Rebel Spring

“That’s Brion,” Jonas said. “He’s a close friend of mine. Strong, loyal, brave.”

“Good for him.” Cleo narrowed her eyes. “You’re their leader, aren’t you?”

Jonas shrugged. “I do my best.”

“And on your orders they’ll kill me—even your close friend Brion. Or would you prefer to do it yourself?” When he didn’t answer right away she turned to look directly at him. “Well?” He drew closer and curled his fingers around her upper arm. The girl spoke too loudly and much too freely. She was worse than Lysandra. “You’d probably be smart not to make such suggestions out loud, your highness. You might give some of my rebels ideas. Not everyone agrees with my decision to bring you here.”

She tried to pull away but he held firm.

“Unhand me,” she snapped.

“This is politics only, princess. What I’ve done today—what I’ll do in the days ahead—is for my people. Only them.” Jonas’s gaze shifted to the left and he swore under his breath when he saw who now swiftly approached.

Lysandra’s hair was loose from her braid, a long, wild tangle of dark curls. Her brown eyes fixed on Cleo. “So this is her, is it? Her royal highness?”

“It is,” Jonas said, already weary. Dealing with the stubborn and opinionated Lysandra was exhausting even on the best of days. “Lysandra Barbas, please meet Princess Cleiona Bellos.”

Cleo remained silent, wary, as the girl looked her up and down.

“She’s still breathing,” Lysandra observed.

“Yes, she is,” Jonas confirmed.

Lysandra walked a slow circle around Cleo, eyeing her gown, her jewelry, the pointy tips of her gold sandals peeking out from beneath her skirts. “Should we send the king one of her royal fingers as proof that we have her?”

“Lysandra,” Jonas hissed, his anger rising. “Shut up.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Let me guess,” Cleo said, her expression pinched. “This is one of your rebels who did not approve of your plan to kidnap me.”

“Lysandra has her own ideas on what decisions I should be making these days.”

The rebel girl swept her disapproving gaze over Cleo again. “I don’t fully understand the worth in kidnapping useless girls who serve no purpose other than looking pretty.”

“You don’t even know me,” Cleo snapped. “And yet you’ve decided you hate me. That would be as fair as my hating you, sight unseen.”

Lysandra rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say that I hate all royals equally. And you’re a royal. Therefore, I hate you. Nothing personal.”

“Which makes absolutely no sense. Nothing personal? Hate is something I take quite personally. If I’ve earned it, that’s one thing. If I haven’t . . . it’s a foolish decision for you to serve out such a strong emotion without thought.”

Lysandra’s brows drew together. “King Gaius burned my village to the ground and enslaved my people. He killed my mother and father. And my brother, Gregor—I don’t know where he is. I might never see him again.” She spoke even more furiously. “You, though—you don’t know pain. You don’t know struggle and sacrifice. You were born with a golden spoon in your mouth and a gilded roof over your head. You’re betrothed to a prince!”

Again, Jonas opened his mouth to speak. This was leading them nowhere and had gained the attention of a dozen more rebels, who were now listening intently to the girls.

But the princess spoke first. Cleo’s eyes flashed. “You don’t think I’ve known pain? Perhaps it’s different from the horrors you’ve experienced, but I assure you, I have. I lost my beloved sister to a disease no healer could name. I found her body myself, cold in her bed only hours before King Gaius invaded my home. My father was murdered trying to defend his kingdom from his enemy. He fought side by side with his men rather than hide himself away where he might have been safe. My mother died in childbirth with me and I never met her—but I knew my sister hated me for years because of this. I lost a trusted guard, a . . . a boy I’d given my heart to, when he defended me against the very prince I’m now betrothed to against my will. I have lost almost everyone in this world I love in such a short time that I can barely remain standing and contain my grief.” She drew in a ragged breath. “Think of me what you will. But I swear to the goddess I will have my throne back—and King Gaius will pay for his crimes.”

Lysandra stared at her for another moment, her eyes now brimming with tears. “You’re damn right he will.” Without another word, she stormed away from them and disappeared into the dark forest, followed after a moment by Brion.

Had Cleo won the girl over or had her speech fallen on deaf ears? Jonas didn’t know. And he still wasn’t sure how much of Lysandra’s bravado was real and how much was generated to make her look tough in front of the others. But the pain in her eyes whenever she spoke of her village, of her parents and her lost brother . . . that was real. He understood her pain, just as he understood Cleo’s. For two very different girls, they had a lot in common.

He realized the princess was glaring at him.

“Yes?” he asked.

Cleo raised her chin. “If you decide to kill me when King Gaius refuses your demands, know I will fight for my life until my very last breath.”

“I don’t doubt it for a solitary moment.” Jonas cocked his head. “Though I think there’s some sort of misunderstanding here. I don’t plan to kill you—now or later. But am I going to use you against the Damoras as much as I possibly can? You bet I am.”