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“Princess Cleiona is most certainly a complicated girl.” More so than he ever thought possible. Perhaps he was not the only one who felt the need to wear masks every day.
“What happened to Eva? How could an immortal Watcher die?” “She made a mistake that cost her life.” “What?” A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “She fell in love with the wrong boy—a mortal hunter who led her astray and away from her home and those who protected her. He destroyed her.”
Cleo studied the prince as he walked away. The boy was a complete and utter enigma to her. She preferred to keep it that way.
It didn’t really matter who someone was, princess, peasant, rebel, or just a boy or a girl. Everyone mourned when their loved ones died.
Sometimes, to regain sanity, one had to acknowledge and embrace the madness.
“That look . . . such contempt. Am I really that ugly to you?” The question took her by surprise. Ugly? Despite the scar, he was far from ugly—at least, physically. “Far worse,” she said honestly. He trailed his fingers over the length of his scar as he studied her for a moment.
“That son of a bitch shoved you,” Nic whispered to Cleo. “Are you all right?” “I’m fine.” But confusion still clouded her thoughts and not only about the boy’s claims. Magnus had acted instinctively at the sight of the dagger. He hadn’t shoved her to be cruel. He’d done it to . . . protect her.
But even the coldest hate can shift into something warmer if given enough time, just as an ugly caterpillar can turn into a beautiful butterfly.
