Frozen Tides (Falling Kingdoms #4)(107)
LIMEROS
Cleo opened her eyes, slowly and painfully, and found that she was lying on a hard bed in a small, unfamiliar room with white plaster walls.
She groaned as she pushed herself up and pressed her hand against her head, feeling dried blood matted in her hair.
And then she remembered.
Lord Kurtis.
She’d grown to dislike him more and more over the weeks, realizing what a coward he was ever since he’d tried to get her to help him regain the power Magnus had taken from him. But she never would have expected him to be bold or decisive enough to drag her off of the palace balcony as if she were nothing more than a rag doll, and hand her over to a pair of Kraeshian guards.
He would pay dearly for that mistake.
Cleo stood and went to the door, trying the handle only to find it locked. A single window opposite the door showed her it was night, which meant she’d been unconscious for quite some time. She pushed the window open, then leaned over the sill as far as she could to see if she could spot anything familiar that might give her some clues as to her location.
She was inside a large stone building, sprawling and at least four stories tall. This was grander than a villa, more like a castle, and made of the same black granite as the Limerian palace.
The room was lit up with several lanterns, but all she could see beyond the grounds beneath her window was a thick line of trees—a forest. Heavy snow was falling, further obscuring her sight.
For a moment she thought about jumping to the snow-dusted ground below, but then quickly put it out of her mind. Even with a generous padding of snow, she knew that a leap from this height would mean a severe injury at best, instant death at worst. With a sinking heart, she pulled the windowpane shut.
“Think, Cleo,” she muttered. There had to be a way out of there.
She wondered where Magnus was. She hadn’t seen him since their horrible argument in the throne room.
She knew the prince would be angry with her for the stunt she pulled on the balcony, but she wasn’t sorry about the message she’d delivered. And she hoped her speech succeeded in changing his mind about her, once and for all.
After receiving Jonas’s message and spending a sleepless night trying to find a way to avoid getting trapped under Kraeshian rule, Cleo came to the realization that Magnus was the only person who could keep their country safe from King Gaius and Amara and their overwhelming greed.
But now, after witnessing the force and swiftness with which the Kraeshian army had taken over the palace, she saw that her final grasp at a hopeful future had been unforgivably optimistic.
Suddenly, Cleo heard a key slip into the lock and the door creaked open.
She squinted in the torchlight to see Amara Cortas herself step inside.
She offered Cleo a big smile. “Good evening, Cleo. It seems like a very long time since I last saw you.”
“It has,” Cleo answered, offering a small smile of her own. “And I can see you’ve been very busy. I suppose I should congratulate you on your victory.”
Amara glanced at the guard standing at the doorway. “Fetch us something to drink,” she ordered. “Some Paelsian wine. Since most Limerians seem to be hypocrites about their religious beliefs, I’m sure Lord Gareth keeps a stash of it somewhere in his home.”
“Yes, Empress,” the guard said, then exited the room.
Amara turned back to Cleo. “You’re probably still angry about how we left things between you and me.”
“Anger fades, Amara. Even the most intense anger.”
“I ordered my guards to have you killed.”
“I remember. But, clearly, they failed.”
“Clearly. Truthfully, though, I’m rather glad for my guards’ shortcomings. My emotions were running very high that night. Looking back on it now, I’m ashamed of how drastically I lost my composure.”
“It’s in the past now.” Cleo held on to her smile, willing herself not to remind Amara that she’d lost more than her composure that night. She’d lost her brother—had murdered him in cold blood without any hesitation. “So, this is Lord Gareth’s home?”
“Yes. A rather quaint castle, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t trust Lord Gareth if I were you. And I would especially not trust his son.”
Amara laughed. “Don’t worry, I don’t trust any man.”
The Kraeshian princess moved to the window and took a seat on the sill.
“It seems we have a problem, Cleo.”
“Oh?”
“The king wants you dead. And he wants to perform the execution himself.”
A shiver shot down Cleo’s spine, but she fought to show anything but surprise on her face. “That’s . . . I . . . but I don’t understand. What kind of threat could I pose to someone as powerful as King Gaius?”
“You don’t know?” Amara raised a brow. “I thought it was obvious. My new husband believes you are the one obstacle standing in between him and his son’s loyalty. And I must say, Cleo, given your prince’s recent actions, I don’t think he’s wrong.”
“Apologies,” said Cleo, her mind reeling, “but did you just refer to the king as ‘your husband’? You’re . . . you married King Gaius?”
Amara shrugged. “My father’s idea. He thought our marriage would symbolically bind him into the Cortas bloodline, making him worthy of sharing his power.” She regarded Cleo with amusement. “Don’t look so appalled. It’s not nearly as repulsive as it sounds.”