Magnus’s hackles rose. “I would caution you not to take rumors or gossip as truth. Especially rumors and gossip repeated by someone as unreliable as a guard or a servant.”

“I’m not surprised you say that, given a few other rumors I’ve heard around the palace.” Ashur smiled, an exact replica of sincerity, which made Magnus envy his ability to pour on charm while speaking such unpleasant words. It reminded him of his father.

“Other rumors?” Magnus asked. “Such as?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

Just then Amara descended the stairs, thankfully interrupting them. “Are you two going to stay down here all day? Or will you explore with me?”

“Exploring sounds like an excellent idea,” Magnus said, offering her his arm as she reached the last step. He felt the irresistible need to put an end to his conversation with the prince. “Let’s take a look at the gardens. I’ve been told they rival the beauty of the palace’s.”

“Yes, let’s. Ashur?”

The prince waved. “Go on ahead. I’ll join you shortly.”

With Princess Amara’s handmaiden trailing a discreet distance behind them, Magnus and Amara went outside to the gardens, which were as beautiful as rumor had promised.

It was obvious that this was not merely a grand home that had been built for nobles. This was a home filled with love—love that had been lavished on every inch, every piece of furniture, every colorful tile or marble surface. The private gardens were vast, ending at a stone wall two hundred paces from the villa. Every color of the rainbow was accounted for in the roses, violets, hydrangeas; the apple, pear, and olive trees. It smelled like life itself out here—sweet and vibrant.

After a moment, however, the sweetness faded and was replaced by a more unpleasant scent. Not yet offensive, but somewhat . . . wrong. Perhaps it was only Magnus’s imagination.

But he thought he smelled the acrid scent of something stolen. Much like everything the king claimed as his.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Amara gushed. “I only wish that it was closer to the palace.”

As stunning as the villa was, the king didn’t choose it for its beauty. He wanted to keep the Kraeshians at a safe distance.

“Transportation will be provided for you and your guards so you can visit as often as you wish. You and your brother are welcome at any time.”

Amara was much more welcome than Ashur, in Magnus’s opinion. Despite his father’s suspicions about the prince’s motives, Ashur’s questions had blindsided Magnus. They had pulled him back to that deadly battle against the rebels and Jonas Agallon himself. He remembered the strange fire, and the beautiful Watcher who’d perished in a flash of light at Xanthus’s hands, but not before she’d told Magnus how to help Lucia:

“There is a ring that was forged in the Sanctuary from the purest magic to help the original sorceress control the Kindred and her own elementia. This ring is closer that you might expect.”

Perhaps she had only been playing with him, distracting him to allow Jonas the chance to escape.

And now to hear rumors of a being of fire roaming the countryside . . .

“Your grace.” Amara touched his arm. “Are you still with me?”

Magnus tried to push the cobwebs from his head and focus on the girl before him. “Apologies. I don’t mean to be rude. I was just thinking of your brother. He’s very curious about local legends.”

She groaned. “He’s going on about the Kindred again, isn’t he? It’s been a hobby of his for years, learning all about magic. I’ve always thought it was a waste of valuable time.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless, of course, it turns out to be true.”

“I hope he’s not too disappointed when his quest turns up nothing but rocks and dirt.”

“As most quests do.” She laughed, gently placing her hand on his arm as they strolled. “I find you very interesting. I see why Cleo is so taken with you.”

He stopped in his tracks. “You think she is?”

“Of course. To be married to such a strong and handsome prince . . .” She cast a sidelong look at him through her thick black lashes. “I can’t help but envy her.”

Magnus wasn’t accustomed to the way Amara flirted. He’d found that some girls showed interest by keeping their distance, giggling with their friends as he passed by in the palace halls. He’d encountered a handful of others who had been bold and fearless in their approaches, hoping to gain his attention. But most girls would simply cast fearful glances at him, assuming he was as cruel and cold as his father.

He couldn’t help but be slightly intrigued by the sly look in Amara’s eyes. She played at being coy, but she was just the opposite.

“Are you not betrothed yet?” he asked as they continued along a garden path flanked by flowers and manicured foliage. A brown rabbit hopped across in front of them, seemingly unconcerned by their presence.

“No. I’ve asked to wait until I find someone to my liking. No one in my family has ever waited as long as I have to wed. Well, no one except Ashur.”

“He’s not been betrothed?”

“He has. Three times. Each engagement ended for the same reason: He eventually decided he wasn’t interested enough in any of the girls to spend the rest of his life with them.” She shook her head, clearly amused by her brother’s romantic antics. “He is the youngest son, so my father has allowed him the kind of freedom he never would have allowed my older brothers.”