Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms, #1)(14)
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.”
Fear and guilt immediately crashed over her. Until today, she didn’t realize he even knew about it. Except for unburdening herself to Emilia, she hadn’t said a word about it from the moment she stepped on the ship in the Paelsia harbor. She’d hoped to put the murder of the wine seller’s son out of her mind, but it hadn’t worked very well. She relived it every night when she closed her eyes and fell asleep. Also, the murderous glare of the boy’s brother—Jonas—as he threatened her life before she, Aron, and Mira ran away haunted her.
“Apologies.” The words caught in her throat. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“I believe you. But it seems as if trouble follows you wherever you go.”
“Are you going to punish me?”
“Not precisely. However, these recent difficulties have made me decide that you will stay here at the palace from this day forward. I won’t allow you to take my ship again on your explorations until further notice.”
Despite her shame over the events in Paelsia, the very idea of this grounding made her bristle. “I can’t just be expected to never leave, like some sort of prisoner.”
“What happened is not acceptable, Cleo.”
Her throat tightened. “Don’t you think I feel horrible about it?”
“I’m sure you do. But it changes nothing.”
“It shouldn’t have happened.”
“But it did. You shouldn’t have been there at all. Paelsia is no place for a princess. It’s too dangerous.”
“But Aron—”
“Aron.” Her father’s eyes flashed. “He’s the one who killed the peasant, correct?”
Aron’s violent and unexpected turn in the market surprised even Cleo. Even though she harbored distrust for the boy, she was dismayed by his lack of guilt.