“Have you learned more about your ring?” he whispered.

“I have. But I confess I’m not sure what to do now.” Then she quietly and quickly launched into the most bizarre story Nic had ever heard—of magic, prophecies, and princess sorceresses.

By the time Cleo finished, Nic was dizzy.

“Unbelievable,” he managed to say.

“But it’s all true,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You’re the only one I trust in the world right now.” She inhaled shakily. “Lucia’s magic is associated with the Watchers. This ring belonged to the original sorceress—they say it helped to control her magic and kept it from corrupting her. With this ring, with Lucia, I’ll be able to find the Watchers’ greatest treasure . . . the Kindred itself.”

This was dangerous information, but Cleo was not wrong to trust him. He would never say a single word to put her life at risk, not even under torture. And not even if he were promised a boatload of gold in return.

With Mira gone, Cleo was now the closest thing Nic had to a sister. She was his family now—but then again, she always had been.

He hadn’t realized until now how heavily the secrets he’d been keeping had been weighing on him. He needed to unburden himself, to trust her as she trusted him.

He should have done so days ago.

Despite Cleo’s assurance that they were out of earshot, Nic scanned the area before deeming it was safe to continue to speak in complete privacy.

“Prince Ashur asked me about your ring,” he began. “He knows what it is, Cleo, and he’s very keen on finding the Kindred for himself.”

Her face went pale. “When did he speak to you?”

“After our argument. He followed me to a tavern, hoping to squeeze information out of a drunk palace guard busy feeling sorry for himself. I told him nothing. Not that I knew very much then.”

Cleo looked stricken. “What else did he say?”

“He believes great magic exists in Mytica and that King Gaius is also after it. And he thinks your ring is a key factor in all of it.”

Nic hadn’t had a drop to drink since that night. He’d stayed sober, vigilant, waiting for the prince to approach him again with more questions.

But he hadn’t. Even at the banquet after Princess Amara had arrived, Nic had been stationed by the doors, and Ashur hadn’t even glanced in his direction once.

She twisted her hands in her lap. “What do we do, Nic?”

“This might sound crazy, but I think he could be an ally,” Nic said softly. “The Kraeshains are powerful. With their father’s vast army at their backs, much more powerful than King Gaius. An alliance might help you win your throne back.”

“What would make you believe they might align with us?”

“A gut feeling.”

She searched his face. “What else did he say to you to give you such an impression?”

What else did he say? Nothing. It was more about what else he did.

He wanted to tell her everything, but he still hesitated. Some recent details of his life were difficult for him to put into words.

“Nic . . .” Cleo squeezed his hand. “What is it? You look so distressed.”

“Distressed? No. No, everything’s fine. Well, as fine as it can be.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He thought back to later that night, when Ashur had followed him out of the tavern and onto the streets.

“It’s just . . . something else happened that night that I’m not sure how to interpret. Then again,” he chewed his bottom lip, “I was really drunk that night.”

“Tell me. It obviously troubles you, whatever it is.”

That was a rather grand understatement. “He did something.”

“Did what?”

The princess trusted him with her deepest and darkest truths. He knew he had to give that trust in return, even about this. “He . . . kissed me.”

Cleo blinked. “He what?”

The words came faster now. “At first I was certain I’d misinterpreted it, maybe imagined the whole thing. But it happened, Cleo.”

She stared at him, bewildered. “You’re saying that Prince Ashur Cortas, the most infamous and sought-after bachelor in all of the Kraeshian Empire, kissed you.”

“I know!” He shot up from the bench and began pacing back and forth, raking his hands through his messy red hair. “I know!”

She considered this. “I suppose that explains why he hasn’t taken a wife yet. He prefers—”

“What?” Nic spun around to face her and then lowered his voice so as not to draw the guards’ attention. “Seventeen-year-old palace guards who shovel the shit of the king’s dogs?” He grimaced. “Pardon my language. No—no, he must have been trying to mess with my head, have me tell him secrets. Maybe he thinks I like boys instead of girls. Maybe he was trying to manipulate me. Kraeshians are very sneaky, you know!”

“Calm yourself.” Cleo stood up and took Nic’s hands in hers to make him stop moving. “I see that this bothers you. But it shouldn’t. It’s fine.”

“Fine? How is this fine?” He’d lost sleep over it, trying to figure out how and why it had happened and why he hadn’t done a single thing to stop it.

“The prince approached you, Nic . . . you in particular out of everyone in the palace.”

“Because he knows I’m your friend.”