He tried to search for words but found he didn’t have an immediate reply. He hadn’t known Lysandra all that long—at least not compared to how long he’d known Brion. Brion had immediately fallen for her, hard, even with that abrasive attitude that she used as self-defense. It had taken Jonas a little longer to warm up to her, but he finally did, and now . . .

“I don’t want to lose you either,” he managed.

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He brought his gaze up from the floor and their eyes met. “And you should know that, one of these days, I do plan to kiss you again.”

Her cheeks flushed once more, and this time Jonas didn’t think it was from anger.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Galyn said.

“No,” Lys said quickly, clearing her throat. “Um. Anyway, speaking of Felix—”

Jonas winced at the name. “What about him?”

“He’s gone. There’s been no news of him, not from Nerissa nor anyone else,” Lys said. “But if I see him again, I’ll put an arrow in him, too, for what he did to you.”

“He could have killed me. He didn’t.”

“Are you making excuses for him? Do I have to remind you that he also stole the air Kindred from us?”

“And we’ll get it back.” Jonas still had the earth Kindred safely hidden away in his room. Not that he knew what to do with it. For a shiny rock that allegedly held enough godlike powers to shake the world, it hadn’t proven all that useful yet. But it wasn’t meant for him, it was promised to another. “Galyn, did Nerissa say anything else? Anything . . . about the princess? Has she been found?”

Galyn shook his head. “No. Princess Cleiona’s still missing, along with Prince Magnus. There is a rumor going through the village, though, that Princess Lucia ran off and eloped with her tutor. Perhaps they’re all together somewhere.”

“Forget the princess,” Lys said, the sharp edge returned to her voice. “What does it matter if she’s alive or dead?”

Jonas clenched his jaw. “She was counting on me to bring her the crystal. She trusted me.”

Lys groaned. “I have absolutely no time to listen to this. I need to be on my way.” She picked up her gear. “Go back to bed, Jonas. Heal. We can deal with your golden princess’s whereabouts later.”

“Wait.”

“What? We can’t ignore this chance to put an end to the King of Blood. Are you really going to try to stop me?”

He regarded her for a moment in silence. “No. I’m coming with you.”

She frowned and brought her concerned gaze down to his wound.

“I can manage,” Jonas said. “You’re not talking me out of this.”

He was ready for her to put up a fight—a fight he knew he probably wasn’t strong enough for. All he could do was try to look as strong and determined as possible.

Finally, instead of resisting, she merely sighed with resignation. “Fine. But there’s no way you can go anywhere looking like that.”

“Like what? Do I look that sick?”

“No, it’s just . . .” She glanced at Galyn.

“Everyone knows who you are,” Galyn said, gesturing at Jonas with both hands. “Your face is famous around here, remember?”

Of course. The posters plastered all around Mytica, offering a handsome reward for the capture of Jonas Agallon, rebel leader and (falsely accused) murderer of Queen Althea Damora, had ensured that. He’d been recognized several times in recent weeks, especially in Auranos.

“Fine. I need a disguise,” he said, raising a brow at Lysandra. “But so do you. A huge audience got a nice, long glimpse of you at your interrupted execution.”

She dropped her gear again. “You may be right.”

Jonas touched his dark brown hair, long enough to curl around his ears and drop down in front of his eyes if he didn’t constantly push it back. “I’ll cut my hair.”

“That’s a start,” Galyn said. “And you’re in luck. I have an eye patch you can use. Got stung by a needle-bug a few years ago and had to wear it for a month.”

An eye patch? He tried not to grimace at the thought of losing half his vision, even temporarily. “Yeah . . . that sounds, uh, great. I guess. Thanks.”

Lysandra pulled a dagger out of her canvas bag. “I’ll cut your hair as soon as I’ve done my own.”

She raised the blade to one of her long, curly locks, but Jonas caught her hand. “You’re not cutting your hair.”

She frowned as he quickly disarmed her. “And why not?”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Because I like your hair exactly as it is. Gorgeous and impossible to control, just like you.”

Her hands were on her hips, and he could tell she was fighting a smile. “Then what kind of a disguise do you suggest for me?”

His smile grew. “Simple. A gown.”

Lysandra’s eyes widened. “A gown?”

“A pretty one. Silk, if possible. Galyn? Do you have anything lying around here that a guest might have left behind?”

The innkeeper chuckled. “Actually, I think I have one of my mother’s old gowns around here somewhere.”

“Good,” Jonas said, deeply amused at the outraged look on Lys’s face. “It seems we’ll be ready and unrecognizable in no time. Let’s get going.”

CHAPTER 3

CLEO

LIMEROS

Her sister, Emilia, once said that she could tell Cleo’s mood by the state of her left thumbnail. Whenever Cleo was stressed or upset, she chewed it down to the quick. According to her nursemaid, she’d also sucked her thumb many years longer than the average child, so Cleo supposed that her nail-biting habit was a natural evolution.

A quick, sharp pain tugged at Cleo’s scalp. “Ouch!” she exclaimed, pulling her sore thumb away from her mouth.

She saw her attendant Petrina’s eyes widen in the mirror. The girl held a small swath of Cleo’s long blond hair. “Oh, your grace, I apologize! I didn’t intend to . . . I’ve never attempted this sort of style before.”

“Ripping my hair out by its roots is not the best way to learn,” Cleo said, her scalp still throbbing. She willed herself to be patient with Petrina, even though she was certain that even Nic could do a better job plaiting her hair.

How she wished Nerissa were here in Limeros, rather than being at the Auranian palace. Nerissa wasn’t just a good friend and Cleo’s main connection to Jonas Agallon, but she was also an incredibly skilled attendant.

“I don’t know what to say, your highness. The prince will be furious if he learns I’m inept. He’ll have me punished!”

“The prince won’t punish you,” Cleo assured her, patting her hand. “I won’t let him.”

The girl looked at the princess with awe. “You must be the bravest person in the world if you can stand up to someone as strong and . . . determined as him. I admire you more than you know.”

Perhaps Petrina wasn’t so stupid after all. She seemed a very good judge of character. For a Limerian.

“We should stand up to brutish boys whenever we can,” Cleo said. “They need to learn they don’t hold all the power, no matter who they are. Or think they are.”