His heart had evolved so dramatically over the last few months that he had to wonder if he was still the same person who had once pined away for his adopted sister. Though it had taken on a new form, that love for her was still there within him. No matter what Lucia might do or say, Magnus loved her unconditionally and was ready to forgive her for any misdoings.

But the desire he’d once had for her . . . his heart had utterly and permanently shifted to someone else—someone far more frustrating and dangerous to him than his adopted sister had ever been.

“She did choose to run away with her tutor, after all,” Cleo reminded him.

His lips thinned. “Yes, and now the fate of the world rests on whether or not we find where she’s run off to.” Cleo looked at him, skepticism plain in her stare. “What, princess?” he asked. “You have doubts?”

“I . . .” Cleo started, then paused to stare down at her feet as if deep in thought. “Magnus, I’m just not sure she’s the singular solution you seem to be counting on.”

“She has dealings with the fire Kindred. I believe she must know how to draw the magic from the Kindred without also allowing the elemental god to escape.”

“Seems to me that she’s the one who helped Kyan escape if they’re traveling together. She has to be.”

“Perhaps. But her magic is vast.”

“Vast enough to kill us all.”

“You’re wrong,” Magnus said without hesitation. “She wouldn’t do that. She will help us—help everyone.” Whenever he spoke glowingly of Lucia, he noticed Cleo would purse her lips and crease her brow as if she’d tasted something sour.

Could she really be jealous of how I feel about Lucia? he wondered, with a sliver of amusement.

“I see thoughts of your adopted sister bring a rare smile to your face,” she said, her words clipped and her tone unpleasant. “I’m sure thinking of her provides a lovely escape for you during this trying time, while we’re stuck here in Paelsia, surrounded by rebels who would jump at the chance to burn this inn—and all the royals within it—to the ground.”

“Is that Agallon’s nefarious plan?” he asked, now pursing his lips and creasing his brow. “What else has he whispered to you in the dark of night since arriving here?”

“Very little, actually.”

Magnus took a step closer to her; she took a step backward: the same dance they engaged in from time to time. They kept it up until he backed her into a corner, and she looked up at him defiantly.

“Perhaps you’d rather share a room with the rebel than with me,” he said, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger. “Then again, he’d probably prefer a house in the trees made of sticks and mud.”

Cleo scoffed. “This is what you choose to focus on right now?”

“Yes. Because if I focus on Agallon, I can stop focusing on you and how badly I want to take you to my bed.”

All she could do was let out a brief, breathy gasp before his lips were on hers, his hands gripping her waist and pulling her against him. And she kissed him back without reservation.

His hands slid down her sides to her waist, around to the small of her back, and over the curve of her bottom. Frustrated with the necessity to lean over to fully kiss her, he gripped the backs of her thighs and lifted her up into his arms so that her back pressed up against the wall.

Surely, she would stop him now.

And yet she didn’t. In fact, she’d begun to frantically pull at the ties of his shirt, her mouth not leaving his for an instant.

“I want you,” he whispered against her lips. “I want you so much I may die from it.”

“Yes . . .” Her breath was so sweet, so warm. “I want you too.”

When he kissed her next, all rational thought about the curse vanished from his mind. There was nothing except the maddening, blinding need to touch her, to taste her . . .

At least, not until he heard the footsteps approaching from behind him.

It was then that Magnus sensed that they were no longer alone.

Slowly lowering the princess back to the ground, Magnus forced himself to pull away from her and, shoulders tense, look upon their intruder.

Despite his intimidating stature and impressive muscle, Felix Gaebras looked positively sheepish.

“Um . . . sorry to interrupt? I was . . . uh . . . just moving through.” But he remained still where he stood, then raised his chin. “Pardon me for saying, your highness,” he said, looking at Magnus, “but you might want to be more discreet with the princess from now on.”

“Is that so?” Magnus hissed.

Felix nodded. “Nic has happily convinced everyone that you hate Magnus, princess. And that . . . didn’t look like an act of hate to me. He’s going to go out of his mind over this.”

Cleo stepped away from Magnus, her fingers pressed to her lips and her cheeks bright red.

“Please, Felix,” she said, almost desperately. “Promise me that you won’t tell Nic about this. Not ever.”

Felix bowed. “Don’t worry, princess. I won’t breathe a word.”

“Thank you.”

Magnus hid his grimace. Something about how she said it, how relieved she sounded that it had only been Felix who’d witnessed them together and not someone whose opinion she valued more, pained him deeply.

• • •

If Ashur could seek information about Amara, so could Magnus. That afternoon, he left the inn and strode up the road to the market Cleo had mentioned, which took him by the tempting entrance to the Purple Vine. Once at the market, he barely glanced at the wooden stalls, with brightly colored tarps meant to shield the vendors from the sun, each selling a different Paelsian commodity—from wine to jewelry, from fruits and vegetables to scarves and frocks of all colors, among a plethora of other wares. The busy maze of stalls smelled of sweet fruit and smoked meat, and closer to the docks, the odor of sweat and waste buckets assaulted Magnus’s nostrils. Among the numerous attendees of the market, including crews of ships and regular citizens of the city, a scattering of Kraeshian guards captured his interest.