Her mouth fell open. “No. If such horrors are true . . . I’m so sorry.”

It was not the first she’d ever heard of such atrocities—he’d mentioned it before, thought not in detail, when he’d visited her chambers. But she would not have seen any proof. Despite her lofty betrothal to the prince, Jonas still believed her to be very much a prisoner of war told little of what happened outside the palace walls.

“The King of Blood does not have a gentle hand in dealing with slave labor. He may have lulled the majority of your Auranians into a false sense of security, but I assure you, the same cannot be said for my people. I saw for myself what his guards have full permission to do without penalty or opposition. And it must be stopped at any cost.”

The high color in her cheeks drained away. “Of course it must be stopped.”

Her words were unexpected and full of sincerity. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Looks like we do agree on a few things after all. How shocking.”

“You want to paint me with the same brush you paint the Damoras. I’m not like them. But if you wanted to kidnap someone with influence in that family, it shouldn’t have been me. My death at the hands of a rebel would ultimately be a gift to the king, not a hardship.”

In the dress shop he’d told her he’d meant her no harm, but he couldn’t blame her for thinking the worst. This was the second time he’d kidnapped her. He must seem truly beastly to this girl. Jonas leaned toward her, ignoring her automatic flinch, and began to untie her bindings so her hands would be free.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see about that, won’t we, princess?” Once they reached the edge of the Wildlands, thirty miles from Hawk’s Brow, Jonas thanked the driver of the cart—an Auranian sympathetic to the rebel cause he’d met during his previous visit to the city, at the same time he recruited Nerissa as a helper—and guided Cleo into the darkness of the thick forest.

She didn’t run from him or fight. It took very little pressure on her arm to keep her at his side as they moved across the tangled terrain.

“Murderous thieves make their home here.” She failed to keep the tremble from her voice.

“Absolutely,” Jonas replied.

“Dangerous animals, too.”

“Without a doubt.”

She slanted a look toward him. “Perfect place for you.”

He repressed a snort. “Oh, such compliments, your highness. You’re going to make me blush.”

“If you took that as a compliment, you’re even more stupid than I thought you were.”

This time he couldn’t hold back his grin. “I’ve been called worse than stupid.”

A royal like her would never normally have journeyed past the tree line to see how dark the forest could get, especially this close to dusk. The thick leaves on the tall, imposing trees blocked out any sunlight, casting a soulless darkness all around them, as if this were the middle of the night. Cleo stumbled on the twisting roots of the trees, nearly falling. Jonas gripped her arm tighter. “No time to stop, princess. Not much farther now.”

Even he didn’t like to tarry long in such a place without the protection of a larger group.

She yanked at her skirts to keep them out of the muck and weeds and gave him a dirty look.

Finally, they arrived at a slight clearing. A bonfire crackled, lending light to the gathering darkness. The strong scent of cooked venison told Jonas that the hunt had gone well today. The rebels wouldn’t go hungry tonight.

The princess’s steps faltered again as shadows approached. At least three dozen rebels with ragged clothes and unfriendly expressions drew closer. Some began to climb the trees. Cleo looked up, her eyes widening at the sight of the makeshift shelters strung together with rope, sticks, and thin pieces of wood twenty feet up into the thick branches.

“This is where you live,” she said with surprise.

“For now.”

Cleo crossed her arms and swept a glance through the camp. Only a few rebels looked directly at her—some with curiosity, but most with distrust or contempt. Not the friendliest place in the world for a royal princess, that was for sure.

Tarus raced out in front of them, flashing Jonas a grin as he pursued a rabbit. At fourteen, he was one of the youngest of the rebels and endlessly enthusiastic, if currently unskilled in combat. Jonas had taken him along on several recruiting missions. The kid’s slight build and friendly face helped to set at ease the minds of any suspicious citizens Jonas wished to speak with. The sound of conversation, of chirping insects, and the squawk of birds high in the trees brought the forest to life all around them.

It wasn’t so bad here. At least, he didn’t think so.

Cleo scratched her arm where she’d been bitten by a mosquito, seeming more annoyed than fearful now that this indignity had been heaped upon her. Too bad. It wasn’t the finest golden palace, or even a reasonably decent inn, but it would have to do. Brion approached. “Need any help here?” he asked, flicking a look at Jonas.

“No,” Jonas replied. “Everything’s fine. Go find your girlfriend and keep her out of my way. I don’t need any more trouble tonight.” “You mean the girlfriend who, depending on the day, hates my guts almost as much as she hates yours?”

“That’s the one.”

Brion moved away past the fire, slapping a boy named Phineas on his back. They laughed about something while glancing back in Cleo’s direction.