Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms, #1)(45)

“I don’t see you that way at all.” Theon shook his head. “You’re a girl who views the world in a certain way. You want what you want. And if obstacles are presented to you, you try to find a way around them. Or through them.”

She looked up at him with gratitude. Considering what a short time they’d known each other, he saw her as she would like to be seen. She could only hope it was the truth. “Thank you for trying to protect me, even if occasionally it must mean that I can’t have what I want.”

“It’s my honor to protect you. Sleep well.” With a last searching look, Theon turned from her and moved down the hall.

Cleo went into her room, prepared for bed, and went to sleep.

And then, an hour before sunrise, she rose, dressed, and slipped out of her room, past the sleeping maid who was stationed by her door, waiting for her to awaken.

She’d lied to Theon when she said she planned to leave in two days. Emilia didn’t have that kind of time. Cleo had made her decision to go right away, even if it had to be by herself. She had some money with her. She would hire someone else to be her guide. Once she was past the palace walls, she’d plan her next step.

“Morning, princess.”

She froze.

For a split second she was certain it was Theon who’d discovered her ruse. But he didn’t know her quite well enough to know when she was lying.

However, somebody else did.

Nic leaned against the wall around the next corner next to a portrait of Cleo and Emilia’s great-grandfather.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, his arms folded over his chest. His red hair stuck up in every direction as if he’d just rolled out of bed without a care to how he looked. He probably had.

“I—I’m hungry. I’m going to the kitchen.”

“Oh, please. You can’t lie to me, Cleo.”

She straightened, forcing herself not to feel guilty. “All right, fine. I’m leaving. I’m going to Paelsia and I don’t care what anyone says. Are you going to try to stop me?”

Nic studied her for a moment, his expression neutral. “No. But I’ll tell you what I am going to do.”

“What?”

He grinned. “I’m going with you.”





It had taken well over a month of trying, but Jonas had finally been granted audience with Chief Basilius.

“Color me impressed,” Brion said under his breath as they were led along the dirt path leading to the chief’s gated, guarded compound. “You need to give me a few lessons from the Jonas Agallon school of charisma.”

“It’s easy.”

“Says you.” Brion glanced at the gorgeous girl who had her arm around Jonas’s waist. The one who’d finally promised the two of them that they could meet the chief. Also known as her father.

Jonas had quickly realized that the only way he would ever get a chance to see the reclusive Paelsian leader was through his family. And Laelia Basilius was more than willing to help Jonas when he’d casually approached her at a tavern. She’d been performing there. The chief’s daughter was a dancer.

And what a dancer she was . . .

“Snakes,” Brion had said to him with surprise as they’d watched her perform to a crowd of over a hundred a week ago. “She’s dancing with snakes.”

She was. She really was.

“I never liked snakes before,” Jonas replied. “But I’m starting to see the appeal.”

Laelia was a stunningly beautiful girl—a couple years older than he was. And she danced with two snakes, a white and black python that writhed and slid over her shapely body. He felt mesmerized watching her, her hips swaying, her long black hair—to her knees—flowing with the movements of her tanned body.

But he wasn’t really seeing her.

All he could see was a beautiful golden princess with eyes the color of the sea standing over the body of his dead brother and next to his murderer.

Even though Jonas had been diverted from his original plan to sneak into the palace in Auranos to kill both Lord Aron and Princess Cleo, he remained fixated with the memory of her. He hated the royals and everything they stood for with every fiber of his being. But he had to focus. He had no choice. He tried to plaster a smile on his face as he and Brion drew closer to the Paelsian chief’s daughter.

Before, when Jonas and Tomas had gone to taverns and made conversation with pretty girls—performers or otherwise—after a backbreaking day of work in the vineyards that added calluses to both their hands and spirits, Tomas had been the more popular one. Older, maybe a fraction better-looking. He was a born flirt. Jonas received plenty of attention to brighten his nights after difficult days, but he couldn’t help but think the girls had preferred his brother.

With Tomas gone, that had definitely changed.

When he’d finally caught Laelia’s eye that first night, her gaze slid over him with appreciation. After the music stopped, she slipped a sheer, gauzy wrap over her curves and waited coyly for his approach.

“Nice snakes,” he said, offering her a wicked grin.

The grin didn’t fail him.

She was his.

Laelia Basilius had no calluses on her hands or sunburnt face like the girls he was used to spending time with. When she laughed, it was from pure amusement and not edged in weariness from a hard day of manual labor. She liked Jonas. A lot. And a week later, she wanted to introduce him to her father.