Crystal Storm

  “Well,” Cleo said, trying very hard to ignore the trickle of poison that had leaked into her chest at the sound of such brotherly praise, “she sounds absolutely perfect, doesn’t she?”

  “Of course she isn’t perfect. None of us are.” The edge of his mouth quirked up. “But Lucia Damora is extremely close.”

  “How unfortunate, then, that she’s currently under Kyan’s influence.”

  “Yes.” The edge of amusement that had been in his gaze faded away and was replaced by steel. “He possesses the fire Kindred. You have earth. Amara has water. My father has had air for quite some time.”

  All of a sudden, Cleo’s mind emptied of all other concerns. “How long has he had it? Or should I ask, why didn’t I know about this before today?”

  Magnus blinked. “I’m sure I mentioned it before.”

  “No, you certainly didn’t.”

  “Hmm. I know someone was present when I received this news. Nic, perhaps.”

  She couldn’t believe her own ears. “Nic knows that the king has the air Kindred, and neither you nor he told me?”

  “Jonas also knows.”

  She gasped. “This is unacceptable!”

  “Apologies, princess, but it’s only been less than a day since we agreed to share more than loathing and distrust.”

  Memories of the cottage in the woods returned to her vividly: a night of fear and survival leading to a very unexpected encounter.

  Cleo bit her bottom lip, her previous outrage all but forgotten. “My head’s still spinning from everything that’s happened.”

  “Mine too.”

  She glanced at the guards to see that one of them paced back and forth, as if in an agitated state.

  “Let’s make our way to the meeting place,” she said firmly. She opened the front of her cloak to look at the crimson gown beneath. “I hope I can find new clothes in the village. This is the only thing I have to my name, and it’s torn.”

  Magnus’s gaze traveled slowly down the length of her. “Yes. I remember tearing it.”

  Cleo’s cheeks heated. “It should be burned.”

  “No, this gown will never be destroyed. It will be displayed in great prominence for all eternity.” His lips curved into a smile. “But I agree, you are in need of better traveling garb. The color is rather . . . eye-catching.”

  She felt his warmth as he slid his hand down her arm, his gaze fixed upon the gown Nerissa had found in the palace for her to wear for her speech.

  The closer Magnus got to her, the more her heart sped up. “Perhaps we can discuss this later, at the inn, in our . . . room?” she said softly.

  Then, without warning, Magnus let go of her. She felt a sudden waft of cold air as he took a step away from her. “Actually, I’m going to make sure that you’re given separate quarters.”

  She frowned. “Separate?”

  “You and I will not be sharing a room for the foreseeable future.”

  She stared at him blankly for a long moment, his words making no sense. “I don’t understand. Why not? After last night, I thought . . .”

  “You thought wrong.” His face had gone very pale. “I won’t put your life at risk.”

  Still, he spoke in riddles she couldn’t easily solve. “Why would my life be at risk if we were to share a room?” She watched as his expression turned tortured and he raked a hand through his hair. “Magnus, talk to me. What is it?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Clearly I don’t. So tell me!”

  Reluctantly, he did as she asked. “A witch’s curse is the reason your mother died in childbirth. And that curse is why you, too, will die if you become pregnant.”

  All she could do is stare at him in absolute shock. “Your father told you this.”

  He nodded once, his jaw tight.

  “And you believed such a ridiculous tale, just like that?”

  “Don’t make it sound so foolish. I’m not a fool—I know there’s a possibility he could be lying to me. But I still refuse to take such a chance.”

  “What chance?” She frowned, feeling stupid that she didn’t follow.

  He took her by her shoulders tightly, gazing intensely into her eyes. “The chance of losing you.”

  Her confusion washed away, replaced by a swelling warmth in her heart. “Oh.”

  “My grandmother is a witch. If there is truly a curse on you, she will break it.”

  It seemed impossible that she’d never heard of something so serious before, but her father had always been secretive, especially when it came to magic. He’d never told Cleo that he’d had a witch put a protective spell upon the entrance of the Auranian palace, one only Lucia was powerful enough to break.

  Perhaps this was similar.

  Her thoughts went to her mother, and her heart broke to think of the woman she never knew, destined to die giving her life.

  “If this is true,” she said after a moment, still refusing to fully believe such a far-fetched possibility, “I’ve heard of other methods to prevent a pregnancy.”

  “I won’t risk your life until this curse is broken. And I don’t give a damn if my father is lying to me. I won’t take the chance that he’s right. Do you hear me?” Magnus’s voice had grown darker and quieter, sending a shiver down her spine.

  She nodded. “I hear you.”

  Could it be true? She hated to think it might even be a possibility. Why wouldn’t her father have mentioned such a horrible thing?

  Now she needed answers every bit as much as Magnus did. All the more reason to see his witch grandmother.

  Cleo noticed that the agitated guard who’d been pacing had suddenly drawn closer to them.

  “Your highness . . .” the guard said.

  Cleo tore her gaze from Magnus’s to look at the guard, shocked to see that he had withdrawn his sword and was now pointing it at them.

  Magnus pushed Cleo roughly behind him. “What is this?” he hissed.

  The guard shook his head, his expression strained and a bit frantic. “I find that I cannot abide by the king’s orders. The empress and her army are in control of Mytica now. Limerians have no say over their futures anymore. To continue to align myself with those who wish to deceive and oppose the empress would be committing treason. Therefore, I must turn you over to the empress.”

  Cleo stared at him with shock. “You disgusting coward!”

  He cast a withering look at her. “I am a Limerian. You are an enemy, no matter whom you’ve married. You,” he said, the word twisting with distaste, “are the reason everything we’ve cherished in Limeros for generations has been destroyed.”

  “My, you give me much more power than I actually have.” She straightened her shoulders and narrowed her gaze. “Lower your weapon immediately and perhaps I won’t demand your execution.”

  “I don’t take orders from any Auranian.”

  “Do you take orders from me?” Magnus asked, his tone edged in acid.

  “I would,” the guard replied. “If you still had any power here.”

  Hands fisted, Magnus stepped forward, but the guard responded by raising the blade to the prince’s throat. A gasp of fear caught in Cleo’s throat.

  “Do you even know my name, your highness?” the guard sneered. “The empress does. She knows everyone’s name.”

  “Amara Cortas clearly has an amazing ability to retain useless facts.” Magnus glowered at him. “So, what? You mean to march us up to her? Expect her to accept this generous gift with open arms and an appointment for you to captain of the guard? Don’t be a fool.”

  “I’m no fool. Not anymore. Now come with me. Resist, and you will die.”

  The guard then grunted as the tip of a sword appeared through his chest. He lost his balance and dropped to the ground in a heap.

  Standing behind him was the other gua
rd, wiping his comrade’s blood from his sword with a handkerchief. He glared down at the fallen guard with disgust.

  “Pathetic weakling. I had to listen to his blabberings, his plans. I disagreed with each and every one. Please excuse his disloyalty, your highness.”

  While so relieved her legs nearly gave out from beneath her, Cleo exchanged a concerned glance with Magnus.

  “What is your name?” Magnus asked the dark-haired guard.

  “Milo Iagaris, your highness.”

  “You have my deepest gratitude for intervening. I take it we can depend on your loyalty?”

  Milo nodded. “To the very end.”

  Cleo let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “Thank you, Milo,” she said, casting a hateful look down at the dead guard lying by her feet. “Now, let’s leave this traitor far behind us.”

  • • •

  Cleo used her green cloak to shield the shocking red of her dress and the brightness of her hair during the journey to the village.

  After hours of travel via several modes of transport, including walking, wagon, and horseback, she, Magnus, and Milo arrived at their destination, exhausted. As luck would have it, the innkeeper’s wife was a seamstress from whom Cleo was able to acquire some simple new garments. Then, true to his word, Magnus escorted Cleo to her separate, private room.

  Too exhausted to discuss the matter of the curse any further than they already had, Cleo shut and locked the door, collapsed onto the hard bed, and fell asleep immediately.

  The morning sunlight woke her rudely, and as soon as her eyes were open she shielded them to block out the glare. Moments later, the seamstress knocked and brought in a basin of warm water to wash up with. Cleo was grateful for the chance to finally clean off the dirt that had accumulated on her skin during her travels. After she washed, she slipped into her new plain cotton dress and spent the next several minutes working hard to pick the tangles out of her hair with a silver comb left next to the basin.

  As she finished up, she eyed her reflection, halfway expecting to see someone completely different. It felt as if so much had changed in a matter of mere days. But there in the mirror was simply the same Cleo she always saw. Golden hair, blue-green eyes that had lost only a bit of the weariness that started creeping into them only a year ago, and freshly seventeen years old.

  She turned from the mirror with a sigh and reached for the chair over which she’d slung the cloak she’d stolen from a Kraeshian guard during her escape from Amara’s borrowed villa. She inspected it in the bright light, looking for tears, but was pleased to find it intact.

  As of today, her only possessions were a borrowed gown, a stolen cloak, and an obsidian orb.

  And, of course, her memories.

  Before she had a chance to consider everything that she’d lost over the last year, she was interrupted by a very loud grumble in the pit of her stomach.

  When was the last time she’d eaten? She honestly couldn’t remember.

  Cleo left her room and peered down the hallway, briefly wondering which room belonged to Magnus. She drew the hood of her cloak close to her face, just in case someone was about at this early hour who might recognize her, then descended the creaky wooden staircase down to the inn to search for breakfast.

  The first person she came upon in the empty dining room was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair. He wore a black cloak and, with his back to her, gazed out of the front windows toward the village center.

  Magnus.

  She quickly drew toward him and placed her hand on his arm.

  Instead of Magnus, King Gaius turned to face her. Cleo yanked her hand back as if it had been scorched. She took an immediate step back from him, then managed to tamp down her initial shock and rein in her composure.

  “Good morning, princess,” he said. His face was as pale as yesterday, still bruised and cut, with dark circles beneath his eyes.

  Speak, she commanded herself. Say something, so he doesn’t think you’re terrified of him.

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “Has the wildcat lost her tongue?”

  Damn, but he looked so much like Magnus in the shadows of the inn. The very thought made her stomach roil with disgust.

  “Not nearly,” she said evenly as she drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “But she’d advise you to keep your distance if you want to keep yours.”

  “An empty threat,” he said drily. “How predictable.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back to my room.”

  “You certainly could.” He moved to take a seat at the nearest table, which was soon to be occupied by hungry patrons, and sat down heavily, groaning as if the movement caused him pain. “Or perhaps this is a good time for us to talk.”

  “There’s no time that’s good for that.”

  The king leaned back in his chair and regarded her silently for a moment. “It was Emilia who was blessed with her mother’s particular beauty. But you . . . you certainly inherited her fire.”

  Hearing this snake mention her mother again turned her stomach. “You never did answer my question from before. How do you know my mother? Why was it her name on your lips in your dying moments?”

  His lips thinned in a grimace. “It was a mistake, speaking her name.”

  “You’re still avoiding the question.”

  “I believe this may be the longest conversation you and I have ever had, princess.”

  “Tell me the truth,” she snapped. “Or is that even possible for you?”

  “Ah, curiosity. It is a dangerous beast that will lead you down dark alleyways to an uncertain fate.” He scanned her face, his expression pinched. “Elena and I were friends once.”

  Cleo laughed at that, surprising herself at the sharp sound of it. “Friends?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I don’t believe you have any friends, let alone that my mother was one of them.”

  “It was a different time, back before I was a king or she was a queen. Sometimes it feels like a million years ago.”

  “I don’t believe you were friends with my mother.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. It was over and done with a very long time ago.”

  Cleo turned away from him, disgusted that he could even attempt to make such a claim. Her mother would never have chosen to spend time with someone as vile as Gaius Damora.

  “Now I get to ask a question, princess,” he said, standing up and putting himself in between Cleo and the staircase.

  She turned slowly to give him the haughtiest look possible. “What?”

  “What do you want with my son?” he said, enunciating each word.

  She stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Are you planning to continue to use Magnus for your own gain? If so, then bravo to you. You’ve done an exceedingly fine job turning him against me. His many weaknesses have long been a disappointment to me, but this—” He shook his head. “Do you have any true idea what he’s given up for you?”

  “You don’t know anything about it.”

  Gaius scoffed. “I know that not that long ago my son aspired to be a leader, willing to do what it took to one day meet his great potential. I’m not blind. I saw how quickly his head was turned by your beauty. But beauty is fleeting, and power is forever. This sacrifice, the choices he’s made lately surrounding the subject of you . . . I don’t understand his reasoning. Not really.”

  “Then perhaps you are blind.”

  “He doesn’t see everything that’s at stake. He only sees what’s happening in the moment, before his eyes. But you do, don’t you? You know how you want your life to be ten, twenty, fifty years from now. You’ve never given up on your desire to reclaim your throne. I admit that I underestimated your drive, which was a grave mistake.”

 
“Why wouldn’t I want to reclaim what’s rightfully mine?”

  “Be careful, princess,” he said.

  “This isn’t the first time you’ve told me to do just that. This time, I can’t tell if you mean it as a warning or a threat.”

  “It’s a warning.”

  “Just like the warning about the curse that my mother passed to me?”

  “Yes. Just like that. You don’t believe it?” He leaned closer. “Look in my eyes and tell me if I’m lying about something as important as this. Your mother was cursed by a hateful witch and she died giving birth to you because of that curse.”

  Cleo took a moment to study the king who spoke lies so easily. If he were anyone else, anyone at all, she would be concerned for his health. Even during their short, unpleasant conversation, his face had grown paler, his voice drier and raspier. His broad shoulders were now hunched over.

  She celebrated his decline and would equally celebrate his death. If he expected anything else from her, he would be sorely disappointed.

  But his eyes—clear, steady, cruel—held no deception that she could see.

  “You can see the truth,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Elena could too, all too often, when it came to me. She knew me better than anyone else.”

  “You don’t deserve to speak her name.”

  “That’s quite an accusation, princess, especially considering it was you who murdered her.”

  Cleo’s eyes began to sting as the weight of the guilt she’d always carried with her—that her life came at the price of her mother’s death—rose up in her chest and crushed her. “If what you say is true, the curse is what killed her.”

  “It certainly helped. But it was you who stole Elena’s life. Your sister didn’t succeed, but you did.”

  Each word felt like a blow. “Enough of this. I won’t stand here for another moment and let you insult me, intimidate me, and lie to me. Listen to me very clearly: If you so much as attempt to harm me or Magnus again, I promise I will kill you myself.”

  With that, Cleo turned away and started toward the stairs, not caring if she had to wait another eternity for breakfast. She refused to be in the King of Blood’s poisonous presence for another moment.