Frozen Tides (Falling Kingdoms #4)(13)

Cleo waved her hand dismissively. “A simple hobby to help pass the days here.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t you already have a hobby? Yes, I believe you’ve previously spent your free time plotting vengeance on me and my entire family?”

“I have many hobbies,” she countered.

“Indeed. Now, what is it you wish to speak to me about?”

“I said I’d prefer to talk in private.”

He cast a glance around the hallway, where servants bustled and several guards were stationed. “This is private enough.”

“Is it?” she said. “Then perhaps we can start by discussing what happened at Lady Sophia’s villa and why you seem to be trying your very hardest to forget all about it?”

His smile fell, and he hissed out a breath as he took Cleo firmly by her upper arm, directing her toward the nearest exit to a balcony. Suddenly she was out in the cold air without a cloak to keep her warm, her breath forming frozen clouds before her.

Magnus extended his arms in presentation. “Privacy. Just as the princess wishes. I hope it’s not too cold out here for you. For me, this temperature is refreshing after so many months trapped in the hellish heat of Auranos.”

How she wished she could read minds, to know exactly what was going on behind his dark brown eyes. Magnus had a rather enviable talent for stripping his expression of any telltale emotion. There was once a time when Cleo believed she had cracked the code, had learned how to see past this mask, but now she doubted herself, just as she doubted everything else.

All she knew for sure was that, by deciding to accompany him here to the palace rather than going into exile with Nic, she had put her immediate future in the prince’s hands. But that was a small price to pay to ensure she’d live to see the distant future.

“If you’re afraid that I want to discuss what happened at Lady Sophia’s—”

“Afraid?” he interjected. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“—then allow me to put your mind at ease.” She’d rehearsed this speech over and over in her mind since she’d left her chambers. “Emotions were running high that night and our thoughts were cloudy. Anything that either of us may have said should not be taken seriously.”

He studied her for a long moment in silence, his brow drawn together. “I must admit,” he said finally, “the details of what happened before we arrived at the temple are rather hazy for me. But what I can say is this: In the harsh light of day, confusing events seem much clearer, don’t they? Moments of regrettable foolishness that seem like they’ll carry grave consequences become entirely irrelevant.”

“My thoughts exactly.” The look of relief in his eyes should have felt freeing for her, but instead she felt a heavy weight bearing down on her chest.

Stop, Cleo, she chastised herself. You hate him and you always will. Hold on to that hate and let it make you stronger. You are his pawn in his battle against his father. That is all.

Even if Magnus had defied the king to save her, he was still his father’s heir. That meant that she remained his enemy, and that he might choose to dispose of her at any moment if it served his purpose. This had never felt more possible, now that he’d shown his true face while dealing with a minor inconvenience like Kurtis.

She swore she wouldn’t let her guard down around him again, as she had that fateful night.

“Yes, well, I’m very glad we could have this private talk,” said Magnus, moving toward the doors leading back into the palace. “Now, if we’re finished . . . ?”

“Actually, that wasn’t the primary reason I wanted to speak with you.” She straightened her shoulders and adjusted her own invisible mask. “I need you to send for my attendant, Nerissa Florens.”

He regarded her for a moment in silence. “Do you?”

“Yes.” She raised her chin higher. “And any answer besides ‘yes’ is unacceptable. As . . . delightful as the attendants are here in Limeros, I’ve grown accustomed to Nerissa and find her grooming and domestic skills to be incomparable.”

“Limerian attendants are delightful, are they?” Magnus reached toward Cleo. She froze, and he hesitated before taking a long lock of tangled, half-braided hair in hand. “Did you ask your handmaiden to transform your hair into a bird’s nest today?”

He was standing far too close to her now. Close enough that she knew from his scent that he’d been out riding today. She picked up the familiar aromas of worn leather and warm sandalwood.

She stepped back from him, knowing she would think much clearer with some space between them. Her hair slipped from his fingers. “You smell like a horse.”

“I suppose there are worse things to smell like.” He raised a brow before narrowing his gaze. “Very well, I’ll send for Nerissa if you feel she’s so valuable.”

Cleo regarded him with surprise. “Just like that? No argument?”

“Would you prefer I argue?”

“No, but I . . .” When one has gotten what they want, one should stop speaking. Cleo’s father used to say that to her whenever she’d continue to make her case for something he’d already relented to. “Thank you,” she said now, as sweetly as she could.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I must wash the scent of horses from myself. Wouldn’t want to offend anyone else with my stench.” Again, he turned toward the door.