Rebel Spring

  He deserved to be punished in so many ways. He did.

  But not for this.

  He’d told the king the truth.

  However . . . to admit she was the one who’d lied . . .

  Oh, Goddess Cleiona . . . Cleo hardly ever prayed to her namesake, the Auranian deity, but she’d certainly make an exception today. Please, please help me.

  She could let this happen without protest. It could be her secret until the day she died. No one would ever believe Aron after this punishment.

  Her fists were clenched so tight her fingernails bit painfully into her palms as she watched the dagger move toward Aron’s mouth. He let out a terror-filled screech.

  “Stop!” Cleo shouted, the word escaping her before she even realized it. She trembled from head to foot, her heart pounding so hard that it rocked her entire frame. “Don’t do this! Please, don’t! He didn’t lie. He—he was telling the truth! We were together one single time. I did give my chastity to him knowingly and without reservation!”

  The guard holding the dagger froze, the edge of the blade pressed to Aron’s pink, squirming tongue.

  “Well, now,” King Gaius said softly, but Cleo had never heard more menace in anyone’s voice. “That certainly changes things, doesn’t it?”

  CHAPTER 3

  MAGNUS

  AURANOS

  Princess Cleo’s face was pale, her body literally shaking with fear in the face of King Gaius’s wrath.

  And to think Magnus had assumed this golden kingdom would have no worthy entertainment.

  His mother sat silently next to the king, her face impassive through all this drama, as if she had no opinion on either severed tongues or lost virginity. Somewhere behind that flat expression of hers, he knew she most certainly had an opinion on what her husband chose to do and to whom he did it.

  But the queen had long since learned not to speak such thoughts aloud.

  King Gaius leaned forward to peer more closely at the tarnished princess. “Did your father know of your shameful loss of innocence before his death?”

  “No, your majesty,” she choked out.

  This was truly torture for her. For a royal princess, even one from a fallen kingdom, to openly admit that she’d been defiled before her wedding night . . .

  Well, it simply wasn’t something that happened. Or, at least, it wasn’t something anyone ever admitted to as publicly as this.

  The king shook his head slowly. “Whatever are we to do with you now?”

  Magnus noticed that Cleo’s fists were clenched at her sides. Through all this, her eyes had stayed dry, her expression haughty despite her obvious fear. She did not cry, nor did she fall to her knees and beg forgiveness.

  King Gaius loved it when people begged him for mercy. It rarely helped their cause, but he did enjoy it.

  That pride of yours will be your undoing, princess.

  “Magnus,” the king said, “what do you suppose we should do now that this information has seen the light of day? It seems I have betrothed you to a whore.”

  Magnus couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him. Cleo cast a glare toward him, one made of sharp, broken glass, but he hadn’t meant the laugh to be at her expense.

  “A whore?” he repeated. Well, his father had specifically asked for his opinion, which was a rare opportunity indeed. Why waste it? “The girl admits to being with Lord Aron one time, a boy she planned to wed. Perhaps they have since realized they acted impulsively by giving in to their . . . passions. Quite honestly, I don’t see this as quite as much of a crime as you do. In case you’re unaware, I have not retained my chastity, either.”

  Speaking so plainly could have several different outcomes—negative or positive. Magnus ignored his churning gut and kept his expression as neutral as possible as he waited to find out which it would be.

  The king leaned back, regarding him coolly. “And what of her admittance to lying to me?”

  “If I were in her position I have no doubt I would’ve done the same in an attempt to gather my scattered reputation.”

  “You believe I should forgive her this indiscretion?”

  “That, of course, is for you to decide.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Cleo staring at him as if she was stunned he would say anything in her defense.

  This wasn’t defense. This was an excellent chance to test the borders of the king’s patience with his son and heir now that he’d reached the age of eighteen. Magnus was a man now, so he would no longer act like a boy and cower away from his father’s potential rages.

  “No,” the king said. “I wish for you to tell me. Tell me what you think I should do, Magnus. I’m fascinated to hear it.”

  There was caution in the king’s tone, one unmistakably like the rattle of a snake moments before it struck.

  Magnus ignored it.

  After the unexpected announcement on the balcony, he felt reckless and unconcerned about consequences. At the time, Magnus had cast a stunned look in his father’s direction and had been met with one of steel. One that told him in no uncertain terms that if he argued this decision he would be very, very sorry.

  Magnus would never underestimate his father. The scar that marked his face was a constant reminder of what happened when he did. The king had no problem hurting those he claimed to love the most—even seven-year-old boys.

  His father insisted on playing games, but Magnus was no pawn; he was the future king of Limeros—now of all of Mytica. He too could play games if there was a chance of winning.

  “I think you should forgive the princess this one time. And you should apologize to Lord Aron for scaring him. The poor boy looks rather distressed.”

  The shivering Lord Aron was now covered in enough sweat that he looked as if he’d just gone for a swim in the lake.

  The king stared at Magnus incredulously for several very long and very heavy moments. Then he began to laugh, a deep, rolling sound from the back of his throat. “My son wants me to forgive and forget—and apologize.” He said the last word as if it was unfamiliar to him. Probably because it was. “What do you think, Lord Aron? Should I apologize to you?”

  Aron continued to kneel on the floor as if he did not have the energy to stand without help. Magnus noticed the damp patch on the crotch of his trousers from where he’d wet himself.

  “No—no, of course not, your majesty.” Aron managed to use the tongue he’d come very close to losing. “It is I who should apologize for attempting to dissuade you from any plans you would make. Of course, you are right in all things.”

  Now, that’s what my father likes to hear, Magnus thought.

  “My decision,” said the king. “Yes, my decision to unite my son and the young Cleiona. But this was before I learned the truth about her. Magnus, tell me, what should happen now? Do you wish to sully yourself by a betrothal to a girl like this?”

  Ah, so now he’d come to the inevitable fork in the road. How appropriate, since roads were so much on his father’s mind today.

  One word from him could break this ludicrous engagement and free him from any ties to the princess, who made no attempt to hide her bottomless hatred for him. Reflected in her eyes was the brutal moment that had changed Magnus forever.

  It wasn’t so much that Theon Ranus had been Magnus’s first kill. The young guard had to die, for he would have killed Magnus without question in order to defend the princess he loved. It was the fact that Magnus had slain the boy by stabbing him through his back that would forever haunt him. That had been the act of a coward, not a prince.

  “Well, my son?” the king prompted. “Do you wish to end this betrothal? The decision is yours.”

  Up until today, his father had valued Cleo as a symbol of his new and tenuous hold on Auranos. Despite his well-known reputation as a harsh king who doled out punishment without mercy, King Gaius wished to be
respected and admired by his new subjects rather than feared, wooing them with pretty speeches and lofty promises of a bright future. Such citizens would be much easier to control—especially with a Limerian army now spread thin across three kingdoms—and the king believed this would quell any anarchy, beyond a few scattered but troublesome rebels.

  Despite what had been revealed about the princess, Magnus believed Cleo would continue to be a valuable asset during this tenuous time of transition. A piece of golden power to light the dark path ahead.

  Power mattered to his father. And it mattered to Magnus as well.

  Whatever power he could gain for himself was not something to be cast aside without forethought. And while he wished he could go home to Limeros as fast as a ship could take him, he knew it was impossible. His father wanted to stay in this gilded palace.

  While here, Magnus would have to make choices that best served him now and in the future.

  “It’s a difficult decision, Father,” Magnus finally said. “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. “She has admitted to sacrificing her chastity to this boy. Have there been others, princess?”

  Cleo’s cheeks flushed, but by the look in her fierce gaze, it was more from fury than embarrassment. Still, he felt it was a valid question. She had claimed to love the dead guard—a claim she’d never put forth about Lord Aron. Just how many had warmed the Auranian princess’s bed?

  “There has been no one else.” Each word was a snarl. And thanks to the steady, unflinching look in her aquamarine eyes, he believed her.

  He didn’t speak for a moment, instead letting the seconds stretch to an uncomfortable length. “If that’s so, then I don’t see any logical reason why this engagement should be broken.”

  “You accept her?” the king asked.

  “Yes. But let’s hope there aren’t any more surprises when it comes to my future bride.”

  Cleo’s mouth had dropped open in shock. Perhaps she didn’t realize that this distasteful match was all about Magnus’s power and nothing else.

  “Unless you require anything further of me, Father,” Magus said evenly, “I would like to visit my sister’s bedside.”

  “Yes, of course.” The king watched Magnus with a narrowed, appraising gaze, as if he too had been surprised his son hadn’t taken the opportunity to end the unexpected betrothal. Magnus turned and walked briskly out of the throne room, hoping that he hadn’t just made a very costly mistake.

  • • •

  The attendant jumped as Magnus pushed through the wooden doors to Lucia’s chambers. Her gaze dropped to the floor and she twisted a finger nervously through her long, dark red hair.

  “Apologies, Prince Magnus. You startled me.”

  Ignoring her, he moved into the room, his attention solely focused on the girl in the canopied bed. So unlike their more austere Limerian living quarters, these had marble floors and thick fur rugs. Colorful tapestries depicting beautiful meadows and fantastical animals—one appeared to be a rabbit crossed with a lion—adorned the walls. Bright sunshine fell in soft rays from the glass doors leading out to the balcony. Fireplaces were not constantly being attended to keep the cold from seeping into the palace, for here in Auranos the climate was warm and temperate compared to Limeros’s ice and frost. The sheets upon this bed were made from luxurious, pale silk, which only made Lucia’s raven-colored hair seem that much darker, her lips that much more red.

  His sister’s beauty always caught him by surprise.

  His sister. It was how he’d always viewed Lucia. Only recently had he come to learn that she was adopted, stolen from her cradle in Paelsia and brought to his father’s castle to be raised as the Limerian princess—all because of a prophecy. One that said Lucia would become a sorceress able to channel all four parts of elementia: air, fire, water, and earth magic.

  The confusion of learning she was not his sister by blood, the relief that his unnatural desire for her was not truly one of the dark sins, and her look of disgust when he’d been unable to hold back his need to kiss her—all flowed through his mind now.

  Bright hope had been forever tainted by dark pain.

  Lucia loved him, but it was the love of a sister for her older brother; that was all. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

  And now, the thought that she’d sacrificed herself to help their father and might never wake up again . . .

  She had to wake up.

  His gaze flicked to the attendant, the Auranian girl whom Princess Cleo had insisted would be perfect for this placement.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  She was plump, but not unpleasantly so. Her soft curves showed that she was not a girl who’d experienced many hardships, despite now wearing the plain gray dress of a servant. “Mira Cassian, your grace.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Your brother is Nicolo Cassian.”

  “He is, your grace.”

  “In Paelsia, he threw a rock at my head and then rendered me unconscious with the hilt of a sword. He could have killed me.”

  A tremor went through her. “I’m very grateful my brother did you no lasting harm, your grace.” She blinked, her eyes meeting his. “I haven’t seen him in weeks. Does—does my brother still live?”

  “He certainly deserved to die for what he did, don’t you think?”

  He had not shared this story with many. Nicolo Cassian had attacked Magnus to get him to unhand Cleo after he’d killed Theon. It had been Magnus’s duty to bring the princess back to Limeros so the king could use her as a bargaining chip against her father. He’d failed and instead woken up alone, surrounded by corpses and bitter defeat.

  Nic now toiled in the stables, knee deep in the filth of horses and not allowed to enter the castle. The boy should be eternally thankful that Magnus had not demanded his life.

  He turned his back on Mira and focused instead on Lucia. He didn’t hear the door open, but it wasn’t long before the shadow of his father fell upon him.

  “You’re angry with me for my announcement today,” the king said. It was not a question.

  Magnus gritted his teeth and measured his reply before speaking. “I was . . . surprised. The girl hates me and I feel only apathy for her in return.”

  “There is no need for love or even affection to play any part in a marriage. This is a union of necessity only, of political strategy.”

  “I know this.”

  “We will find you a mistress able to give you every pleasure lacking in your marriage. A courtesan, perhaps.”

  “Perhaps,” Magnus allowed.

  “Or perhaps you’d prefer a pretty little servant to attend to your every need.” The king flicked a look toward Mira, who smartly stayed to the back of the room and out of earshot. “Speaking of pretty little servants, do you remember the kitchen maid who caused us some difficulties back home? The one with the tendency for spying. What was her name? Amia?”

  Amia had been a casual dalliance of Magnus’s, as well as a pair of ears eager to listen for palace gossip. She would have done anything for the prince. Such loyalty had gotten her tortured and whipped, but even then she hadn’t revealed her ties to him. But why would his father have bothered remembering her name?

  “I seem to recall. What about her?”

  “She ran away from the castle. Probably thought I wouldn’t notice, but I did.”

  She’d run away because Magnus had sent her away with enough coin to start a new life somewhere else. “Is that so?”

  The king leaned over to brush the dark hair back from Lucia’s face. “I sent some men after her. The news has reached me that they found her easily with a bag of gold she’d stolen from us. Of course, they executed her immediately.” His attention then shifted to Magnus, a small smile
playing at his lips. “I thought you’d want to know.”

  Magnus ignored the sharp and sudden twinge of pain in his chest. He measured his words before he spoke. “It was . . . the end such a thief deserved.”

  “I’m glad we agree.”

  Amia had been innocent and foolish—a girl who lacked the steel in her heart to survive the harshness of the Limerian palace. But she hadn’t deserved to die. Magnus waited to feel grief but felt only coldness slide over his skin. Part of him had been expecting this since the moment Amia’s carriage had departed the castle, but he’d hoped for the best. He should have known better. His father would never allow one to escape who might possess secrets that could be used against him.

  The girl’s fate had been set from the moment her path had crossed that of the Damoras. This was only confirmation of it. Still, it incensed Magnus that his father said such things casually when Amia’s death was anything but. The king was testing him—checking for weaknesses in his heir.

  The king was always testing him.

  They were silent for a while, Lucia the focal point between them.

  “I need her to wake,” the king said, his jaw tense.

  “Hasn’t she done enough for you already?”

  “Her magic is the key to finding the Kindred.”

  “Who told you that?” His growing impatience with his father’s decisions today made his words sharper than usual. “Some random witch with a need for silver? Or perhaps a hawk perched upon your shoulder and whispered—”

  The sting of his father’s hand across his scarred cheek caught him entirely by surprise. He pressed his palm to his face and stared at the king.

  “Never mock me, Magnus,” the king growled. “And never again try to make me look like a fool in front of others as you did today. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” he gritted out.

  His father hadn’t struck him recently, but it had been a common practice in his youth. Much like the cobra, the official sigil of Limeros, King Gaius struck out violently and venomously when angered or challenged.