Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms, #1)(21)

In the morning, Cleo rose, dressed, and breakfasted on fruit, soft cheese, and bread delivered to her chambers by a palace maid. Then she took a deep breath and opened her door.

“Good morning, princess,” Theon said. He typically waited down the hall from her room in the mornings, ready to do his bodyguard duties—which included lurking about all day long in her peripheral vision.

“Morning,” she replied as casually as possible.

She’d need to give her shadow the slip if she wanted to talk to Aron privately. Luckily, she knew this wasn’t impossible. In the weeks since Theon’s new placement she’d tested him a few times to see if she could successfully hide from him. It became a bit of a game that she often won. Theon, however, didn’t think it was very amusing.

“I need to see my sister,” she said firmly.

Theon nodded. “By all means. Don’t let me stop you.”

She moved through the hall, surprised when she turned the next corner to see Mira heading her way. Her friend looked upset and distracted. There was no immediate smile on Mira’s round, pretty face at the sight of the princess like there normally was.

“What’s wrong?” Cleo asked, clasping the girl’s arm.

“Nothing, I’m sure. But I’m off to get a healer to attend Emilia.”

Cleo frowned. “Is she still sick?”

“Her headaches and dizziness seem to worsen every day. She insists all she needs is more sleep, but I think it’s for the best that someone looks at her.”

Concern swelled in Cleo’s chest. “Of course. Thank you, Mira.”

Mira nodded, and with a glance at Theon standing nearby she continued down the hall.

“My sister,” Cleo said under her breath. “Never one to accept help unless it’s forced upon her. Duty above all. Just like a proper princess should be. My father would be so proud.”

“She sounds very brave,” Theon responded.

“Perhaps. But they call me the stubborn one. If I was feeling dizzy all the time, I’d want a dozen healers called to my bedside to make it stop.” She paused at the door to Emilia’s chambers. “Please let me speak privately to my sister.”

“Of course. I’ll wait right here.”

She entered Emilia’s bedchamber and closed the door behind her. Her sister stood on her open balcony, looking down at the gardens below. The morning sun brushed against her high cheekbones and picked up glints of gold in her hair, which was a few shades darker than Cleo’s since Emilia wasn’t so given to spending time outdoors. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Good morning, Cleo.”

“I hear you’re unwell.”

Emilia sighed, but a smile touched her lips. “I assure you I’m fine.”

“Mira is worried.”

“Mira is always worried.”

“You might have a point.” Mira did tend to exaggerate things, Cleo remembered, like the time she’d hysterically insisted there was a viper in her bedroom and it turned out to be a harmless garden snake. Cleo relaxed slightly. Besides, Emilia looked perfectly healthy.

Emilia studied her sister’s face as she glanced toward the door. “You look rather conspiratorial this morning. Are you up to some sort of mischief?”

Cleo couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe a little.”

“Of what sort?”

“Escape.” She glanced out the window. “Using your trellis like we used to.”

“Really. May I ask why?” Emilia didn’t seem surprised by this admission at all. She’d been the one who’d taught Cleo how to climb down to the gardens when they’d been much younger—back before Emilia had started shifting into a much more poised and perfect princess. Back when she didn’t mind getting dirty or her knees skinned with her younger sister. Now Cleo was the only one who would consider such a feat. A proper future queen like Emilia would never do such a dangerous thing and risk hurting herself.

“I need to see Aron. Alone.”

Emilia raised an eyebrow, disapproving. “Our father hasn’t even announced your engagement yet. And you’re sneaking off for some illicit romance before it’s all official?”

Cleo’s stomach lurched. “That’s not why I want to see him.”

“He’ll make you a fine husband, you know.”

“Sure, he will,” Cleo said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Just like Darius made you a fine husband.”

Emilia’s gaze grew harsh. “Sharp tongue, Cleo. You should watch where you point it or you might hurt someone.”

Cleo blushed, abashed. She’d just trod on some extremely unpleasant territory. Lord Darius Larides was the man to whom Emilia had been engaged a year ago at eighteen. However, the closer they got to the wedding day, the deeper Emilia sank into a depression at the thought of marrying him—even though all agreed he was a fine pick: tall, handsome, charismatic. No one knew why, but Cleo guessed her sister had fallen in love with someone else. If it was true, though, she never found out who. Emilia had never so much as cast a flirtatious glance at any of the men in the palace, and for that matter she’d seemed rather sad over the past few weeks. Embarrassed, Cleo changed the subject.

“I need to go while I have the chance,” Cleo whispered, eyeing the balcony. The trellis outside was as good and strong as any ladder.