has apparently caused some political difficulties for Father. It’s become a bit of a scandal, really. Everyone’s talking about it and placing blame in various places. He’s doing his best to ease any ill feelings this has raised. Even though Auranos imports a great deal of Paelsian wine, export of it has all but shut down until the crisis eases off. Many Paelsians refuse to deal with us. They’re angry with us—and with Father for letting this happen. Of course, they’re blowing everything completely out of proportion.”

“It’s all so horrible,” Mira exclaimed. “I wish I could forget it ever happened.”

That made two of them. Cleo wrung her hands, her dismay mirrored on Mira’s face. “And how long will it take before everything goes back to normal?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Emilia replied.

Cleo despised politics mainly because she didn’t understand them. But then, she didn’t have to. Emilia was the heir to their father’s throne. She would be the next queen, not Cleo.

Thank the goddess for that. There was no way that Cleo could deal with endless council meetings and being cordial and polite to those who hadn’t earned it. Emilia had been raised from birth to be a perfect princess who could deal with any issues that arose. Cleo...well, she enjoyed sunning herself, taking her horse out for long rides in the countryside, and spending time with her friends.

She’d never been associated with such a scandal yet. Apart from the secret Aron kept, there was nothing scandalous anyone could say about Princess Cleiona. Until now, she realized anxiously.

“I need to talk to Father,” Cleo said. “To find out what’s going on.”

Without another word spoken, she left Emilia and Mira in the courtyard and entered the castle, hurrying through the well-lit hallways until she came to the council room. Through the arched doorway, sunlight shone through the many windows, their wooden shutters wide open. A large fire in the hearth also lent light to the large room. She had to wait until they were finished and all filed out before her father was alone. She paced outside the room, bristling with energy. Patience was a gift Cleo had never received.

Once everyone had left, she burst inside to find her father still seated at the head of a long polished wooden table large enough to seat a hundred men. Cleo’s great-grandfather had commissioned it from the wood of olive trees that grew outside the palace walls. A wide colorful tapestry hung on the far wall, detailing the history of Auranos. Cleo had spent many hours as a child staring at it in awe and admiring the great artwork of it. On the opposite wall was the Bellos family crest and one of many bright, sparkling mosaics depicting the Goddess Cleiona, for whom Cleo had been named.

“What’s going on?” Cleo demanded.

Her father looked up at her from a stack of scrolls and paperwork. He was dressed casually, in leathers and a finely knit tunic. His neatly groomed brown beard was threaded with gray. Some said Cleo and her father’s eyes were the exact same color of vivid blue-green, while her sister, Emilia, had inherited their late mother’s brown ones. Both Emilia and Cleo, however, had been born with their mother’s fair hair, unusual in Auranos, where the people tended to be darker-complected from the sun. Queen Elena had been the daughter of a wealthy landowner in the eastern hills of Auranos before King Corvin had seen and fallen in love with her on his coronation tour more than two decades before. Family lore had it that Elena’s ancestors had emigrated from across the Silver Sea.

“Were your ears burning, daughter?” he asked. “Or did Emilia tell you of current events?”

“What difference does it make? If it concerns me, then I should be told. So tell me!”

He held her gaze easily, unmoved by her demands. The fiery nature of his youngest daughter was nothing new to him and he weathered it as he always did. Why wouldn’t he? Cleo never caused more of a fuss than a few words spilled. She would grumble and rant but then swiftly forget about whatever troubled her as her attention caught on something else. The king recently compared her to a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower. She hadn’t taken this as a compliment.

“Your trip to Paelsia last week is a topic of contention, Cleo. A growing one, I’m afraid.”