“Indeed. Lord Kurtis has been teaching me how to handle a bow and arrow this last week,” Cleo explained to the councilmen. “He’s an excellent tutor.”

“And you are an excellent student,” Kurtis replied. “Soon you’ll be winning competitions, just as your sister did, if that’s your goal.”

Oh yes, Magnus thought wryly. I’m sure that’s exactly why she wants to learn how to send sharp arrows directly and precisely into a target.

Magnus decided to imagine Kurtis’s right eye socket as his own personal target.

“Your highness, perhaps it would be interesting to get the princess’s take on the problem at hand?” Kurtis suggested.

This sounded very much like a challenge.

“Yes,” Magnus agreed. “It would be interesting, wouldn’t it?”

“How absolutely ludicrous,” the high priest said under his breath.

“What was that?” Magnus asked sharply. “Did you say something?”

The priest smiled weakly. “No, your highness. I was just clearing my throat. I look forward to hearing your wife’s thoughts.”

Magnus slid the financial document in front of Cleo. She scanned it quickly, her expression turning serious. “This is a great deal of money,” she said. “To whom is it owed?”

“King Gaius has an agreement with the moneylenders in Veneas,” Kurtis replied. “They expect to be repaid without extensive delay.”

“And so you’re taxing all of the Limerian people to these great extents?” She looked sharply at each of the council members. “What about the rich?”

“What about them, your grace?” asked Lord Loggis.

“According to this document, these financial issues are due to the decisions of the rich. Why wouldn’t they be expected to contribute the lion’s share of this debt? To clean up their own mess?”

“That’s quite a sentiment for an Auranian royal to have,” Loggis countered. “Then again, Auranos’s poor would be the equivalent of our rich, wouldn’t they?”

“Thank you for your opinion about my homeland, but you didn’t answer my question,” Cleo said with a patient smile. “Should I take your insult to mean that you’re trying to avoid this matter? Or that you’re not sure why your taxes are structured as they are?”

Magnus watched her with barely concealed amusement. Cleo certainly wasn’t winning many allies in this room, but he found her ability to stand up for herself deeply admirable.

Not that he’d ever admit this out loud, of course.

“Well?” Cleo prompted, glancing next at Lord Kurtis.

Kurtis spread his hands in the air before him. “We can only hope that your husband will come up with a solution that benefits everyone. He is, after all, currently in command here.”

Now Magnus pictured another arrow entering Kurtis’s left eye socket. Slowly. Again and again.

“Well,” Magnus said after a tense silence, “what might you suggest, princess?”

Cleo met his gaze, the first time she’d looked at him so directly since their last private talk. “You really want to know?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t ask.”

She regarded him for another moment before speaking again. “My father never had trouble with debt.”

“How lovely for your father,” Lord Loggis mumbled.

She gave the lord a sharp look, then turned back to address the rest of the group. “In fact, it was just the opposite. Auranos was and is very wealthy. My father would often lend money to other kingdoms, just as those in Veneas are known to do.”

“And?” Magnus prompted after the table fell silent. “How does this recollection of the past help the current situation? Auranian finances are included as part of this document—part of Mytica as a whole. And they, too, have recently been depleted in an attempt to pay off part of this debt.”

Thanks to your father’s lust for power were the unspoken words he was certain he saw glittering in her narrowed eyes.

Cleo cleared her throat, then softened her suddenly rigid expression with a patient smile. “Perhaps,” she said. “But the problem stems from Limerian, not Auranian, origins. Limeros, to my knowledge, has never been nearly as wealthy as Auranos. There is so much that separates our people, not just Paelsian land. But within those differences, I believe an answer can be found.”

Lord Francus leaned in closer and studied the princess with a peevish—yet curious—expression. “And what, precisely, is that answer, your grace?”

“In a single word?” She sent her glance around the table, resting on each councilman’s face in turn. “Wine.”

Magnus blinked. “Wine.”

“Yes, wine. Your laws prohibit inebriants of any kind, yet wine is a source of great wealth—both in sales within the kingdom and export to lands overseas. While Limerian soil is likely too cold to nurture any crops, Paelsia vineyards lie not so far away. A solid third of their land is still rich—even if its people are not. If Limerian workers and merchants were to assist Paelsians with their wine production and trade, with Auranos’s help, Mytica could again become a very wealthy kingdom.”

“Wine is forbidden in Limeros,” the high priest pointed out sternly.

Cleo frowned. “So make it . . . unforbidden. This council certainly has the power to do that, right?”

“The goddess forbade it!” cried the high priest. “Only she can choose to make such a change, and I don’t see her here at this table. Such a suggestion is . . .” He shook his head. “Ludicrous. And, frankly, offensive!”

Cleo glared at him with exasperation. “The suggestion to change an outdated law that is single-handedly preventing you from solving your financial crisis, that could ensure this kingdom’s future if it were reversed, is offensive?”

“Our goddess—” he began.

“Forget your goddess,” Cleo cut him off. Several council members gasped. “You need to think of your citizens—especially the poor, who are suffering right now.”

Everyone began speaking at once, one argument overlapping another, creating a cacophony of grunts and chatter.

Magnus leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands on his lap, and silently observed the outrage. Cleo’s cheeks were flushed red, but he knew it wasn’t from embarrassment. Her heightened color was a product of sheer outrage.

“Quiet, all of you,” Magnus said, but no one heard him above their own noise. He raised his voice and shouted. “Silence!”

The council finally hushed, all eyes turning to look at him expectantly.

“Princess Cleiona’s suggestion is certainly”—How best to put it?—“Auranian.”

“Outrageous is more like it,” Loggis mumbled.

“Outrageous to us, perhaps. But that doesn’t mean it has no merit. Perhaps Limeros has been stuck in the past for far too long. Religious tradition aside, the princess has suggested a potential solution, and I agree that it’s worth more thought and discussion.”

Cleo turned to him, her expression gripped with surprise.

“But the goddess—” the high priest protested once again.

Magnus held up his hand. “The goddess does not currently have a seat on this council.”