Magnus finally tore his gaze from hers to cast a dark look toward the guard. “Very well.”
Cleo’s stomach tied itself into knots. Could Aron have been successful in his argument against this new betrothal?
In the throne room, King Gaius had draped himself upon her father’s golden chair. Sprawled on the floor at his feet were two of his horrible dogs—large, slobbering wolfhounds that growled whenever she came even a step too close. They always seemed more like demons from the darklands to Cleo than dogs.
A sudden memory from her childhood flashed before her eyes—her father seated upon this very throne, his arms stretched out to her when she’d successfully slipped away from her strict nursemaid to run directly toward him and crawl up on his lap.
She prayed that her eyes didn’t reveal how very much she wanted to avenge her father’s death. On the surface, she was just a girl not yet out of her teens, small in stature and slight in figure, born and bred into a spoiled life of excess and luxury. At first glance, no one would ever perceive her as a threat.
But she knew that she was. Her heart now beat for one reason, the only thing that helped staunch the flow of incapacitating grief.
Vengeance.
Cleo knew she continued to live and breathe because King Gaius saw value in keeping the Auranian princess alive and well. She was required to represent what remained of the royal Bellos family line in all matters when it came to the king’s agenda and his power over the Auranian people. She was a sparrow in a gilded cage, taken out to show others how pretty and how well-behaved she was when needed.
So she would be pretty and well-behaved. For now.
But not forever.
“My dear girl,” the king said as she and Magnus approached. “You grow lovelier with each day that passes. It’s quite remarkable.”
And you grow more hateful and disgusting.
“Thank you, your majesty,” she said as sweetly as she could. The king was a snake in the skin of a man and she would never underestimate the strength of his bite.
“Were you pleased by my surprise announcement today?” he asked.
She fought to keep her controlled expression from slipping. “I’m very grateful that you’ve allowed me such an honorable place in your kingdom.”
His smile stretched, but it was one that never met his dark brown eyes—the exact same shade as Magnus’s. “And you, my son. I’m sure you were caught unawares as well. It was a last-minute decision, to tell you the truth. I thought it would please the people, and I was right. It did.”
“As always,” Magnus replied, “I defer to your judgment.”
The sound of the prince’s voice, low and even and so much like his father’s, set Cleo’s nerves on edge more than they already were.
“Lord Aron wanted to speak with me in private,” the king said.
Private? A half dozen guards stood around the edges of the room, with two on the outer side of the archway leading into the throne room. Next to the king on a smaller throne sat Queen Althea, her gaze straight forward, her lips set into a measured expression that betrayed no emotion at all. She might as well have been sleeping with her eyes wide open.
Aron stood to the right, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Yes,” he spoke up, his tone arrogant, “I explained to the king that this is an unacceptable change. That the people were looking very much forward to our wedding. Mother has already taken great strides in planning our ceremony. I wanted to talk to the king and have him reconsider his decision today. There are plenty of beautiful, titled girls in Auranos that would be much better suited to Prince Magnus.”
King Gaius cocked his head, regarding Aron with barely restrained amusement, as if he were a trained monkey. “Quite. And how do you feel about this abrupt change, Princess Cleiona?”
Her mouth had gone dry after hearing Aron’s little rant, which sounded like a child stomping his foot when his toys were taken from him at bedtime. Aron was so accustomed to getting his way that it had completely disrupted his common sense. However, she couldn’t completely blame him for trying to salvage what little power he had in the palace. But if he were smart—and she already knew brains were never Aron’s greatest asset—he would see that Cleo no longer wielded any power here, had no influence apart from being a figurehead meant to keep the Auranian people in line and gain their trust.
She forced a smile. “Of course, I certainly bow to whatever decision the wise king makes on my behalf.” The falseness of the words twisted in her throat. “It’s just . . . Aron might have some weight to his argument. The kingdom was rather smitten by the thought of us together after Aron’s very . . . well, fierce protection of me that day in the Paelsian market.”
She inwardly shuddered at the memory of Tomas Agallon’s murder, an act that had nothing to do with protection and more to do with Aron overreacting to a personal insult.
“I assure you, I did consider this.” The king’s stolen crown caught the torchlight and glinted. “Lord Aron is wholly embraced by the Auranian people, without question. It’s one of the reasons I’ve just informed him of my decision to bestow the title of kingsliege upon him.”
Aron bowed deeply. “And I am very pleased by this honor, your majesty.”
“Kingsliege,” Magnus mused from beside her, loud enough for only Cleo to hear. “Such a lofty title for one who’s never even been in battle. How deeply pathetic.”
King Gaius studied Cleo closely. “Do you wish to remain engaged to Lord Aron?”