He’ll always be mine, Lucia seemed to be saying to her. This is the only proof you need.

Magnus pulled the book away from her and glanced down at the final picture of his adopted sister.

Cleo’s mouth had gone dry. “This is why you came here today, why you wanted to be alone. Not to honor this day of worship, but to look at your sketches. You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”

Magnus didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened. She moved to sit right next to him, and when she placed her hand on top of his, he tensed, but didn’t pull away.

“You love her,” she said.

“More than anything.”

She’d always known this to be true, no matter what had happened between her and Magnus. Still, something inside Cleo twisted unpleasantly at his easy admission. She pushed past it. “And she loves you too,” she said. “But she’s not herself right now. That man, Kyan . . . he’s manipulating her.”

“The man of fire. I’ve heard rumors of him in recent months. I used to think that’s all they were: rumors.” He looked down at Cleo’s hand. “You know, it doesn’t feel like all that long ago that we were sitting in a different temple, having another grave conversation.”

She remembered that night in the City of Gold far too clearly. Her need to align with him was so strong that she thought it might actually be a possibility.

“Rather than always fighting,” she’d said to him, “we could find a way to help each other.”

Since then, Cleo had learned a great deal about the dangers of just letting her true thoughts pour right out of her mouth. Those were the kinds of thoughts that could later be used against her as weapons. “You were drunk that night,” she said, trying to put on a dismissive tone.

“I was. Far too drunk. That was also the night I took Amara to my bed. I found I needed to be with someone much less . . . belligerent than you. It was refreshing, for a while.”

She tried not to react with any of the displeasure she felt about this subject. “We all make harsh errors in judgment.”

“Indeed.” For the first time since she’d entered the temple, his flat, dark eyes met hers directly. “It’s too bad, really. We made an incredible match, Amara and I. Her skills as a lover are beyond compare—even to those of the most coveted courtesan. Perhaps if she’d confided the true reason of her visit to me, I would have shared the Kindred with her.”

Cleo withdrew her hand from his, her blood turning to acid. “I don’t believe you.”

“Really? Is that any less believable than a secret union between you and Jonas Agallon?”

She’d been wrong. His eyes weren’t flat and emotionless; they were full of simmering outrage. “I thought you said you understand why I did that.”

“Understand? Yes. Approve of? No. You have a stunning talent for concealing the truth. I rarely meet a liar as skilled as you are. Congratulations, princess.”

How had it taken her this long to realize that he was furious with her?

“So what?” she said, abandoning all hope of staying diplomatic and diving right into interrogation. “Were you lying too? About this new alliance? About what will happen afterward?”

“Finally, the princess reveals her true intentions, the real reason you’ve come up to me on this day of worship. You’ve no interest in the details of my past at all.”

“Can’t it be both? Why can’t I want information about my future and be curious about your past as well?”

“We’re done here.” He stood up and walked toward the exit, and she hurried after him to block his path.

“No, we’re not done here,” she hissed.

“Answer me this, princess. What exactly is there between you and Agallon? Is it more than a friendly alliance between a princess and a rebel?”

“What do you mean?”

He glared at her as if she were a child purposely avoiding an answer. “Are you in love with him?”

Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

“Under any other circumstances I wouldn’t care, of course. But if the two of you were in love, it would make it much more complicated for the three of us to go forward.”

“You’re insane.”

“A yes or a no would suffice. I’ll take your response as a . . . probably. Good to know, princess. Much gratitude.”

She grabbed his arm and held on tightly.

He glared down his nose at her. “Let go of me.”

“Not yet. I need you to hear what I have to say to you.”

Cleo sought to hold his gaze, trying to see past the anger and uncertainty in his eyes. Was there anything else there? The new mask he wore was marvelous, thicker and stronger than ever, covering every emotion but anger.

But every mask could be cracked.

“What do you need to say to me?” he finally prompted.

She took a deep breath and stood as tall as she could. “I did fall in love with someone. Someone whom many would say was completely wrong for me. But I didn’t care.”

He now studied her for a long, heavy moment. “Did you, princess? And who was that?”

Boldly, she placed her hand over his heart to feel its swift pace.

He looked down at it, his brows drawing together as he met her eyes.

“Do you really want to know?” she asked, her voice now soft.

He was silent so long that she wasn’t sure he’d ever speak again. Then, finally he nodded once. “Yes.”

He watched her with a darkening gaze as she bit her bottom lip. She’d seen that darkness in his eyes before, and she knew it didn’t come from anger.

“Princess,” he urged. “Tell me.”

She met his eyes directly. “His name was Theon Ranus,” she said. “And you murdered him.”

Magnus pulled away from her, the growing tenderness in his expression slamming shut like an iron door.

“Sometimes I forget about that day.” She tried to ignore the pain in her heart as she spoke. “But something always ends up reminding me. Good evening, Magnus.”

Cleo left the temple and didn’t look back.

• • •

There was a message waiting for Cleo when she returned to her chambers.

Meet me in my room.—Nerissa

Cleo rushed to the servants’ wing and knocked on Nerissa’s door.

“Good, you’re here,” Nerissa said, opening the door immediately and grabbing Cleo’s wrist to pull her inside. She peeked out the door, glanced up and down the hallway, then turned around to grin at the princess. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk. But please, don’t be long.”

“Nerissa, what are you—?”

But before Cleo could finish her sentence Nerissa slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

“Well, your highness. After a small eternity it seems we’re finally alone again.”

Cleo spun on her heels, eyes wide, and found herself face-to-face with Jonas. The rebel was no longer wearing his ridiculous eye patch today, which was a relief—especially since, when she’d first seen him, she’d thought he’d had a horrible accident. Or that Magnus had done it to him.

Cleo met Jonas’s greeting with stunned silence, and then his pleased expression turned tentative. “I’m sorry for the manner in which I arrived. It was not my intention to implicate you . . . for that I want to kick myself. Trust me, Lys has promised to throttle me at her earliest opportunity for nearly getting us all killed. I was stupid and irresponsible, but I assure you that I—”