Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms, #1)(16)

She rushed away from the council room, through the courtyard, up a flight of stairs, and down a hall into an open corridor before she let out a harsh scream of frustration.

“Ouch. You have absolutely no consideration for my eardrums, do you, princess?”

Cleo spun around in shock, heart pounding—she’d thought she was alone. She let out a long sigh of relief to see who it was. And then she promptly burst into tears.

Nicolo Cassian leaned against the smooth marble wall, his arms crossed over his chest. The curious expression on his thin face fell and his brows drew together.

“Oh, no. Don’t cry. Tears are not something I can deal with.”

“My—my father is cruel and unfair,” she sobbed, then collapsed into his arms. He gently patted her back.

“The cruelest ever. There has never been a crueler father than King Corvin. If he wasn’t king, and if I wasn’t his squire who had to follow his every order, I would strike him down, just for you.”

Nic was the older brother of Mira. Only a year separated the siblings, making Nic seventeen. Where Mira’s hair was dark with streaks of sun-kissed red, her figure warmly voluptuous, Nic’s hair was unusual for Auranos: pure red, the color of a carrot, and it stuck up in every direction. His face was more gawky, sharp angles, and with a nose that tilted slightly to the left. And his skin was covered in freckles that only intensified with the more time he spent outside in the sun. She could easily wrap her arms all the way around his waist as she buried her head in his chest and her tears sank into his wool tunic.

Nic and Mira had been the children of Sir Rogerus Cassian, a close friend of the king’s who had died, alongside his wife, in a boating accident seven years ago. The king had given the orphaned children official positions at the palace, allowing them to live here and take meals side by side with him, Cleo, and Emilia and to be educated by the palace tutors. While Mira was the lady-in-waiting to Emilia, Nic had proved himself a very useful squire to the king himself—a position envied by many.

If Mira was Cleo’s closest friend, then Nic was Cleo’s closest friend who was a boy. She felt more comfortable in his company than anyone except her sister’s—even Mira’s, if she was being honest. And this was not the first time, nor did she think it would be the last, that she would cry on his shoulder.

“My kingdom for a handkerchief,” he murmured. “There, there, Cleo. What’s wrong?”

“My father plans to announce my engagement to Aron soon.” Her breath hitched. “Officially!”

He grimaced. “Now I see why you’re so upset. An engagement to a handsome lord. How horrible that must be for you.”

She slapped his shoulder and tried not to laugh in the midst of her tears. “Stop it. You know I don’t want to marry him.”

“I know. But an engagement does not equal a marriage.”

“Not yet.”

He shrugged. “I suppose I might have a simple solution for you if you’re really so upset about this.”

She looked at him eagerly. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Tell your father that you’re madly in love with me and that you refuse to marry anyone else. And if he causes a problem, threaten to run away with me and elope.”

This finally coaxed a true smile from her and she hugged him again. “Oh, Nic. I should have known you’d be able to cheer me up.”

“Is that a yes?”

Cleo gazed up into his familiar face with a grin. “Stop being silly. As if you’d even have me. We’re too good friends to consider each other anything else.”

He shrugged a bony shoulder. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

She let out a shaky sigh. “Besides, my father would have a fit at the very suggestion of it. You’re not exactly royal.”

“As unroyal as they come, actually.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “And damn proud of it. You royals are such a stuffy bunch. Mira, however, wishes she was born royal every waking hour.”

“Your sister is a handful.”

“We’d better make sure she marries a man with large enough hands to deal with her.”

“Does he exist?”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

She heard footsteps coming toward them, heavy on the marble floors.

“There you are, your highness.” It was Theon, dressed in his stiff blue uniform, his expression dour. “The king sent me to find you.”

She let out a long shaky sigh. And so it begins.

Nic looked between them. “Is there a problem?”

“This is Theon Ranus,” she said. There was a tight look on his face right now that wasn’t quite the same as the arrogant one she’d seen the other day in Paelsia. “Theon, you don’t look very happy. Did my father ask you to do something that doesn’t agree with you?”

The young guard kept his dark eyes straight forward. “I obey any command the king gives me.”

“I see. And what did he want of you this time?” she asked knowingly.

Theon’s jaw tensed. “He assigned me as your personal bodyguard.”

“Hmm. How do you feel about that?”

“I feel...honored.” He gritted this out.

“Bodyguard?” Nic’s eyebrows went up. “Why would you need a bodyguard?”