He looked at her curiously. “You want to talk about what happened in Paelsia, don’t you?”

She felt herself pale. “Let’s go inside, Aron. I don’t want anyone else to hear us.”

“As you wish.”

He pushed open the heavy door and let her in ahead of him. She entered the opulent foyer with its high domed ceiling and marble floors, tiled in the pattern of a colorful sunburst. On the wall was a large portrait of Aron as a young, pale-skinned boy and his stern-looking, but attractive parents. He stayed by the door, keeping it open a crack so the smoke wouldn’t leave a lingering odor behind. His parents didn’t approve of smoking inside the house. Aron might be arrogant and confident, but he was still seventeen and had to abide by his parents’ rules until his next birthday—unless he wanted to move out ahead of schedule. And Cleo knew without a doubt that he didn’t want that sort of responsibility, financial or otherwise.

“Well, Cleo?” he prompted when she didn’t say anything for a full minute.

She summoned her courage and turned to face him. She desperately hoped that speaking with him would quell her guilt over the murder and help bring an end to her nightmares. She wanted him to justify his actions—to have them make more sense to her than they did right now.

“I can’t stop thinking about what happened with the wine seller’s son.” She blinked, shocked to find that her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. “Can you?”

His gaze hardened. “Of course I can’t.”

“How do you…feel?” She held her breath.

His cheeks tensed. He threw the half-smoked cigarillo out through the front door, waving his hand at the smoke left behind.

“I feel conflicted.”

Already, she felt a large measure of relief. If she was to be engaged to Aron, she needed to know that they felt the same way about most things. “I’ve had nightmares. Every night.”

“About the brother’s threat?” he asked.

She nodded. It felt as if Jonas Agallon’s eyes still bore into her. Nobody had ever looked at her with that much unbridled hate. “You shouldn’t have killed that boy.”

“He was coming at me. You saw it yourself.”

“He didn’t have a weapon!”

“He had fists. He had rage. He could have strangled me right where I stood.”

“Theon wouldn’t have let that happen.”

“Theon?” He frowned. “Oh, the guard? Listen, Cleo. I know that it upset you—but it happened and there’s no going back. Put it out of your mind.”

“I wish I could, but I can’t.” She exhaled shakily. “I don’t like death.”

He laughed and she gave him a sharp look. He sobered immediately. “Apologies, but of course you don’t like death. Who does? It’s messy and it’s unpleasant, but it happens. Often.”

“Do you wish it hadn’t happened?”

“What? The peasant’s son’s death?”

“His name was Tomas Agallon,” she said quietly. “He had a name. He had a life and a family. He was happy and laughing when he came to the stall. He was going to go to his sister’s wedding—did you see the look on her face? She was destroyed. The argument never should have happened in the first place. If you liked the wine so much, you should have paid Silas Agallon a fair price for it.”

Aron leaned his shoulder against the wall next to the door. “Oh, Cleo, don’t tell me you really care about such things.”

She frowned. “Of course I do.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please. A wine seller’s livelihood in Paelsia? Since when do you concern yourself with such unimportant matters? You’re a princess of Auranos. You can have absolutely anything you desire, whenever you desire it. All you need to do is ask and it’s yours.”

Cleo wasn’t sure how this had anything to do with a wine seller’s asking price. “Is that really how you see me?”

“I see you for exactly what you are. A beautiful princess. And I am sorry I can’t be as brokenhearted over all of this as you want me to be. I killed him. It happened. I did what I had to do at the time, and I don’t regret it.” A hard edge went through his gaze. “I acted on instinct alone. I’ve hunted many times before, but this was different. To take the life of another...I’ve never felt so powerful in my entire life.”

A shiver of revulsion went through her. “How can you sound so calm about this?”

He fixed her with a steady look. “Would you rather I lie and say I have nightmares too? Would that ease your own guilt?”

She deflated. That had been exactly what she’d wanted. “I want the truth.”

“And that’s what I’ve given you. You should be grateful, Cleo. There aren’t too many people who speak the truth around here, even when they’re asked for it.”

Aron was handsome. He was from a noble family. He had a wry wit and a keen mind. And she’d never disliked anyone as much as she did him.

She couldn’t marry him. There was simply no way.

A steely resolve flowed through her. Before visiting Paelsia, she’d been willing to yield—to a point—and allow her father to make an important decision like this for her. After all, he was the king.

“Have you heard of my father’s plans?” she asked him.

Aron cocked his head, his gaze steady on her face. “Changing subjects so soon?”