Rebel Spring

Her brows drew together. “How?”

“He holds you as a symbol of hope and unity to the Auranian people. The rebels shall do the same. If he refuses to meet my demands to ensure your safe return, you will stay here with us as a rebel. If the golden princess chooses to stand with us in the face of the king’s lies, that is a very strong statement.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she was about to protest, but he held up his hand.

“I do believe he values you alive. But, of course, I’m not an idiot. He assumes that we’ll choose the violent path if he doesn’t comply, and this would also serve him well. Any footing the rebels have gained in the view of those people would be lost if you’re harmed. But it’s not my plan to hurt you in any way. You are worth more to me—and to the king—alive than dead. So I suggest you settle in, get comfortable, and wait it out. We’ll feed you, give you a place to sleep. This forest has a fierce reputation, so rarely does anyone sane venture in here.”

Cleo swept her eyes over the length of him. “Obviously.”

He offered her the edge of a grin. “I know my means of getting you here were far from gentle. But I swear no one will abuse you now that you’re here. You’re safe. And know this: I personally plan to shove my blade through the king’s heart and free my people from his tyranny. When I have that chance, you might just get your throne back. But Auranos is not my concern, Paelsia is.”

He let his words settle in.

Cleo nodded. “And the future of Auranos and its citizens is mine.”

“Another thing we have in common—a love of our individual lands. That’s good. So, tell me, princess, will you continue to fight me on everything I do? Or will you be nice and cooperate?”

Cleo didn’t speak for a long, silent moment. But then she met his gaze full-on, and it was every bit as fierce as his was. “Fine. I’ll cooperate. But I might not be nice about it.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “I can live with that.”

Chapter 15

CLEO

THE WILDLANDS

It had been seven days surrounded by a swarm of rebels. With the fine clothes she’d arrived here wearing, she stuck out in the camp like a sore thumb. After a day, she’d asked for a change of clothing and received some ragged garments to wear. Jonas gave her an extra tunic and a loose pair of trousers held up only by the power of a drawstring cinched tightly around her waist.

Among the rebels, Cleo had drawn closer to those who didn’t look at her as if they despised her simply for being royalty. Among these rare few was Brion, Jonas’s second in command, and a young, skinny boy named Tarus, who sported a shock of red hair that immediately reminded her of Nic.

Nic.

Worry ate at her with each hour, each day that passed since she’d been taken from the dress shop. Was he all right? What would the king do to him? And Mira . . . she must think Cleo dead by now. If only Cleo could get a message to her.

She’d asked Jonas if she could send one. He’d replied simply with a “no.” And then he’d walked away from her, ignoring her outrage.

Presently, she sat with Brion, Tarus, and one of the very few female rebels, Onoria, around the campfire. Auranian days were warm and temperate and filled with light, but at night here in the Wildlands, the breeze seemed every bit as cold as she imagined Limeros to be.

“Every hawk you see is a Watcher watching us,” Tarus said. “My pa told me that.”

“Every hawk?” Brion scoffed. “Not every single one. Most are just birds, nothing more magical than that.”

“Do you believe in magic?” Cleo asked, curious.

Brion pushed a long stick into the crackling fire. “Depends on the day. Today, not so much. Tomorrow . . . maybe.”

Cleo glanced up. “So what about that hawk? Is that a Watcher?”

A golden hawk had settled into one of the few trees that didn’t have a sleeping shack built into its branches. It seemed quite content to sit there and look down on them.

Onoria looked up at it, pushing long strands of dark hair out of her eyes. “I’ve noticed her before. She never hunts, just watches us. Or, really, if you ask me—she watches Jonas.”

“Really?” Cleo said, now intrigued.

“See? Definitely a Watcher if she’s taken a special interest in our leader.” Tarus stared up at the bird with admiration. “Their wings are made from pure gold, did you know that? That’s what my ma told me.”

Cleo remembered her hours of research as well as the legends she’d heard all her life. “I’ve heard they can also look like mortals if they choose to—with golden skin and beauty unlike anything seen in our world.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve seen a few unreal beauties in my life.” Brion grinned. “You’re not so bad yourself, princess. And Onoria . . . you too, of course.”

Onoria rolled her eyes. “Save your charm for someone who cares.”

Now Cleo couldn’t hold back her smile. “I assure you, I’m not a Watcher. If I was, I’d escape back to the safety of the Sanctuary as soon as I could.”

“Gotta find a wheel for that,” Tarus said.

Cleo looked at him. “What did you say?”

“A stone wheel.” He shrugged. “Don’t know if it’s true, it’s just what I heard from my grandma.”

The boy’s family seemed filled to overflowing with storytellers.