He built a fire with wood from the cottage’s modest supply. He sat in front of the fire, atop a thick rug embroidered with a hawk and the Auranian credo: OUR TRUE GOLD IS OUR PEOPLE.

Magnus decided that the former occupant had most likely been arrested and taken away to the dungeons for worshipping Cleiona. If Magnus lived through this, he swore he would find that man or woman and free them.

There wasn’t enough firewood inside to last the night, so Magnus took the lantern and ventured back outside. He found an ax and a chopping block, along with some larger pieces of wood, leaning against the cottage. He set the lantern down and prepared to do something he’d never done before in his entire life: chop wood.

But before he could take a single swing of the ax, a shout from not far away caught his attention. Magnus pulled up the hood of his cloak, snatched up the lantern and the ax, and went to investigate. Fifty paces away, he came across a dead man lying in the snow. He wore the green uniform of a Kraeshian guard, and had an arrow sticking out of his left eye socket.

Another shout caught his attention, back in the direction of the cottage. He tightened his grip on the ax and made his way back, slowly and cautiously.

Another guard lay dead behind the cottage, an arrow lodged in his throat. Magnus knelt down and yanked the arrow out to see that it bore Kraeshian markings.

He needed to check inside, to see if someone lay in wait. As he cautiously neared the door to see that it was ajar, something from behind hit him, hard, knocking him over the threshold of the cottage and through the door. He lost his grip on the ax and landed with a deep thud on his back. A cloaked assailant clutched an arrow and tried to stab him with it, but Magnus grabbed his attacker and rolled him over, knocking the weapon from his hand.

The henchman was small and agile and managed to wriggle free, but Magnus grabbed him by the back of his cloak and threw him down on the floor. He shoved the hood back from his attacker’s face, ready to crush his throat.

A silky lock of long blond hair swung free from the hood. Magnus gasped and scrambled backward.

Cleo.

She grabbed for her arrow, but her hands found the ax instead. She hefted it up and, with a war cry, stormed toward him.

Magnus caught the handle of the ax just beneath the blade and snatched it from her grip, throwing it to the floor.

He took her by her shoulders and pushed her back against the wall.

“Cleo! Cleo, enough . . . it’s me!”

“Let go of me! I’ll kill you!”

“It’s me!” He pulled down his own hood so she could see his face.

Finally, recognition dawned in her cerulean eyes.

Cleo continued to stare at him as if he were the last person she expected to see here—or anywhere.

“I’m going to let go of you now.” He held up his hands and took a step back from her.

She was alive. Somehow, she’d escaped her captors, escaped the king. And she’d just killed two Kraeshian guards with nothing more than her bare hands and a couple of arrows.

To think he’d doubted that she’d ever become proficient at archery.

Cleo remained silent, unmoving, as if in shock.

“Do you even hear me?” he said, in the most calming tone he could muster.

“You!” she suddenly snarled. “This was all your doing, wasn’t it? Trying to win back your father’s approval by delivering me to him! So, what now? Did you come here so you could kill me yourself? Or are you going to bring me back to that castle so you can sit back and let him have the honor?”

“Cleo—”

“Shut up! I nearly broke my neck getting away from Amara. And then I nearly froze to death out here! Yes, I had the earth Kindred. Yes, I lied to you. What did you expect? For me to suddenly start sharing everything with you? You, the son of my worst enemy?”

Magnus just stared at her, unsure if he was impressed or horrified by this poisonous tirade escaping the petite blonde.

No, he was impressed. Very impressed and very happy.

Her cheeks flushed bright red. “I know you didn’t hear my speech this morning, but it was a damn good one. I’m sure you’ll think I’m lying, but I asked everyone to accept you as their king.”

“And why would you do something like that?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Because,” she said, letting out an exhausted sigh. “I believe in you. Even when you’re being cruel to me. Even when you make me want to run away and never come back. I believe in you, Magnus!”

Her chest heaved up and then down as she took a deep, choking breath.

Magnus struggled to find his voice. He desperately searched for it; he needed to reply.

“I thought you were dead,” he finally managed to say. “I was certain I was too late and that my father . . . that my father had . . .”

Cleo blinked. “So you . . . you’re here to rescue me?”

“That was the general plan, yes, but it seems you’re perfectly capable of rescuing yourself.”

And then he sank down to his knees, his attention fixed on the wooden floor.

“What’s wrong with you?” she said, warily now. “Why won’t you look at me?”

“I’ve been a monster to you. I’ve hurt you over and over, and yet you still continued to believe in me.”

“Actually, it’s not until recently that I started.” Her tone had grown uncertain and tentative, her voice quieter.

“Forgive me, Cleo. Please . . . please forgive me for all that I’ve said. All that I’ve done.”

“You . . . you really want my forgiveness?”

“I know I don’t even deserve to ask for it. But, yes.” It was true agony to realize how wrong he’d been about her. About everything.

Cleo lowered herself to the floor, peering up at his face with a concerned frown. “You’re not acting like yourself at all. Are you in pain?”

“Yes. Horrible pain.”

She reached out with a shaky hand and pushed his hair back from his forehead. He raised his eyes to meet hers. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t put all that he was feeling into words. So instead of speaking, he just held on to her gaze, no mask in place, no protection, his heart open and raw and messy.

“I love you, Cleo,” he said, the words finally coming to him, with no effort at all because of how true they were. “I love you so much it hurts.”

Her eyes widened. “What did you just say?”

Magnus almost laughed. “I think you heard me right.”

Cleo drew closer to him, continuing to stroke his hair, which was damp from the melting snow. He froze under her touch, unable to move or to breathe. No thoughts, no words, only the feel of her fingertips on his skin. She stroked his face, his jaw, her touch growing bolder as she traced the line of his scar.

And she drew closer still, close enough that he could feel her warm breath against his lips.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “Now kiss me, Magnus. Please.”

With a dark groan, Magnus crushed his mouth to hers, breathing her in, tasting the sweetness of her lips as her tongue slid against his. She kissed him back without restraint, deeper and sweeter and hotter even than the kiss they’d shared in Ravencrest.

This—this overpowering need—is what had been building between them ever since that night. He’d thought he could forget it, put it out of his mind, ignore his heart. But the memory of that kiss had been nightly haunting his dreams and daily sending him to distraction.