The guard left, bowing all the way out of the room.

Ashur’s gaze returned to his sister. “It seems now that our father and brothers are dead, I’m next in line to rule. You know very well I never wanted a responsibility like that, but I will do what I must.” When she didn’t reply, he continued, “Nothing to say to me after all this time apart, Sister?”

Amara now shook her head slowly from side to side. “This isn’t possible.”

Cleo wanted to bite her tongue, to keep from saying anything that might draw attention to her and remind Amara that she wanted her dead.

But she couldn’t help it.

“It’s very possible,” Cleo said with a nod. “Ashur is alive and well. It was a surprise to me too, but I’m sure it’s a bit more of shock to you. After all, you did murder him in cold blood, didn’t you?”

“Clearly, I didn’t,” Amara said, her words crisper and harder-edged than Cleo would have expected, considering how stunned the empress appeared to be.

“You did,” Ashur confirmed, absently stroking his chest. “There was no mistaking the pain of the blade as it slid into my skin and bone. The cold look in your eyes that I’d seen cast upon others in our lives, but never before upon me. The horrible sensation of betrayal that broke my heart just as you sliced into it without any hesitation.”

“How? Tell me how this can be!”

“Let me assure you that I am not here for vengeance of any kind. Despite your harsh and questionable decisions, I do understand it all more than you might think. You are not the only one in our family who was cast aside by our father for having differences that made us unacceptable.”

“Elan was different,” she whispered.

“Elan looked at our father like a shining god standing before him. I suppose that pardoned many of his imperfections.”

“This is actually happening, isn’t it?” Amara’s eyes filled with tears. “You won’t believe me, but I’ve only regretted one of my decisions: what I did to you. I was angry, I felt betrayed . . . so I reacted.”

“Indeed you did.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted me dead.”

“I don’t want you dead, Amara. I want you alive and well and willing to see everything in this world more clearly than you’ve ever seen it in your life. The world is not an enemy to be conquered at any cost, whatever our madhosha might have you believe.”

“Our madhosha is the only one who has ever believed in me. She’s guided me and been my most valuable advisor.”

“So it was she who advised you to end my life.”

Amara twisted her hands. “But it was I who acted on such advice. For a while, I thought you would be on my side through everything, but you chose that boy . . . that boy with the red hair . . . after becoming enamored with him after what? A month?”

“Nic,” Cleo said, her throat constricting. “His name was Nic.”

Ashur sent a deep frown toward her. “What do you mean his name was Nic?”

Cleo commanded herself not to cry. She refused to show any weakness here, unless it might serve her in some way. She wanted to hate Amara the most, to have that hatred fuel her, strengthen her, but all she wanted to do right now was hurt Ashur.

“When you left, he followed,” she said evenly. “He was here at the compound when a riot broke out.”

“And what?” Ashur asked softly.

“And . . . he’s dead.” It sounded far too horrible to put into words, but she had to. She wanted to twist the words into Ashur to see if this prince was truly made of steel, someone who didn’t give a damn whom he hurt or used or left behind.

“No.” Ashur shook his head, his brows drawing together. “No, that can’t be.”

“It’s true.” Amara nodded. “I saw it happen.”

“You said it yourself,” Cleo said, her throat tight. The confirmation stole away any hope she had left that this had been a lie. “Anyone who truly cares for you ends up dead. I can’t imagine you’re all that surprised.”

“No,” Ashur said again as he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Oh, please, Ashur.” Amara flicked her hand dismissively. “You barely knew that boy! You’re trying to tell me you’re upset by this news?”

“Shut your mouth!” Cleo roared at her, surprising herself with her own sudden ferocity. Amara stared at her, shocked. “He was my friend, my best friend. I loved him, and he loved me. He was my family, and because of you and your brother he’s dead!”

“Because of us, is it?” Amara repeated, her voice low. “Did you even try to stop him from chasing after my brother like a pathetic, discarded lover from his past?”

“I didn’t know until he was already gone!”

“Perhaps you should have been keeping a better watch over someone you proclaim to have loved.”

Cleo lurched toward her, wanting to tear every piece of hair from her head, but Ashur was behind her, holding her arms and keeping her in place.

She struggled, as she’d done earlier with the guards, wanting to claw at the prince’s face too. “Let go of me!”

“Violence is not the answer to violence,” he said, finally releasing her to point at a chair. “Sit and be silent, unless you wish to be removed from this room.”

Cleo did the best she could to compose herself, cursing the day these horrible siblings had never set foot on Mytican soil.