But, unfortunately for Magnus, that day wasn’t today.

“How kind of you. Walking is one thing I’m sure my father agrees that I do rather well.”

Cronus fixed him with an impassive expression. “The king himself sent me here to retrieve you.”

“And, of course, you obeyed without hesitation.”

“He knows that you’ve developed a fondness for wine.”

Magnus cast the guard a curious look. “Does he? And what does he think of that?”

“He’s remarkably understanding. He knows what you’ve been through and forgives you your missteps. But he’d rather you drink inside the palace from now on, instead of at questionable establishments such as this, where one’s words or actions could be used against him, no matter who he might be.”

“How thoughtful of him.” The lightness that the wine had infused into Magnus’s head now began to darken at the edges. He stood up from his stool and faced the patrons at the back of the tavern. “My father forgives me for all of my missteps! He allows me to drink myself into a stupor as it will help me accept my destiny! I am the Prince of Blood, my father’s heir—and the path to my future is set in stone. Do you fear me as you do him, you worthless peons?”

Cronus pushed firmly against his right shoulder. “Enough. This is no place for the crown prince to be, especially after yesterday’s chaos. It’s not safe here.”

“Don’t touch me.” Magnus whacked the guard’s hand away, but this time he was not so gentle.

Cronus remained patient as ever. “I’d prefer for you to leave this place of your own free will, but my orders from the king are clear. I’m to return you to the palace, and if need be, your highness, I will render you unconscious and drag you back.”

Cronus was fifteen years Magnus’s senior and more skilled and experienced by far. He had no doubt that the guard could and would follow through with his threat.

Magnus might have been drunk, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Fine,” he spat out. “I’m finished here anyway.”

The other guards glanced at each other warily as Magnus strode out of the tavern with Cronus directly behind him. The early evening air was warm and sweetly scented with roses—both the official flower and the official stench of Auranos.

Limeros smelled of ice. Paelsia of dirt. But Auranos smelled of roses.

Magnus hated roses. What other purpose did they serve besides looking pretty?

Though he stumbled as he walked along the narrow cobblestone road, he kept up a quick pace, and didn’t once glance over his shoulder to see if the others were keeping up with him. He didn’t care.

His steps finally slowed as he turned a corner to find six guards standing outside of a grand building with a façade of white marble flanked by pillars, sandwiched between two ordinary stone taverns.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“It’s a temple of the goddess Cleiona,” Cronus said.

“Such places should be torn down,” Magnus muttered. Then, louder, “Why are there guards here? Have they abandoned Valoria to worship at another goddess’s feet? Father wouldn’t be too pleased about that, would he?”

Cronus went to consult one of the guards and returned a moment later.

“It seems that Princess Cleiona is inside. She’s been given permission to worship here several times a week.”

This was the last thing Magnus expected to hear. To his knowledge, the princess hadn’t been allowed to leave the palace since the wedding tour. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

Cronus spread his hands. “It was the king’s decision.”

“Was it.” Magnus’s gaze was fixed on the temple doors. He should have been consulted about this. Why should she be given such privileges? “It wasn’t the king’s decision to make. He’s not the one who was forced to marry her.”

“All decisions are the king’s to make.”

This was completely unacceptable.

“Wait out here,” he commanded. “I want to inform the princess this is the last time she will be allowed to come here.”

He expected Cronus to protest, but the guard just nodded patiently. “Very well, your highness. Do what you must.”

Magnus pushed through the temple doors, leaving the guards to wait outside. The space looked like a miniature version of the grand Temple of Cleiona, where he and Cleo had been married, which had been big enough to hold thousands. That was, before the earthquake that had reduced it to a pile of rubble, making it unsafe for anyone to venture inside.

Though this temple was much smaller, it was still ornate and beautiful. White marble floors. Carved benches. A statue of the goddess peering at Magnus with what looked like disdain. The symbols of fire and air were etched into her upraised palms.

“You’re not welcome here, Limerian,” she seemed to sneer at him.

Too bad.

The temple was empty apart from the blond girl seated in the front pew. She gazed up at a gigantic mosaic depicting the goddess with the green valleys of Auranos behind her. On her left was a wildfire, burning with flames both orange and blue; to the right, a tornado.

Cleo gave Magnus a sidelong glance as he approached and sat down across the aisle from her, his attention fixed on the mosaic.

“Have you come here to worship?” she asked.

He repressed a laugh. “Hardly.”

“So you’re here only to interrupt my prayers.”