Page 23 of A Kingdom of Destruction

“Why?” She narrowed her eyes on him. There had to be a reason for this kindness. Roran kept her off guard with his taunts and dalliances. What would Cillian’s game be?

He merely stared at her with a light smile, a male in front of a female.

She’d never been worried about that sort of thing before.

Not when she had people to lead and battles to win and lives to save. Now Aven became acutely aware of the cut of the dress, the exotic print, and the beautifully colored fabric. Except the awareness brought a blush of embarrassment to her face. There was no way in hell the crown prince had any interest in her outside of what she represented to him.

A conquest.

Some part of her really needed to get in line.

Cillian remained standing with his hand outstretched, waiting for her to accept. “Your first glimpses of our world were less than stellar, and I’d like the opportunity to make it up to you. Roran and our father have certain ideas about the way guests should be treated. I am of a different mind,” he told her.

Guest. Hah.

Even if this were a part of a larger game, Aven knew she had little room to deny the request. Politics were politics.

“Fine, then. Yes. I’ll have dinner with you.” Her head throbbed as she bit out the agreement, forcing one foot in front of the other, but Aven strode across the room and slapped her hand down on top of Cillian’s a shade harder than she should have.

His expression did not change, as inscrutable as before. “Would you like a tour of the palace before we retire to dinner, Princess Aven?”

She shuddered at the title. Princess of what? A kingdom in ruin? A dead family? “Aven, please,” she replied blandly.

“Then you’ll call me Cillian, and we’ll pretend to be friends,” he said. A graceful twist of his hand brought her palm to the crook of his elbow and fitted it against his arm. “There’s much to see here. Do you have shoes?”

Only her old combat boots, and those were filthy, covered in dirt from the dungeon floor and her own vomit.

Cillian read the answer in the tightness of her lips. “We’ll take care of it. You’ll find a fair assortment in the dresser near the door.”

Aven drew the line at allowing him to slip the shoes over her feet like some kind of damsel who wouldn’t look out for herself. Instead, she used him for balance as she grabbed a pair of black flats and shoved her toes into their depths. Another perfect fit.

She glared at the shoes.

Why did it surprise her?

Cillian led the way back down the hall away from her room. Sunlight trickled in from the hundreds of gleaming windows lining every available wall space.

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be? Duties to attend to?” Of course he did. No crown prince in his right mind would waste time being a tour guide.

He shrugged, the fabric of his golden collar shifting with the movement. “There are always things to do, but it’s necessary to take time to rest. To do something that gives me pleasure. Otherwise I’ll burn out, and then my duties won’t be done to the best of my abilities.”

“And you think you’ll find a pleasurable afternoon with me.” She shot him side-eye, studying his profile without making it obvious. “Really?”

“I think we might both benefit from some time outside of our stuffy rooms,” was the only thing Cillian said.

She had her doubts.

Aven drew in a breath and inhaled the smoky scent of whatever fragrance he wore. She hadn’t noticed anything of thesort on Roran, but the two brothers felt different. Energetically or whatever one wanted to call it.

“I really have no interest in touring your palace,” Aven told him, “and even less interest spending time with you. It’s best if I’m upfront about it.”

“The main part of the palace is ancient beyond even the best reckoning of our scholars.” Cillian continued as though he hadn’t heard her, although they walked side by side. He retained hold of her hand, and Aven made sure to keep as much distance between them as physically possible, lest their shoulders brush together.

He might act like he is kind, different, from the other fae that she’d met, but not long ago she’d seen the destruction the fae wrought with her own eyes. Nothing he said or did would convince her he was anything but a monster wearing a handsome skin.

His smile was a mask.

“Several wings have been added throughout the reign of our past monarchs, although my father has ruled for the last three hundred years.”

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