When he turned a corner he saw her standing there, her chest heaving, her skirts dirty. Two young men lay on the ground in front of her, groaning with pain.

Lys turned to Jonas, her cheeks bright with color, her eyes wild. “This is why I don’t wear gowns! It brings about the wrong sort of attention—attention I don’t want!”

“I . . . uh . . .” Jonas shocked at the sight, stumbled over his words.

“This pile of dung”—she kicked the buttocks of one of the groaning men—“tried to grab my chest! And this one”—a sharp kick to the other—“laughed and cheered him on! I’m never wearing a dress again. I don’t care if King Gaius himself recognizes me.”

Jonas felt half-appalled, half-delighted as one of the young men looked up at him in agony. “Get her away from us,” he moaned to Jonas.

“Gladly.” Jonas took Lysandra’s arm and pulled her back around the corner and onto a main street.

“You never fail to amaze me, you know that?” Jonas said to Lysandra as they walked. “I thought you were in serious danger.”

“Insulted and annoyed, perhaps, but not—”

Jonas pulled her closer and gave her a quick, hard kiss on her lips, smiling. “You’re amazing. Never forget it.”

The bright color had returned to her cheeks as she touched her mouth. “You’re lucky I’m all right with you, or you’d be on the ground, too, for taking me by surprise like that.”

“Very lucky,” he agreed, still grinning.

She bit her bottom lip. “Now, um, what’s going on? I couldn’t get a helpful word from anyone around here. What about you? Anything?”

“Yes, I learned plenty.” He told her about Bruno, about the king’s departure, and that Magnus and Cleo were in Limeros, soon to be joined by Nerissa.

Lysandra swore under her breath. “So, what now? Should we get on a ship and try to go after the king?”

He shook his head. “Too late for that. But luckily we’ve got something just as important to do instead.”

Her gaze dropped to his shoulder. “Find someone who can heal your wound?”

Jonas knew he couldn’t hide his feverish face and weakness from her, so he didn’t bother trying anymore. Whether they could find someone skilled enough to help him in time, though—that was the question.

“If we can find a proper healer, then yes.” He set his chin and looked into her light brown eyes with determination. “And then we’re going to Limeros to rescue a princess and kill a prince.”

CHAPTER 8

MAGNUS

LIMEROS

His father used to insist that Magnus sat in on royal council meetings when he was younger, although he hadn’t paid much attention to them. He regretted that now as he tried very hard not to drown in a sea of complicated political dilemmas and decisions.

His first meeting had gone poorly, and the councilmen did not hesitate to show their dismay that Kurtis was no longer in command. Of course they didn’t dare be rude to his face, but from Magnus’s seat at the head of the long table he could sense their simmering disapproval in their rigid body language and harsh glares. Many of the current councilmen, including the wealthy and influential Lord Francus and Lord Loggis, and the High Priest Danus, had been in the king’s inner circle since Magnus was a sullen boy with a habit of keeping to the shadows of the palace. Surely they hadn’t seen him then as a strong and capable heir to the throne. And Magnus could tell that they still judged him that way, not knowing that he was different, much more like his father now, in many ways.

The council had unanimously requested that Lord Kurtis take a seat on the council, claiming that it was rightfully his, given all he’d been responsible for in his father’s absence. Since Kurtis had committed no actual crime against the throne, and to appease the council as much as he was able, Magnus decided to grant this request.

Magnus scanned the document that had been presented to him at the beginning of today’s meeting.

“It’s quite a problem, isn’t it, your highness?” Kurtis asked in his reedy voice.

The war against Auranos—short as it may have been—had cost Limeros a hefty fortune. This deficit was further compounded by the high cost of constructing the Imperial Road. To compensate, even the poorest citizens were now being taxed to the point of utter destitution. The kingdom hadn’t yet been completely bankrupt, but it was clear that something needed to change.

“This situation is deeply troubling,” Magnus said slowly. “But what troubles me more, Lord Kurtis, is that in your father’s months as grand kingsliege, he was not able to come to a reasonable solution.”

“My sincerest apologies, your highness, but my father wasn’t granted the authority to make such sweeping changes without the permission of the king. And the king has been in Auranos, occupied with southern affairs, for so long that I daresay many of his citizens have nearly forgotten what he looks like.”

A comment as insolent as that should have received dark looks from the other council members, but instead Magnus saw them nodding their heads.

A guard pushed open the doors and entered the room.

“Your highness,” said the guard, bowing his head, “my apologies for interrupting, but Princess Cleiona is here.”

This was the last thing he expected to hear from a guard interrupting a council meeting. “And?”

The guard frowned, then glanced at Kurtis, who stood up.

“Your highness, this is my doing. Your lovely wife expressed an interest to sit in on this council meeting during our archery lesson this morning, and I didn’t dissuade her.”

“I see,” Magnus replied tightly.

“She’s eager to learn about everything, your highness, but of course I understand if you feel that a woman has no place in such meetings.”

Murmurs hummed along the council table of the old men who agreed with this statement.

Magnus thought he knew what Kurtis was trying to do. He wanted to make Magnus look like a fool before the council. Either by allowing a woman to sit in on the meeting—women were sternly forbidden from participation in any official palace affairs—or by tempting Magnus to protest his suggestion, thus risking offending the princess, which might allow Kurtis to gain more of her trust.

Magnus gestured to the guard. “Bring her in.”

Cleo entered the throne room, her gaze keen and her chin raised. If she was at all nervous about being here, she didn’t show it.

Her gown was blue, the color of Auranos and her favorite. Her long, golden locks hung in loose curls to her waist, free of any braids or twists.

He much preferred when she wore her hair up. It wasn’t such a distraction to him then.

“Princess,” he said stiffly, indicating the vacant chair to his right. Hesitating only slightly, she approached and took the seat.

During their time in Limeros, he’d of course seen Cleo at meals and other public events, but he hadn’t spoken to her privately since their discussion on the balcony. He reminded himself to avoid balconies in the future—they were dangerous places to find himself alone with her.

“All of you have had the honor of meeting Princess Cleiona Bellos of Auranos.” He reintroduced the members of the council, who all nodded at her in turn. “And, of course, princess, you’re already well familiar with Lord Kurtis.”