Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms #2)(37)

“Or, trust me, I’ll cut off more than your tongue.”

She had no time for this nonsense, disturbing though it was. Cleo turned and began walking away from him, but his footsteps followed her. She swiftly moved past the library, avoiding looking directly at the portraits of the Damoras that now hung in the place of her family’s.

Eyes focused on her path, she nearly ran right into Magnus as he emerged from the library, books in his arms. He glanced at her uninterestedly, then looked over her shoulder. At the sight of Magnus, Aron’s steps faltered. He nodded to the prince and continued on past them, slowly, to disappear around the next corner.

“Seems you’re being pursued, princess. My father’s new kings-liege doesn’t give up on true love easily, does he?”

True love. Such a notion was laughable. “He will. Eventually.”

She eyed the books the prince held. It surprised her to see they all had to do with magic and legend—books she’d already skimmed only to find they held no useful answers.

He noticed that his selections had drawn her attention. “Just a little light reading to pass the boring days.”

She chanced a look into his dark brown eyes. “You believe in magic?”

“Of course not. Only a fool would believe in such nonsense.” He gave her an unpleasant smirk. “You care what I might believe in?”

“I thought you only cared about power and position at any cost. What more should I know?”

“Nothing at all.” His smirk held, but his eyes were cold. “Seems your other admirer also lingers nearby. So many boys seem to be enamored of you, I’d need a ledger to keep track of them all.”

“Princess,” Nic’s voice called out from her left, “I was sent to find you.”

She tore her attention from the loathsome prince. Nic approached her swiftly, but his wary gaze was focused on Magnus.

The sight of Nic was always a relief and lightened her mood—even in the presence of an enemy. But today, her expression soured to see his clothes. Not clothes. Uniform.

Red. Familiar. Hateful. But necessary.

After finding Nic toiling in the stables, and the morning after her shocking and unwelcome visit from Jonas Agallon in the darkness of her chambers, Cleo had gone directly to the king himself. She made no mention of the rebel but asked—or, rather, begged—for Nic to be reassigned to another part of the palace. Magnus had been present during this and had argued for Nic to remain indefinitely exactly where he was.

“You sent the former king’s squire to work in the stables and didn’t tell me?” the king asked, perplexed. “Such a boy would have more value than that to me elsewhere.”

Cleo had been surprised to learn Magnus hadn’t shared anything with his father about what Nic had done to gain him such a punishment. Nor did the prince choose to reveal such details presently. Perhaps he was ashamed and embarrassed by what had happened in Paelsia the day he’d killed Theon.

He should be.

“There are reasons for everything I do,” was all Magnus would say. “Nicolo Cassian deserves to remain in the horse filth indefinitely.”

“Unless you can give me a solid reason why, I will have to disagree with you.”

Magnus kept his mouth closed but cast a dark look at Cleo, who inwardly glowed from this small victory.

Cleo had won this round. However, instead of shoveling muck and horse filth, Nic had been assigned to the palace guard and was now forced to wear the uniform of their enemy. Nic’s jaw was tight and his focus didn’t leave Magnus. “Princess, is everything all right?”

“Of course,” she said quietly. “As well as can be expected.”

Magnus actually snorted at this. “Don’t worry. I haven’t heaped any indignities upon your fair princess today. Then again, it is quite early.”

Nic’s gaze burned with hatred. “If you should ever think to harm her, you will answer to me.”

“And you should be very careful how you speak to your superiors. That sounded very near a threat.”

“Make no mistake, Prince Magnus, no matter how low you try to push me, I won’t let anything unpleasant happen to Cleo ever again.”

Magnus’s expression remained amused. “You entertain me, Cassian. Perhaps I’m glad I didn’t ask for your head.”

“Why didn’t you?” Cleo asked curiously. “And why didn’t you tell the king what happened that day?”

Magnus’s mouth tightened. “I felt it . . . unnecessary. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must visit my sister. May you have a fruitful journey to Hawk’s Brow with my mother, princess.”

Cleo studied the prince as he walked away. The boy was a complete and utter enigma to her.

She preferred to keep it that way.

“I hate him,” Nic said through clenched teeth.

“Really?” Cleo turned to him, angry now. “You hide it so well.”

“You expect me to—”

“You must not say such things to him no matter how you feel! Say them to me in confidence, but not to him. He could still order your execution for the slightest insult and you know it!”

Nic grimaced, eyes now lowered to the ground. “You’re right. Apologies, Cleo.”

“No apologies necessary. I only ask that you be more careful.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I refuse to lose you. Ever. Understand?”