Rebel Spring

“Good night, princess. And my sincere congratulations on your marriage.” He bowed his head and left the balcony.

Cleo waited until she was quite sure he had left before she put her hands on the balcony railing and leaned her full, drooping weight on her wrists. The Kraeshian prince was here not only to attend the wedding, but also to find out about the Kindred.

Which could mean only one thing: he wanted it for himself.

He couldn’t have it. No one could. If the Kindred did indeed exist, it belonged to Cleo. She had the ring that would enable her to use it—and use it she would, to reclaim her kingdom.

She rubbed her ring, then forced herself to return to the banquet. The king eyed her with displeasure as she approached the dais. His forehead was bandaged, some blood from his wound soaking through the gauze. “It’s time for you to go upstairs and prepare yourself for your wedding night.”

Her mouth went dry. “But, the feast—”

“The feast is over for you.” A hateful smile snaked across his face. He raised his voice so everyone could hear him. “I would like you all to bid good night to the bride and groom. We would not want to keep them from where we all know they’d rather be.”

Some laughter rose from the gathered crowd, many of whom by now had had enough Paelsian wine to help forget the troubles of the day.

“Go with Cronus,” the king said to Cleo, grabbing her arm so he could draw her close enough to hear his lowered voice. “You’ll be prepared as if you were any other blushing bride. No one will ever know your chastity is long gone. Consider yourself very lucky that I still consider you of value despite this rather large flaw in your character.”

Magnus did not even spare her a glance.

Cronus stepped forward. “Follow me, princess.”

There was no room for argument in the guard’s harsh tone.

Cleo cast a glance at the gathered guests, who offered her tense smiles as she trailed after Cronus. Nic’s attention was also on her, his body rigid, an apology in his tortured gaze that he was unable to save her from what was to come.

The chambers Cronus guided her to had been prepared specially for the bride and groom. It included a room that had once been reserved for very important guests of her father. A massive four poster bed sat against the far wall. A fire blazed in an enormous fireplace, and the room was otherwise lit by hundreds of flickering candles. Rose petals of all colors had been artfully strewn across the floor in looping patterns, leading toward the bed.

Her attendants were there and they worked feverishly to loosen her braided hair, to change her into yet another gown, this one gauzy and flowing, its thin fabric leaving little modesty for her to cling to. They rubbed her wrists and her throat with scented oils that had the same cloyingly sweet perfume as the rose petals.

“You’re so very lucky, princess,” Helena said. “I would give my younger sister’s life to spend even one night with Prince Magnus. And now you get to spend all of your nights with him.”

“And I’d give my older sister’s life,” Dora said pointedly, with a sharp look in Helena’s direction.

“I only hope that the rumors aren’t true.” Helena’s gaze snapped to Cleo’s and she gave the princess an unpleasant smile. “For your sake.”

Cleo frowned. “What rumors?”

“Helena,” Dora said from between clenched teeth. “Be careful what you say.”

Helena laughed lightly. “Don’t you think the princess has the right to know that her new husband is said to have forbidden feelings for Princess Lucia, and she for him? Such love between siblings . . . quite the scandal if many learned of this.”

“Pardon my sister,” Dora said, her cheeks reddening. “She has been drinking tonight in celebration of your wedding. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

Cleo narrowed her eyes. “I’ll remember you attempted to save her from spreading such unsavory lies.” She would never admit that this information was very interesting to her, whether true or not.

Without another word, the girls moved away from her and were gone from the room like wisps of smoke. Cronus pulled the door shut behind them. Cleo ran to it and tried the handle, only to find it locked from the outside.

She was trapped.

Before, when she’d been able to walk around freely, she could almost fool herself into believing she still had some power. That was such a lie. She had no power here at all.

Magnus would dominate her. He would abuse her as his father had today. As the attendants prepared her for her wedding night, the mirror had reflected the faint bruise on her cheekbone where the king had struck her and on her throat where he’d come close to strangling her.

But Cleo had chosen this. She could have escaped with Jonas, but she’d chosen to stay here. There had to be a reason for that . . . a higher goal than fleeing with the rebel.

She ran over to her discarded banquet dress. Her amethyst ring glinted in the candlelight as she pulled out the gift Prince Ashur had given her. She slowly unwrapped it, only to see an unexpected edge of gold.

It was a golden dagger. A beautiful one, with an artfully carved hilt and a curved blade. She remembered the prince’s words: “It is something given in my land to a bride on her wedding night.” With a chill she recognized its purpose: something that could be used by an unhappy bride to take her own life if she felt she had no other choice.

Or . . . the life of her new husband.

The sound of the door unlocking and opening had her scrambling to hide the weapon behind her back. A moment later, Magnus entered. His black gaze moved through the large room, pausing on the candles, the rose petals, and then finally coming to rest on her.