She stared at him with horror. “What?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” There was something in the king’s gaze that betrayed his otherwise casual manner this afternoon. Something restrained below the surface. Cleo’s words of protest died on her lips. There’s no way her father could know about her secret…could he?

Cleo forced a smile. “Of course, Father. Whatever you say.” She would figure out a way to change his mind when things had had time to blow over—and when she’d established for sure that he had no knowledge of that night. If he ever found out what she’d done, Cleo knew she would never be able to bear it.

He nodded. “Good girl.”

She turned toward the archway, hoping to make a quick escape.

“One more thing, Cleo.”

She froze and slowly turned back around. “Yes?”

“I’m assigning a full-time bodyguard to you, one whose main job is to keep my youngest daughter out of any future trouble.”

Her horror intensified. “But there’s no trouble here in Auranos. If I promise not to go back to Paelsia, what’s the problem?”

“Peace of mind for your father, my darling. And, no, this is not negotiable. I’m appointing Theon Ranus to the job. I expect him here soon so I can inform him of his new position.”

Theon. The guard who’d accompanied her to Paelsia. As handsome as she’d found him, that paled in comparison to the thought that he’d be around her at all hours of the day. No matter where she went. Leaving her no privacy or time to herself.

She looked at her father to see a very small glint of amusement now in his eyes. This, she realized, was part of her punishment for dragging Auranos’s name through the mud and straining relations between the lands. She forced herself to remain calm and bowed her head slightly. “As you wish, Father.”

“Very good. I knew you could be every bit as agreeable as your sister if you try hard enough.”

Cleo was certain that Emilia had simply learned over the years to bite her tongue when it came to dealing with their father in order to be the perfect princess. Cleo wasn’t that perfect. Nor had she ever wanted to be.

It was clear to her what she had to do. As soon as Theon presented himself to her for his newfound duty, she would simply relieve him of that duty. He could do what he wanted and she would do the same. The king, who usually only saw her at meals, would never know the difference.

Simple.

Her upcoming engagement to Aron was more of a problem. After what had happened in Paelsia, and Aron’s ridiculously vain and selfish behavior during the trip back home when all he seemed concerned with was the fact he’d lost his precious dagger in the wine seller’s son’s throat and hadn’t acquired any wine for his efforts, she’d decided that there was no way she would ever want to associate with him again, let alone marry him.

Not negotiable, indeed. Her father couldn’t force her to do this.

What was she thinking? Of course he could force her to marry someone she didn’t want to. He was the king! Nobody said no to the king, not even a princess.

She rushed away from the council room, through the courtyard, up a flight of stairs, and down a hall into an open corridor before she let out a harsh scream of frustration.

“Ouch. You have absolutely no consideration for my eardrums, do you, princess?”

Cleo spun around in shock, heart pounding—she’d thought she was alone. She let out a long sigh of relief to see who it was. And then she promptly burst into tears.

Nicolo Cassian leaned against the smooth marble wall, his arms crossed over his chest. The curious expression on his thin face fell and his brows drew together.

“Oh, no. Don’t cry. Tears are not something I can deal with.”

“My—my father is cruel and unfair,” she sobbed, then collapsed into his arms. He gently patted her back.

“The cruelest ever. There has never been a crueler father than King Corvin. If he wasn’t king, and if I wasn’t his squire who had to follow his every order, I would strike him down, just for you.”

Nic was the older brother of Mira. Only a year separated the siblings, making Nic seventeen. Where Mira’s hair was dark with streaks of sun-kissed red, her figure warmly voluptuous, Nic’s hair was unusual for Auranos: pure red, the color of a carrot, and it stuck up in every direction. His face was more gawky, sharp angles, and with a nose that tilted slightly to the left. And his skin was covered in freckles that only intensified with the more time he spent outside in the sun. She could easily wrap her arms all the way around his waist as she buried her head in his chest and her tears sank into his wool tunic.

Nic and Mira had been the children of Sir Rogerus Cassian, a close friend of the king’s who had died, alongside his wife, in a boating accident seven years ago. The king had given the orphaned children official positions at the palace, allowing them to live here and take meals side by side with him, Cleo, and Emilia and to be educated by the palace tutors. While Mira was the lady-in-waiting to Emilia, Nic had proved himself a very useful squire to the king himself—a position envied by many.

If Mira was Cleo’s closest friend, then Nic was Cleo’s closest friend who was a boy. She felt more comfortable in his company than anyone except her sister’s—even Mira’s, if she was being honest. And this was not the first time, nor did she think it would be the last, that she would cry on his shoulder.

“My kingdom for a handkerchief,” he murmured. “There, there, Cleo. What’s wrong?”