[English] FALLING KINGDOMS (Vương Quốc Suy Tàn)

Falling Kingdoms
Page 30



Lost in her grief over Theon, Cleo had no clue how bad the conflict outside the palace walls was until she saw Aron in the halls of the castle pacing, his face strained with worry. Aron never looked worried unless he was worried about running out of wine.

Lost in her grief over Theon, Cleo had no clue how bad the conflict outside the palace walls was until she saw Aron in the halls of the castle pacing, his face strained with worry. Aron never looked worried unless he was worried about running out of wine.

She and Mira had been on their way to their afternoon art class. The tutor was an old man who hated being kept waiting, but Cleo grabbed Mira’s arm to bring her to a stop.

“What are you doing here, Aron?” she asked.

Aron laughed, but the sound held no humor. “Is that any greeting for your future husband?”

Her face tightened. “It’s so . . . wonderful to see you again, Aron,” she forced out.

He honestly thought he had the upper hand with her. But she was confident that her future and his were not destined to intertwine.

“I’m glad to see you, Aron,” Mira said sweetly. Cleo looked at her quizzically, but only for a moment. “But you’re looking a bit blanched. Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Aron said. “Oh, no, I can’t think of a thing. The palace is surrounded by savage enemies, but there’s nothing to worry about. Only our impending deaths!”

His near hysteria couldn’t breach the walls of Cleo’s sadness, which had rendered her oddly serene. “They won’t breach the walls.”

Their enemies had set up camp a few miles from the palace walls, but to her knowledge they hadn’t made any threatening move yet. Messages were being delivered back and forth between her father and the Limerian king and Paelsian chieftain. Their enemies demanded that the king surrender, but he refused. And he demanded that the Paelsians and Limerians turn around and go back to their homes.

Three days had passed since their arrival, and no one had budged an inch. Cleo was now forbidden to go anywhere outside the castle. She looked at Aron coolly. “Is that why you’re here? Have you and your parents taken refuge at the castle in case there’s a breach on the palace walls?”

Aron held his familiar gold flask to his lips. He took a long sip from it and then wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. “Our villa isn’t nearly as well protected as the castle itself.”

“You think we’re in that much trouble?” Mira asked, distressed.

Nic approached from down the hall. Cleo looked at him with open gratitude on her face. If it wasn’t for Nic, she wouldn’t be standing here right now.

“What’s going on?” Nic asked. His gaze flicked to Cleo.

“Aron’s moved into the castle,” Mira informed him.

“Oh, don’t sound so disappointed, Mira,” Aron replied. “I know you like having me around. I’m the life of the party.”

Mira blushed.

“Why would anyone be disappointed at your presence?” Nic said. “You’re very welcome here, Aron. Anytime. My castle is your castle.”

“This isn’t your castle. Despite the king’s affection for you and your sister, you’re really nothing more than glorified servants.” Aron took another gulp from his flask.

Nic gave him a withering glare. “ Are you too drunk to even take a simple joke, you worthless bastard?”

Aron tucked his flask into his pocket and grabbed Nic by the front of his shirt. “Don’t mess with me.”

“Oh, I’ll mess with you if I want to.”

“When did you grow a pair? Did running off with my future bride give you some courage?”

“Your future bride hates you.” Nic shoved the other boy back. “And by the way, your breath stinks like a horse’s ass.”

Aron’s face reddened with anger.

“Enough,” Cleo snapped, turning on her heel. She needed to see her father. Having Aron here was unacceptable, but if it was a sign that negotiations were going poorly, then she needed to know the truth. She left the others and went straight to her father’s meeting hall. Inside, there were many men milling about and arguing loudly with each other. She finally found her father in the very middle of the chaos.

He glanced at her wearily as she approached. “Cleo, you shouldn’t be in here.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

She bristled. “I think if there’s about to be an all-out attack on my home, then I need to concern myself. How can I help?”

The man standing next to her father snorted. “Sure you can help. Can you handle a sword, princess?”

She straightened her posture and gave him a sharp look. “If I have to.”

“They’re very heavy.” The man rolled his eyes. “You should have had sons, Corvin. They would be more use to us right now than daughters.”

“Hold your tongue,” the king growled. “My daughters are more important to me than anything else in this kingdom.”

“Then you should have sent them away before this escalated. Somewhere safe.”

“The castle isn’t safe?” Cleo asked with growing alarm.

“Cleo, go now,” the king said. “Go to your classes. Don’t worry about any of this. It’s too overwhelming for you.”

She looked at him steadily. “I’m not a child, Father.”

The unpleasant man laughed at that. “How old are you? Sixteen? Do as your father suggests and go learn to paint. Or embroider. Or whatever it is that little girls do. Let us men deal with nasty things like this.”

Cleo couldn’t believe how this man dared to speak to her.

“Who are you?” she growled.

He seemed amused, as if a kitten had just shown him sharp claws. “Someone who is trying to help your father with a difficult situation.”

“Cleo, forgive Lord Larides’s rudeness; he—like all of us—is under a great deal of stress right now. But don’t worry, they won’t breach the entrance of the castle. Even if they get through the palace walls, you’re safe here, Cleo. I swear it. Go to your friends. To your sister. Let me handle this.”

She recognized the name—and now she recognized the man himself. He’d grown his beard longer since last she’d seen him. He was the father of Lord Darius, her sister’s former fiancé. His family was in the king’s trusted circle.

All these men saw when they looked at her was a little girl who’d run away on a whim to search for magic seeds. Who caused trouble. Who was utterly useless in every way except looking pretty. Maybe she was. And if that was true, then being here was only causing more problems for her father. Finally Cleo nodded and turned away. Her father caught her wrist and then kissed her quickly on the forehead.

“It will be all right,” he said firmly, pulling her out of earshot of his council members. “I know it’s been difficult, but we will survive this. No matter what happens. Be strong for me, Cleo. Do you promise me to do that?”

He looked so worried that all she could do was nod in agreement. The gesture seemed to help clear some of the darkness from his eyes.

“I promise.”

“Whatever happens, remember that Auranos has been a powerful place of beauty and prosperity for a thousand years. It will continue to be so. No matter what happens.”

“What will happen?” she asked quietly.

His expression remained tense. “When this is all over, things are going to change. I see now that I’ve been blind to troubles just outside my own kingdom’s borders. If I’d paid more attention, this never would have happened. I won’t repeat my past mistakes. Auranos will continue to be a strong and dominant force, but we will be kinder and more benevolent to our neighbors going forward.”

His words didn’t do much to assure her that all would be well. “Will the fighting start soon?”

He squeezed her hands.

“It’s already begun.”

Falling Kingdoms
Page 31



While he waited for the order to attack, Jonas stood shoulder to shoulder with the men who were about to become his battle brothers, Limerian and Paelsian alike. The sun beat down upon them. Sweat poured over his forehead and into his eyes, making them sting.

He’d believed the Auranian king would surrender without a fight. As he’d waited out the three long days that stretched between their arrival and this moment, as the rations quickly ran out for all but the most privileged, forcing them to individually pillage the forest for food, as the sun burned down upon them with little shelter for the common soldier apart from the thick line of forest two miles from the palace walls, he’d believed this would end without bloodshed. That King Corvin would be swayed by the legion of Limerian and Paelsian soldiers waiting for their call to battle.

But this was not to be. Blood would spill.

The troops gathered in formation on King Gaius’s orders and began the trek toward the walls. There was a river to cross, bisecting the green and grassy land of rolling hills and valleys. Beyond that the walled palace came into view—a spectacular golden sight that made Jonas’s breath catch in his chest.

As did King Corvin’s massive awaiting army, fully outfitted in sleek shining armor, burnished helmets atop their heads. The Auranian crest glinted golden on their shields.

They stayed like this for a full hour. Waiting. Watching. Jonas’s heart pounded hard in his chest, a heavy sword gripped so tightly in his hand that it began to form blisters on his already rough skin.

“I hate them. And I’d kill them all for a chance at a life like theirs,” he said under his breath to Brion, unable to keep his gaze away from the massive shining palace—so different from the modest cottages in Paelsia. And this land—so lush and green when his own was fading away and turning dry and brown. “They would take everything and let us suffer and die without even a thought.”

A muscle in Brion’s cheek twitched. “They deserve *****ffer and die as well. Let grapes feed their nation.”

Jonas was ready to die today to help his people have the chance at a better life tomorrow. Nothing was ever easy. And all living things eventually died. If this was to be his day, then so be it.

King Gaius rode his sleek black stallion along the line of waiting soldiers, tall in his saddle, a look of sheer determination on his face. Prince Magnus rode nearby, his cool gaze moving across the waiting troops. The cavalry would lead the charge. War flags were held high bearing the colors of Limeros and the words Strength. Faith. Wisdom.

Sounded very proper and studious. That the flags were red was the only indication of King Gaius’s reputation as the King of Blood.

Chief Basilius and his flank of elite bodyguards were nowhere to be seen. Earlier, Jonas had walked through the city of tents set up on the other side of the forest. The chief had taken four tents to himself, needing the space for privacy, me***ation, and rest to help summon his dormant magic to aid their efforts.

“The sorcerer will awaken,” the rumor among the troops went. “His magic will crush our enemy to dust.”

Chief Basilius would be their key to victory.

Jonas chose to believe this was true as well, despite his mounting doubts.

King Gaius addressed the troops. “Today is a day a thousand years in the making. A day when we take what has been kept just out of our reach. Out of your reach. What you see across this kingdom is yours for the taking—every one of you. No one can hold you down unless you refuse to get back up. Take this strength that I know you have—take it and help me crush those who would oppose us.”

A chant began among the gathered soldiers, quiet at first but growing in strength and volume with each repetition.

“King of Blood! King of Blood! KING OF BLOOD!”

Before long, Jonas found that he was joining in—and in doing so, he became charged with the energy and bloodlust of the crowd. But a part of him knew that King Gaius wasn’t his king. He had no king.

Yet he was following this King of Blood into battle and was willing to lay his life on the line in the process.

“Three months ago, an innocent Paelsian boy died at the hands of a selfish Auranian lord,” the king roared. “Today we will gain vengeance for that. We will take the Auranian kingdom and strip the king of his power forever. Auranos is ours!”

The crowd cheered.

“Bring me King Corvin’s head and I will give you treasure unlike anything you’ve ever seen,” he promised. “Spare no one. Show me a river of blood! Take it all. Kill them all.” He raised his sword above his head. “Attack!”

The troops charged forward, racing across the field. The ground thundered beneath their feet. At the river less than a mile from the palace walls, the Auranian force met them head-on in a violent slam of bodies and clash of sword and shield.

Men on both sides fell all around Jonas, taken down by steel-tipped arrow, by battleax, by sword before the fighting had barely begun. The coppery scent of blood filled the air.

Jonas slashed and fought his way through the thick mass of bodies, staying close to Brion, the two lifelong friends watching each other’s backs.

The carcasses of horses fell heavily to the ground and in the river itself. Their riders, crawling off, met with the thrust of their enemy’s swords through their chests. Pain-filled screams and cries filled the air as flesh met metal and hacked-off limbs scattered.

They fought to get closer to the walls. To take the palace by force. They were so close now, but the Auranian troops were equally vicious and brutal.

Jonas found himself knocked to the ground by the slam of a shield to the side of his head, and he lay there stunned, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. A hawk soared in circles above the battle as if observing from a disinterested distance.

An Auranian knight appeared above Jonas, raising his sword to bring it down into Jonas’s heart.

But another sword swung first, taking the Auranian down hard. A figure slipped off his mount and quickly rammed a smaller blade into the knight’s neck, wrenching it to the side to rip out his throat in a spray of blood.

“Are you going to just lie there like a rock?” a voice snapped. “Get up. You’re missing all the fun.”

A gloved hand appeared before his face. Jonas shook his head and forced himself to sit up before Prince Magnus helped yank him to his feet.

“Make sure to leave a few for me.” A glimmer of a grin played at the prince’s lips. He got back on his horse and rode farther into the battle, bloody sword in hand.

The battle had progressed closer to the palace—but not yet close enough to take it. Fires burned in patches all over the expansive battlefield. The stench of death filled Jonas’s nostrils. He forced himself to take stock and found that his sword was gone.

Jonas had been out cold and hadn’t realized it. For how long had he lain there in the trampled grass surrounded by bodies? He swore loudly and worked his way through the bodies, searching for another weapon. Someone had been by—a s****nger for one side or the other who’d collected the weapons of the fallen. Finally he found an ax. It would do.

An enemy charged him—an enemy with his left arm already hanging off him after a brutal injury. But there was more fury than pain in the man’s eyes.

“Paelsian scum,” he snarled as raised his sword. “Die, you maggot!”

Jonas’s muscles ached and burned as he swung his ax upward to meet flesh and bone. The spray of blood hit his face dead on.

? ? ?

Lit only by the torches stuck in the ground and the bright moon in the black sky, Jonas fought his way forward. He’d traded his battle-ax for a pair of short curved swords that looked as if they belonged to one of the chief’s personal guards. They felt right in his hands and allowed him to slash through anything that opposed him.

Many had already fallen beneath his blade. He’d lost count of the lives he’d taken.

Jonas also showed the signs of a battle that had lasted nearly twelve hours without relief. He bled from a wound on his shoulder. Another blade had found his abdomen, just beneath his ribs. He would live, but the injuries were starting to slow him down.

“Jonas,” a voice called out to him from the tangle of bodies on the ground.

Jonas thrust a sword up into an Auranian’s gut and watched the light leave the man’s eyes before he glanced to his left.

A boy lay on the ground nearby, half-crushed by a fallen horse. Jonas fought to get to his side.

“Do I know you?” His gaze quickly moved over the boy’s injuries. The horse that had crushed his legs wasn’t the problem. It was the deep bloody wound to his stomach with the spill of glistening intestines showing beneath. A horse hadn’t caused that. A sharp blade had.

“You’re from my village. You’re Jonas—Jonas Agallon. Tomas’s younger brother.”

Now he recognized the pale boy’s face although he couldn’t at first summon a name. “That’s right. Leo, isn’t it?”

Two soldiers clashed nearby, stumbling past them. One tripped over a body and the other—thankfully on Jonas’s side—finished him...

Falling Kingdoms
Page 32



Emilia was now so ill that even lifting her head caused her pain and horrible nosebleeds. Cleo had taken over from Mira to read to her sister to take her mind off the battle raging outside the palace walls. The castle felt somber and gray and dismal. Cleo tried to find a ray of hope to cling to, but with each hour that passed since the siege began in full force, everything only seemed more bleak.

“Please, don’t cry.” Emilia’s voice caught. “I told you, you must be strong.”

Cleo wiped the tears from her cheeks and tried to concentrate on the writing of the small, worn book of poetry—one of Emilia’s favorites. “Can’t a strong person cry?”

“You mustn’t waste any more tears on me. I know you’ve shed so many already for Theon.”

Cleo had tried to make her peace with what had happened, but she felt as if the pain was still muffled, as though it was too new. Too raw and hadn’t fully hit her yet. Losing someone she’d only just started to love was bad enough, but the thought of losing Emilia too...

Cleo held her sister’s thin hand gently. “What can I do to help you?”

Emilia settled back on her multitude of colorful pillows. On her nightstand was a large bouquet of flowers Cleo had picked in the castle courtyard, the closest she could get to being outside. It was in the direct center of the castle, a large patch of walled greenery with apple and peach trees and a beautifully groomed flower garden. Both sisters liked to take classes out there when the tutors were agreeable.

“Be strong, that’s all,” Emilia said. “And try to spend more time with your friends in this strange and confusing time, not only with me. I don’t mind being alone tonight.”

Even in her current strife, the future queen of Auranos kept a stiff upper lip, just as she’d always been trained. It was very nearly amusing how unlike the two sisters were despite less than three years separating them in age—Emilia so mature and Cleo the opposite.

Cleo twisted her finger through a lock of her hair. “I’ve been trying to avoid them. Aron’s now lurking in the shadows. I never know when he’s going to jump out at me.”

This made Emilia laugh. “You mean, he isn’t out waving a sword around and trying to protect his future wife?”

Cleo gave her a squeamish look. “Don’t even joke about something like that.”

“I’m sorry. I know you find no humor in this situation.”

“None at all.” Cleo sighed shakily. “But enough about Aron. My foremost worry is your well-being, sister. And as soon as this battle is over, which I hope will be very soon, I’ll send a guard to Paelsia as I promised I would.”

“To search for this Watcher with healing seeds to help save my life.”

“Yes, and don’t say it with such skepticism. You’re the one who gave me the idea in the first place. Before, I didn’t even believe in magic.”

“Now you do?”

“I do. With all my heart.”

Emilia shook her head. “There’s no magic that can save me now, Cleo. It would be best that you try to accept what’s meant to be.”

Cleo stiffened. “Never.”

Emilia laughed again, although it was a weak sound in her chest. “So you believe that you can fight destiny and win.”

“Without a doubt.” As long as Emilia breathed, there was still hope for a way to cure her.

Emilia squeezed her hands. “Go, find Mira and Nic.”

“Should I send Mira to you later?”

“No. Let her have a night off from attending to me. I’m sure she’s having a difficult time worrying about the siege outside.”

“At least it’s a quiet siege. I think that must be a good sign.” If she didn’t already know something horrible was happening outside, she never would have guessed it. The sounds of battle did not penetrate the thick castle walls.

Emilia didn’t smile at this. She just looked tired and sad. “I hope so.”

“Tomorrow will be a better day.” Cleo bent over and kissed her sister’s cool forehead. “I love you, sister.”

“I love you too.”

Cleo slipped out of Emilia’s chambers and padded along the hallway. It was eerily quiet in the castle. The windows had all been blocked with boards.

Being cooped up gave her far too much time to think about Theon. She missed him being around, shadowing her at the castle, giving her stern looks when she did or said something mischievous. The relief on his face when he’d found her unharmed in Paelsia. The heat in his gaze when he admitted that he cared deeply for her.

And then, the surprised pain when the Limerian prince impaled him with a sword and stole his life forever.

She pushed away her tears as she moved through the same hallways they’d walked together. His loss was a constant weight on her heart, and it only grew heavier with each day that had passed.

She was so tired that she retired to her chambers rather than go in search of Mira and Nic. There, however, she found that she only stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

If she’d found the exiled Watcher, everything would be different. She would very possibly have the means now to return Emilia’s health and vitality.

Perhaps it was only a legend. It pained her to even consider this.

All that had kept her optimism and belief going had been Eirene’s stories. They’d been so alive, so real. Eirene had given Cleo hope.

She’d all but forgotten the old woman these past days. The envelope with the name of the local tavern owner, to whom Cleo had planned to send her gifts of gratitude through, had gone untouched and unopened.

“Good fortune will find those with pure hearts, even when all seems lost.”

They were Eirene’s parting words to her. All certainly seemed lost right now. Trapped in a castle, with no idea when she’d be able to safely leave again. Her sister fading away before her very eyes.

Cleo swung her legs out of bed, determined to find the envelope. Even if she was unable to send anything yet, she could gather what she needed in her spare time. Lately, she had a great deal of spare time.

The small envelope sat on her dressing table, beneath a pile of unread books. She picked it up and broke the seal.

Instead of an address, she was surprised to find a note and two tiny brown pebbles inside.

The note read:

Princess, please accept my apologies that I couldn’t tell you the truth about myself. It is a secret that I’ve held for many years that no one knows, apart from legend, not even my granddaughter. A pure heart is worth more to me than gold. Yours is such a heart. Use these precious seeds to heal your sister so she can help lead Auranos toward a brighter future. —Eirene Cleo read the note three times before it began to make any sort of sense to her. But when it did, the note literally dropped from her hands.

Eirene had seen through her and Nic’s lies about being from Limeros. She’d known Cleo was the Auranian princess.

Even more than that—Eirene was the exiled Watcher herself. While they had searched for her, she had found them instead.

And Cleo had no idea.

She looked down at the tiny pebbles and her eyes widened. These were the grape seeds infused with earth magic. They’d been in her possession the entire time.

Two seeds that were capable of healing someone near death.

If she’d known this, she could have saved Theon’s life with one of them.

The hopeless thought wrenched her heart from her chest. She let out a loud cry of pain, then gave in to her grief and collapsed to the floor, drawing her knees tight to her chest.

Even while wracked with sobs, she knew she had no time for tears or regrets.

She had to get to Emilia.

Cleo forced herself up from the ground and ran for the door. She burst into the hallway, only to crash right into somebody. Nic staggered back a few feet away and gingerly rubbed his chest.

“Ouch. You do have a habit of frequently hurting me, Cleo.” He studied her red, swollen eyes with concern. “I heard a cry from your chambers. I thought you were in distress.”

Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings. “I was. I am. I—I have the seeds. Eirene...she was the Watcher.”

He stared at her blankly. “How much wine did you have tonight? I believe you might be even drunker than Aron.”

“I’m not drunk. It’s true.” Her heavy heart lifted. “Come. We much go to Emilia’s chambers immediately.”

“You really believe in magic?” he asked.

“Yes!”

He nodded and a grin crept across his face. “Then let’s go save your sister.”

They hurried through the hallways toward Emilia’s room, passing through a corridor where she caught part of a conversation between two guards.

“Their forces are relentless,” one said. “The palace walls aren’t impenetrable.”

“They’ve breached the walls?” Nic asked sharply, drawing Cleo to a halt.

The guards looked sheepish as if they hadn’t meant to be overheard.

“I’m afraid so,” one said, nodding gravely. “But...

Falling Kingdoms
Page 33



A sunrise was the most beautiful thing in the whole world, even during a time of war. Lucia has risen extra early and stood outside her tent as she waited for the sky to turn a vibrant mix of pink and orange beyond the city of tents.

She hated being here. She’d been kept away from the worst of the battle, but she wasn’t ignorant. Men were dying on all sides of this siege. And she wanted it over with.

Lucia had resolved to ask her father’s permission to return to Paelsia, but the thought was swept away the moment her brother was helped into her tent by two of her father’s guards. The king himself entered afterward, his expression grim. Magnus’s face was bloody, his eyes half-closed.

“What happened?” she exclaimed.

A medic rushed in as the guards stepped back, and he cut through Magnus’s jacket and shirt to remove them. His arm had been sliced all the way to the bone. A vicious, bloody wound on his abdomen showed he’d also been stabbed.

“I didn’t even know he was still out there until he was brought back here to camp on a stretcher,” the king said. “I hadn’t wanted him to be so involved in the combat so soon, but he likes to go against my orders. Foolish boy.”

Lucia reached for him but pulled her shaking hand back to press it against her mouth instead. “Magnus!”

“He’s lost a great deal of blood. I wanted him brought here for privacy.”

Anger lit up inside her. “Magnus, why would you do such a thing? Why would you be so irresponsible as to put yourself in this kind of danger?”

Magnus’s pained face and half-glazed gaze tracked to where she stood only a few feet away. He didn’t reply.

The medic suddenly looked afraid and Lucia’s attention shot to him. “What are you doing? Help him! Save him!”

The man’s face had paled a great deal as he’d examined the prince’s injuries. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, your highness. He’s close to death.”

The king swore, drawing his sword and holding its tip to the medic’s throat. “You are speaking about the heir to the throne of Limeros.”

“I—I can’t help him. His injuries are too severe.” His voice trembled and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if expecting his punishment for this announcement would be death.

“I can help my brother,” Lucia said. “But tell the medic to leave first.”

“Leave,” the king snarled, nicking the medic’s throat with his sword. Blood immediately gushed from the wound. “Attend your own injuries.”

Holding his hand to his neck, the medic scrambled away from the king’s sword and fled from the tent.

Lucia sank to her knees next to where her brother now lay. The floor of the tent was soaked with his blood. His breath came slower, but his gaze didn’t leave hers. Even through the pain, he looked at her with anger. And wariness.

“I’ve heard what you’ve done to the boys from your swordsmanship classes,” she said softly. “I don’t like who you’re trying to become. My brother is better than that.”

His eyes narrowed, his brows drawing together.

“You wish to go out into the thick of the battle so you can draw another’s blood. Is it so you can sink steel into flesh believing it will make you feel like more of a man? How many did you kill today?” She didn’t expect an answer. Even if he was currently capable of speech, they hadn’t spoken since the night he’d arrived home from Paelsia.

“If you were anyone but my brother, I would let you die. But no matter how many men you kill, no matter how much of an ass you insist on being, no matter how much you despise me—I still love you. You hear me?”

Pain slid through his gaze, and Magnus turned his attention to the wall of the tent as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her face anymore.

Her heart ached, but it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered except her magic.

Luckily, she was feeling extremely angry at the moment. It would help.

She didn’t know how her magic worked, only that it did. She’d been practicing, alone and with the tutor her father had provided—the old woman who claimed to also be a witch, despite not being able to demonstrate any real magic of her own.

Air, water, fire, earth.

She shot her father a look as she pressed her hands against Magnus’s arm. Bone was easily visible beneath the blood and muscle. Her stomach lurched.

“I asked to help with other injuries, Father. I could have practiced before this. I might fail.” The king had denied her the chance to help others who were hurt, leaving the medics to the insurmountable task of dealing with the injured.

“You won’t fail,” her father said firmly, sheathing his sword. “Do it, Lucia. Heal him.”

She already knew she could heal a few scratches from practicing on herself. But a deeper wound from a knife or a sword like this...she wasn’t sure.

The only thing she knew for certain was that she couldn’t lose him.

Lucia concentrated all her energy on healing his wound. As the warmth of her earth magic left her hands and entered his arm with a pale glow of white light, he arched his back up off the ground as if in agony.

It almost made her stop, but she didn’t dare. She wasn’t sure if she could channel this level of magic again. Using any of her magic to its extreme—such as what she’d done with Sabina—weakened her. Her tutor believed it was because such magic was still new, and it needed time and practice to grow stronger.

Instead of pulling back for fear of hurting him more, she forced more magic through her hands and into his wound. He writhed in pain beneath her touch as her hands glowed bright white. The wound began to knit together—flesh joining, smoothing, becoming whole again.

She didn’t stop. She shifted her hands to his mangled stomach and poured her magic into the wound.

This time a harsh cry of pain escaped his throat.

She steeled herself against the sound until he was healed. After his arm, she moved her hands over his bloody face, healing the bruises and cuts there until finally he batted her hands away.

“Enough,” he snarled.

That didn’t sound like eternal gratitude for saving his life. “Did it hurt?”

He let out a snort, which could have been a pained laugh. “It burned into my bones like lava.”

“Good. Perhaps through pain you can learn a lesson not to be so reckless.”

Her sharp tone earned the full weight of his gaze. “I’ll try my best, sister. Though I’ll offer you no guarantees.”

Her eyes stung. It took her a moment to realize she was crying, which only made her angrier. “I will stab you myself if you are ever so foolish as to nearly get yourself killed again.”

His fierce expression finally eased. Her tears—infrequent as they were—tended to affect him, even when they were quarreling. “Don’t cry, Lucia. Not over me.”

“I’m not crying over you. I’m crying over this stupid war. I want it over.”

The king inspected Magnus’s bare arm and stomach, using a cloth to wipe the blood away. The wounds were completely gone. Pride unlike anything she’d ever seen before shone in his eyes. “Incredible. Just incredible. Your brother owes you his life.”

She gave Magnus a look. “My payment need only be his gratitude.”

Magnus swallowed hard, and something vulnerable slid behind his brown eyes before he looked away. “Thank you for saving my life, sister.”

The king helped Lucia to her feet. “You say you want this war over.”

“More than anything.”

“We’re at a standstill. We’ve breached the palace walls, but we can’t get any farther. King Corvin and everyone who stands in the way of this war ending quickly and easily are barricaded inside the castle and they refuse *****rrender.”

“So break down the door,” Magnus said, pushing himself up from the bloody ground. His face was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. While she’d healed his wounds, it would still take him a while to recover completely.

“We would if we could. But the door is infused with a protection spell. It can’t be broken...not by normal means.”

“A protection spell,” Lucia said with surprise. “From a witch?”

“Yes.”

Anger toward the king’s mounting deceptions sparked within her. “So this is why you brought me here. Because you already knew about this. Why didn’t you tell me until now?”

“Because I wasn’t sure if what I’d been told was true until we had access to the door itself. The witch said to have cast the spell was brought before me to answer questions. She wasn’t very much help.”

“Where is she now?” Magnus asked.

“Gone.”

“You let her go?” Magnus said, disbelief coating his words. “Or did you kill her?”

The king gave him a thin smile. “She was one who conspired with my enemy. She could help him now. She would not switch allegiances. Her death was swifter than she deserved.”

A shiver went down Lucia’s arms. The king...

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After the explosion that blasted open the front doors, chaos descended. Cleo couldn’t give in to her grief, couldn’t fall to her knees and sob over her sister’s death. She had no choice but to keep moving. Their enemies had breached the castle.

Screams of fear and the violent clang of swords met her ears as she and Nic ran through the halls. She clung to his arm. “What can we do?”

There was sweat on his brow as he kept his attention on their path. “I have to find Mira. We need to...I don’t know. I want to help. I want to fight, but I know your father would want me to keep you and my sister safe.”

“How? How can we be safe now?”

Nic shook his head, his expression grim. “We’ll have to hide. Then try to escape when we have the chance.”

“I need to find my father.”

He nodded, then swore under his breath. Storming down the dark hallway toward them was Aron. He grabbed hold of Nic’s shirt.

“They’re everywhere,” Aron cried. “Goddess help us. They managed to blast their way in!”

“Are you all right?” Cleo asked despite herself. The boy bled from a cut under his left eye.

“Someone grabbed me. I fought them, got away. Took this for protection.” He had a bloody dagger clutched in his right hand. A flash of Tomas Agallon’s murder tore through her mind and her throat closed. She forced the memory away.

As Aron drew closer, she could smell the wine on his breath. “You’re drunk!”

He shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

Her lip curled with disgust. “It’s barely daybreak and you’re already drunk.”

He ignored her. “So what are we supposed to do now?”

“Nic wants to find Mira and then for us to hide.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea. What about your sister?”

“Emilia—she...she’s dead.” Her throat tightened and Nic pulled her closer to his side.

Aron’s bleary face went pale with shock. “Cleo, no. I can’t believe it.”

Cleo drew in a ragged breath. “There’s no time. Say nothing more about it. She’s gone and there’s nothing I can do to help her now. We need *****rvive. And I need to find my father.” She looked at Nic. “Go find Mira. Meet us in the corridor by the stairs to the upper level in fifteen minutes. If we’re not there, continue on and hide where you can. There are plenty of rooms up there. Find one and be as quiet as you can. This is a very large castle, and this siege can’t last forever.”

“It’ll be all right?” Nic gestured at Aron. “With him as your only protector?”

“It’ll have to be.”

Nic nodded. “I’ll see you soon. Be safe, Cleo.” He quickly kissed her cheek before he turned and ran off down the hall.

“Maybe we should go with him,” Aron suggested. “There’s safety in numbers.”

“Not necessarily. Larger numbers could draw more attention.”

Cleo tried to push past her fear and grief to find an answer. She only had one. Find the king and then they all had to hide until this was over. If Auranos was unsuccessful in its attempts to fight off this enemy, they would have to find a way to escape from the palace and go into exile until they could make this right again. She hoped that her father had a better plan in mind. For now, survival was the only goal.

Aron didn’t argue any further, instead running alongside her in silence as they made their way through the labyrinthine hallways. When they turned the next corner, Cleo skidded to a stop.

She couldn’t speak. She just stared at the familiar person who now stood facing them holding a sword.

“Well, well,” Prince Magnus said. “Just the princess I’ve been looking for.”

A wall of fear descended upon Cleo. All she could see was Magnus thrusting his sword through Theon’s chest.

“Who are you?” Aron demanded.

“Me?” Magnus ****ed his head. “I am Magnus Lukas Damora, crown prince and heir to the throne of Limeros. And who are you?”

Aron blinked, surprised at being faced with such a formidable member of royalty, even though he was their enemy. “I am Lord Aron Lagaris.”

This earned a thin smile from the prince. “Yes, I’ve heard about you. You’re rather famous, Lord Aron. You killed the wine seller’s son and started this whole ball rolling, didn’t you?”

“It was self-defense,” Aron said nervously.

“Of course it was. I have no doubt.” Magnus’s unpleasant smile stretched wider. “And you’re also, if I’m not mistaken, currently engaged to Princess Cleiona. Is that right?”

Aron straightened his back. “It is indeed.”

“How wonderfully romantic.” His gaze flicked to Cleo, who did everything she could not to recoil from the very sight of him. “As you can probably already tell, we’ve arrived. And we’re not going anywhere. Surrender.”

“To you?” Cleo’s words burst forth without any forethought. “Never.”

His expression tightened. “Oh, come now. I know we’ve had some unpleasantness between us in the not-so-distant past, but there’s no reason why you can’t be nice.”

“I can think of about a million reasons why I would never want to be nice to you.”

“Princess, you must not be rude to those who are now guests in your land. I’m offering you my hand in friendship right now.”

Her cheeks burned. “You dare invade my home, and now you treat me like an ignorant child?”

“My sincere apologies if you’ve taken it that way. My father will be pleased to finally make your acquaintance. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. I’ve failed to bring you before him once. I don’t intend on that happening again.”

Cleo clutched Aron’s arm, waiting for him to do something, to say something. To show that underneath the drunken, selfish exterior that he was a true hero she could forgive for anything horrible he’d done in the past.

“The prince is right,” Aron replied, his expression grim. “If we want to live through this, we need to do as he says. We need *****rrender.”

She gave him a cold and enraged glare. “You are so incredibly pathetic, you make me want to vomit.”

“Uh-oh, don’t tell me there’s trouble between you and the boy you love, even before your wedding day.” Magnus’s dry words twisted with amusement. “Don’t make me give up on my romantic ideals of true love.”

Cleo turned to face this monster. “No, actually you killed the boy I loved right in front of me.”

He looked at her with confusion before clarity slid through his dark eyes. Then his brows drew together. “I told him to stand down.”

“He was protecting me.” Her bottom lip trembled. “And you killed him.”

That small frown that contradicted his usual icy expression grew a fraction deeper.

“Wait,” Aron said. “Who are we talking about?”

She ignored him and forced herself to keep her expression neutral. “Prince Magnus...”

“Yes, Princess Cleiona?”

“I want you to give your father a message from me.”

“You can certainly deliver it yourself, but all right. What is it?”

“Tell him that his son has failed again.”

Cleo turned and began running away as fast as she could. She knew the halls of this castle better than anyone. The prince’s roar of anger echoed against the stone walls as he lost sight of her.

Another time, another place, she might have smiled at this small victory. And while she felt a twinge of regret at leaving Aron behind, it was only a twinge. If he wanted *****rrender to the Limerians so easily, he still had every chance to do so—without her at his side.

Angry shouts and the clash of metal on metal came from up ahead and she froze, pressing up against the wall. Can’t go that way. She’d have to find another path. She couldn’t give up on finding her father.

As she turned the next corner, someone grabbed her by her hair, wrenching her so hard that it felt as if it would be pulled out by its roots. She screamed and tried to kick and claw at whoever it was. A Limerian soldier eyed her curiously.

“What do we have here?” he asked. Her gaze shot to his sword, which dripped blood to the marble floor. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

“Let go of me,” she snarled. “Or you’re dead.”

He laughed. “You have spirit. I like that. Won’t last long, but I like it.”

Then, astonishingly, he let go of her and staggered forward. Out of the corner of her eye, Cleo watched his companion fall to the ground, collapsing at the same time as her attacker. Both bled out onto the floor.

King Corvin stood there, his face a mask of fury, his sword covered in blood to its hilt.

“Father!” she gasped.

“It’s not safe here.” He grabbed her arm and half-dragged her down the hall.

“I was looking for you. Those men...”

“I know. This shouldn’t...

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Ioannes watched the old woman as she put her laundry out to dry on a line stretched between two withered trees near her humble stone cottage. Her face was grim, and she glanced up in his direction every few moments.

“Be gone,” she said harshly.

He didn’t move from his perch.

“I know who you are. I know you’ve been here many times before.” She put her hands on her hips. “It’s you, isn’t it, brother? None of the others would bother with me now.”

His sister, Eirene, had left the Sanctuary more than fifty mortal years ago. Then she’d been beautiful and young and full of life and would have stayed that way eternally. But now, beyond the veil, she’d become wrinkled, hunched over, and gray from age and hard work.

She’d made her choice. Once one left the Sanctuary, one could never return.

“Are you aware of the war that rages right now?” she asked. Ioannes wasn’t certain if she really believed that he was her brother or if she was slightly mad—a woman who talked to birds. “It will end with blood and death as all wars do. The King of Blood searches for the same thing as you, I know it. Do you think you’ll find it before he does?”

He couldn’t reply to her, so he didn’t bother trying.

“The girl was born. She lives, brother. I saw it in the stars years ago—but you likely know this already. She can find the Kindred. The elders will be pleased to have all restored to normal.”

Eirene’s expression soured. “Without the crystals, the Sanctuary will fade away. I see it in this land. It’s all connected. Everything is connected, brother, even more than I ever believed it was.” She laughed, but there was no humor to the sound. “Perhaps it’s for the best. If I’m to die a mortal, why shouldn’t the same fate be given to all, no matter how long they’ve lived or how important they think they are? All things must eventually come to an end.”

Eirene had left the Sanctuary because she’d fallen in love with a mortal. She’d turned her back on immortality for the chance at love. She believed a handful of years that contained passion and life was better than an endless pristine existence. He’d been disgusted by her weakness then. For a Watcher, fifty years was only a breath of time.

“Beware of one thing, brother.” She glanced over her shoulder at him as she was about to return to her small cottage. “Don’t overestimate your ability to deal with mortals, even the pretty ones. After two thousand years, it could finally be the death of you.”

He still hadn’t told Danaus, Timotheus, or even Phaedra about the beautiful dark-haired princess’s magic. She was too important, and Ioannes had begun to trust fewer of his kind in recent months. He had to continue to keep watch over her. He had to find the right time to communicate with her.

And, very soon, he would have to find a way to kill her.

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Victory was theirs. The king of Auranos had been killed. The eldest princess and heir to the throne was found dead in her chambers. But there was still a loose end. Princess Cleiona had escaped the palace.

For such a young and seemingly innocuous girl, she was very wily.

If Magnus ever came face-to-face with her again, she wouldn’t slip through his fingers a third time. He didn’t like being frustrated. He also didn’t like the splinter of guilt that had worked its way under his skin over the relentless tragedy that had befallen the girl—both her father and sister’s deaths, as well as the guard who’d protected her in Paelsia. The one she’d said she loved. The one Magnus had killed with his own sword.

Irrelevant. It was done. And there was nothing he could do to change it even if he wanted to.

Magnus hadn’t told his father that he’d come close to capturing her again. He didn’t think the second failure when it came to the princess would earn him any favor with the king. Besides, he didn’t want to interrupt the king’s celebrations. Magnus was the only other person invited to the private dinner in his father’s heavily guarded tent between King Gaius and Chief Basilius. They toasted their mutual victory with the finest Paelsian wine.

Magnus abstained. He was too concerned with Lucia’s health to be in the right frame of mind to celebrate. She still lay unconscious, hours after her magic broke through the front doors of the castle ensuring their victory. The force of the explosion had also knocked him out, but when he came to minutes later, he was only shaken, not injured.

Lucia, however, was covered in blood. Out of his mind with panic, Magnus carried her to the medics. By the time he’d arrived, her cuts and abrasions had miraculously—or magically—faded away completely. But she remained unconscious.

The medics, baffled, told him that she needed rest and that she would wake eventually. While he waited, he’d prayed to the goddess Valoria to bring Lucia back. His sister believed in the goddess with all her heart. He didn’t, but he was willing to give it a try.

Two hundred people—from all three kingdoms—had been killed in the explosion. But Lucia lived. And for that Magnus was grateful.

Over twelve hours now and he’d heard nothing new about her. It was dinnertime and the king and the chief clinked their glasses, laughing over their victory and toasting to the bright future. Magnus sat with them at the table, his food untouched.

“Oh, my son,” the king said, smiling. “Always so serious, even now.”

“I’m worried about Lucia.”

“My darling secret weapon.” The king beamed. “Every bit as powerful as I always hoped she’d be. Impressive, yes?”

“Very,” the chief agreed, downing his fourth glass of wine. “And a beautiful girl. If I had sons, I think we could make a fine match between our lands.”

“Indeed.”

“Speaking of . . . ” The chief glanced at Magnus. “I do have a daughter who is yet unspoken for. She’s only twelve, but she would make an excellent wife.”

Magnus tried to keep the look of disgust off his face. The thought of a bride so young made him utterly nauseous.

“You never know what the future may bring,” his father said, running his finger around the edge of his wineglass. “So I suppose we should give some thought to how to deal with the spoils of war. The coming days and weeks are going to be very interesting.”

“We must appoint representatives to ensure that everything remains equal as we discussed. Of course, I trust that Limeros will be honest in its dealings with us.”

“Of course.”

“So much here, so many riches. Gold, treasures, resources. Fresh water. Forests. Fields upon fields of crops. A land teeming with game. It’s a paradise.”

“Yes,” the king said. “And, of course, there is the matter of the Kindred.”

The chief raised a dark, bushy eyebrow. “You believe in the Kindred?”

“Don’t you?”

The chief drained his next glass. “Of course. I have searched for signs of its location through years of me***ation, sending my own magic out across the miles to try to sense where it could be.”

“Have you had any luck?” the king asked.

The chief waved a hand. “I feel I am close to something.”

“I believe they’re here in Auranos,” King Gaius said evenly.

“Do you? What gives you that impression?”

“Auranos flourishes, green and lush, like the legendary Sanctuary itself, while Paelsia wastes away and Limeros turns to ice. Simple deduction, really.”

As the chief considered this, he swirled the remaining amber-colored wine around in his glass. “Others have considered the same thing. I’m not sure I necessarily believe that. I believe the carved stone wheels found in Limeros and Paelsia point to clues of its location.”

“Perhaps,” King Gaius allowed. “But to have taken this land from King Corvin is to possess everything the land contains with unrestricted access to tear it apart in my search. To find even one crystal would mean endless magic—but to possess them all...”

The chief nodded, his eyes lighting with greed. “We could become gods. Yes, this is good. We will find them together, and we will split them down the middle—fifty-fifty.”

“You like that plan?”

“I like it very much.”

“You know, your people already consider you their god. Enough to pay you blood sacrifice and enough wine tax *****pport your comfortable lifestyle.” King Gaius leaned back in his chair. “They believe you’re a great sorcerer descended from the Watchers themselves who will soon rise up and deliver them all from squalor.”

The chief spread his hands. “Without my people I am nothing.”

“I have known you for some time now and I have yet to see a spark of this magic.”

A glimmer of unfriendliness moved over the chief’s face. “You haven’t known me that long. Perhaps one day I will show you my true power.”

Magnus watched his father carefully. There was something strange going on here that he wasn’t quite understanding, but he knew better than to speak. When the king had asked him to be a part of this dinner meeting and celebration, he’d specifically told Magnus that he was only there to observe and to learn.

“When do we begin our search for the Kindred?” the chief asked. Both his plate and wineglass now empty.

“I intend on beginning immediately,” the king replied.

“And which two elements do you wish to possess?”

“Two? I wish to possess all four.”

The chief frowned. “All four? How is that splitting things fifty-fifty?”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. And that’s just...sad, really.” A smile stretched across the king’s face.

The chief stared at him for a moment, a drunken glaze in his eyes thanks to the two bottles of wine he’d drunk. Then he started to laugh. “You nearly had me. No, Gaius. I trust you to hold true to your word. We are like brothers after the blood sacrifice of your bastard. I don’t forget.”

“Neither do I.” The king’s smile held as he got to his feet and moved to the other side of the table. “Time for rest. Tomorrow is a bright new day. I’ve had enough of tents. We shall move into the castle. Much finer quarters there.”

He offered his hand to Chief Basilius, who still chuckled over their amusing exchange. He took the king’s hand and got to his feet, unsteadily. “A fine meal. Your cooks are to be commended.”

King Gaius watched him. “Show me some magic. Just a little. I feel I’ve earned this.”

The chief patted his belly. “Not tonight. I am too full for such displays.”

“Very well.” The king extended his hand again. “Good night, my friend.”

“Good night.” He clasped the king’s hand and shook it.

King Gaius pulled him closer. “I believed the stories. The ones of you being a sorcerer. I’ve seen enough magic not to doubt such tales until I have enough evidence to disprove it. I must admit, there was some fear. While I am a man of action, I don’t possess any magic of my own. Not yet.”

The chief’s brows drew together. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Yes,” King Gaius said. “That’s exactly what I’m calling you.”

Taking the dagger he’d concealed in his other hand, King Gaius slashed the chief’s throat in one smooth, quick motion.

The chief’s eyes bugged out with surprise and pain and he staggered back from the king.

“If you’re really a sorcerer,” the king said coolly, “heal yourself.”

Magnus gripped the edge of the table but didn’t make a move. Every muscle in his body had grown tense at the exchange.

Blood spurted from between the chief’s fingers. His panicked gaze shot toward the tent’s entrance, which was guarded only by King Gaius’s men. His trust had allowed him to come in here with...

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“Just once,” Brion said under his breath, “I would have liked you to be wrong.”

Jonas glanced at him. “I’ve been wrong lots of times.”

“Not this time.”

“No. Not this time.”

They stood at the edge of the forest and watched as the chief’s blood-covered body was strung up for all to see. The Limerian king flaunted the murder as a symbol of the chief’s weakness. He was no sorcerer or god as his people had always believed. He was only a man.

A dead man.

After his death last night, the Limerian army had turned their blades on the same Paelsians they’d previously fought with side by side. Those who refused to bow down before King Gaius immediately had their throats slashed or their heads severed completely and put on spikes. Most bowed and pledged allegiance to Limeros. Most were afraid to die.

With every moment he’d been forced to witness this atrocity, Jonas’s heart grew darker. Not just Auranos, but Paelsia had fallen to these greedy and deceptive Limerian monsters led by their king of blood and death. It was everything he’d feared.

He’d grabbed Brion just in time. His friend had been faced with a Limerian’s sword, and by the fierce and insolent look on Brion’s face, he wasn’t going to bow before King Gaius. As the knight raised his blade, ready to remove Brion’s head, Jonas killed him, grabbed Brion, and fled.

He’d killed many since this war began. He’d considered himself a hunter before this, but of animals, not men. Now his blade had found the hearts of many men. What little inside him was still a boy of only seventeen years had hardened to compensate for this. Each time he killed, it became easier and the faces of the men whose lives he took became less distinguishable from each other. But this was not the path he ever would have chosen for himself had he known where it would ultimately lead.

Together, Brion and Jonas had found other boys they recognized from their country, those who refused *****rrender to this madness. There was now a group of six of them, all gathered in the protection of the forest.

“So what now?” Brion asked, his expression grim and haunted. “What can we do but watch and wait? If we go out there again, we’ll be slaughtered.”

Jonas thought of his brother. Since his murder, everything had changed. A life of hardship and squalor in Paelsia paled in comparison to the horrors that lay ahead. “We need to wait and see what happens next,” Jonas finally said.

“So we’re supposed to stand back like cowards?” Brion growled. “And let King Gaius destroy our land? Slaughter our people?”

The idea of it made Jonas’s stomach clench. He hated feeling powerless. He wanted to act now, but he knew that would only get them all killed. “The chief made many mistakes. He’s gone now. And, if you ask me, he was a lousy leader. We needed someone who was strong and capable, not one who would so easily be fooled by someone like King Gaius.” Jonas’s jaw was tight. “Basilius’s defeat sickens me. Because of his greed and stupi***y, the rest of us must suffer.”

The other four boys gathered around grumbled about the unfairness of it all.

“But we’ve always survived despite the odds stacked against us.” Jonas raised his voice to be heard above the others. “Paelsia has been dying for generations. But we still live.”

“It’s King Gaius’s now,” a boy named Tarus said. The kid wasn’t much more than fourteen and was the older brother of the boy Jonas witnessed die on the battlefield. “He’s destroyed us and now he owns us.”

“Nobody owns us. You hear me? Nobody.” Jonas remembered his brother’s words all those years ago. “If you want something, you have to take it. Because nobody’s ever going to give it to you. So we’re going to take back what’s been taken from us. And then we’ll create a better future for Paelsia. A better future for us all.”

“How?”

“He hasn’t a clue,” Brion said, actually smiling now for the first time in days. “But he’s going to do it anyway.”

Jonas could help but grin back. His friend was right. He would figure out how to fix this. There was not a doubt in his mind.

Jonas cast a look toward the Auranian palace. While it glittered golden under the sun, part of it still burned from the explosion at dawn yesterday. A black cloud of smoke rose up above it.

He’d heard the reports. The king was dead. The eldest princess, Emilia, was also dead. However, Princess Cleo hadn’t yet been found.

When he’d heard this news, he was surprised at the lifting of his heavy heart.

The girl whom he’d blamed for his brother’s death, the one he’d fantasized about killing to gain vengeance, the one who’d cunningly managed to escape her own fate, her shackles, and a locked and guarded shed.

She was queen now. A queen in exile.

And he had to find her.

The future, both Paelsia’s and Auranos’s, now depended completely on her survival.

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Princess Cleo’s bedchamber was now Lucia’s. Magnus stood by while the medics and healers surrounded her, but they left when they could do nothing more to help. She lay there in the large canopied bed, her beautiful face pale, her midnight-black hair fanned across the silk pillows.

Magnus stood stonily by her bedside cursing the goddess who hadn’t answered his prayers. One healer remained, wiping Lucia’s forehead with a cool, damp cloth.

“Get out of here,” he snapped.

The woman looked at him with fear before scurrying out of the room. He was getting that reaction a lot lately. With his actions on the battlefield, with the ease he took the lives of those in his path, and that he had been present when Chief Basilius was murdered, the reputation that he was the Prince of Blood had grown to nearly match his father’s reputation.

Only Lucia had ever been able to see the real him—even before his sword had tasted blood. But perhaps that Magnus had died the night when he’d shown her his true feelings. The mask he’d always worn had shattered, but a new one had grown, stronger and thicker than ever. He should be happy for this improvement. Instead, he felt nothing but grief for what had been lost.

“The love of a brother for his sister,” the king said from behind him. Magnus’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t tear his gaze from Lucia’s face. “It’s truly a beautiful thing.”

“She’s not improving.”

“She will.”

“How do you know for sure?” Magnus’s words were as sharp as his sword.

“I have faith, my son. She is exactly as the prophecy said she’d be—a sorceress unlike the world has seen in a thousand years.”

He struggled to swallow. “Or she’s merely a witch who’s now destroyed herself to help you gain your victory over Auranos.”

His father scoffed. “Magnus, you are such a pessimist. Just wait. Tomorrow I’ll address my new subjects and set their minds at ease about their future. Everyone is now an honorary citizen of Limeros. They will celebrate my victory.”

“And if they don’t, you’ll make sure they’re punished.”

“Can’t have any dissenters. Wouldn’t look very good, would it?”

“You don’t think anyone will oppose you?”

“Perhaps a few. I’ll be forced to make examples of them.”

His father’s calm demeanor about all of this was infuriating.

“Just a few? We’ve swept in here and killed their king, the eldest princess, and taken over their land—as well as murdering the Paelsian leader. You think they’ll all simply accept that?”

“We were not responsible for Princess Emilia’s death. So tragic that she was ill. I’d never kill an innocent girl. After all, her ongoing presence in the palace would have helped ease my way into the hearts of Auranos’s citizens.”

“And Princess Cleiona? What about her? She’s queen now.”

The king’s expression tightened. It was the first sign of strain Magnus had seen. “She’d be smart to come to me and beg for my protection.”

“Would you give it to her? Or slit her throat too?”

The king smiled—a cold smile—and put his arm around his son’s stiff shoulders. “Honestly, Magnus. Slit the throat of a sixteen-year-old girl? What kind of monster do you take me for?”

Something caught Magnus’s attention. Lucia’s eyelids fluttered. His breath caught. But after he’d waited a few moments, nothing more happened. The king tightened his grip on Magnus’s shoulder as if he guessed that he was now in great distress.

“It’s all right, son. She’ll recover in time. This is only temporary.”

“How do you know that?” His voice was strangled.

“Because the magic is still within her, and I’m not through with it yet. I need it to find the Kindred.” The king nodded with confidence, his expression very serious now. “Leave us, Magnus. I’ll sit with her.”

“But Father—”

“I said to go now.” There was no mistaking his firm tone. This was a non-negotiable request.

Magnus moved from the side of the bed and sent his father a dark look. “I’ll return.”

“I have no doubt that you will.”

He left the room and pressed his back up against the wall in the hallway outside. It was as if he’d been stabbed through his heart. If Lucia never awoke, then she was lost to him forever. Grief for the only person in the world he’d ever loved and who’d loved him in return buckled his knees.

He felt at his face, wondering what the hot dampness was. For a moment he thought he was bleeding.

Swearing under his breath, he pushed the tears away, vowing that they would be the last he ever shed. Strength, not weakness, was what he needed from this day forward.

Falling Kingdoms
Page 39



King Gaius stood on the castle balcony, looking down upon those gathered to hear him speak about his victory here in Auranos, a crowd of more than a thousand.

They were terrified of both him and his army that surrounded them, watching for any signs of trouble. Cleo drew the loose hood of her cloak closer to her face as she listened to this hateful man speak his lies and false promises with a smile on his face.

She was exhausted. All day and all night she’d stuck to the shadows of the walled palace city, now overrun by Limerian security. But no one paid much attention to a mere slip of a girl.

Whenever she began to lose faith, she touched the ring her father had given her for strength—her mother’s ring. The sorceress Eva’s ring.

Cleo’s kingdom had been torn from her. Her family was dead. She was alone. But she wasn’t ready to run yet. Nic and Mira hadn’t made it out of the castle in time. King Gaius had obviously extended his “generous” hospitality to them. They also stood on the balcony with him as Auranian representatives, looking pale and distraught but as brave as possible given the situation.

To see proof that they lived gave her a glimmer of hope that she could free them. She needed her friends at her side if she was going to come up with a plan to right what had gone so horribly wrong. It was her father’s last request.

Cleo refused to think she would fail.

Suddenly, she felt someone’s gaze hot on the side of her face. When she glanced to her left, her breath caught. Jonas Agallon, also cloaked, stood not a dozen feet from her. She feared he was about to raise an alarm when he touched his index finger to his lips.

The boy who had kidnapped her, imprisoned her, and let Prince Magnus know of her location so he could attempt to drag her to Limeros as a prisoner of war was telling her to keep quiet. To stay calm.

Cleo froze in place as he slid through the crowd, moving closer until he stood directly behind her.

“I mean you no harm,” he whispered.

She slowly turned to face him.

“I wish I could say the same.” She pressed the sharp tip of her dagger against his abdomen.

Instead of looking alarmed, he had the nerve to give her a small grin. “Nicely done.”

“You won’t be saying that when you’re bleeding to death.”

“No, I don’t suppose I will. You shouldn’t be here, your highness. You need to leave immediately.”

She glared at him and pressed her dagger closer to flesh to prove she wasn’t fooling around. “Says who? A Paelsian savage who pledges allegiance to the man who’s stolen my kingdom and destroyed my family?”

His jaw was tense. “No. A rebel who wants to bring an end to the King of Blood.” Ignoring the danger the dagger presented, he leaned forward to brush his lips against her ear. “One day very soon, be ready.”

She looked up at him with confusion as he slipped away from her. She immediately hid the dagger back under her cloak so no one would spot it. When she looked around again, Jonas was lost in the crowd.

“So you see”—King Gaius spoke loud and clear from his royal perch—“the future belongs to Limeros. And if you join me, it will belong to you as well.”

The crowd murmured with displeasure, but the king’s smile only grew wider.

“I know you’re concerned for the safety of your princess Cleiona. Rumors abound that she was killed. I assure you, that’s not the case. She’s safe and well and shall soon be my guest at the palace. Consider this an act of generosity to show that I am benevolent toward all Auranians during this transition.”

Cleo frowned with confusion. How could he say those things? She wasn’t his guest.

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” a hatefully familiar voice said. She looked to her right with alarm to see that Prince Magnus now stood next to her.

Before she could reach for her dagger again, two guards grabbed her arms and held her firmly in place. Prince Magnus drew closer and slid his hand under her cloak to locate her weapon. He eyed it with disinterest.

“Unhand me,” she demanded.

“Didn’t you hear my father?” Magnus asked with a glance up to the balcony before his brown eyes flicked to hers. “You’re cordially invited to be our guest. My father doesn’t take disappointment well, so I advise you to accept as gracefully as possible.” His dark brows drew together as he studied her. “I know this must be a very difficult time for you.”

She spat at him. “I will see you dead.”

He wiped the spit away, and then grasped her chin. His gaze turned to ice. “And I, princess, will see you at dinner.” He nodded to the guards. “Bring her in.”

Holding her arms tightly, the guards marched Cleo toward the palace. As much as she wanted to fight, to scream, Cleo kept her head haughtily high. She would be fierce. This particular fate could ultimately serve her well. Inside the palace, she would be reunited with Nic and Mira. Together they would find a way to escape. They would figure out how to use her mother’s ring to locate the Kindred. With it, she would possess more than enough power to take back Auranos and vanquish their enemies forever.

Jonas had told her to be ready, but for what? She didn’t trust him. A few words spoken in a conspiratorial whisper changed nothing. For all she knew, he was the one to tip Magnus off about her presence in the crowd.

In any case, her fight was not over yet—not nearly over. It had only begun. And yes, Cleo would be strong. Just as her father and Emilia had asked her to be.

She would be strong.

She would reclaim her rightful throne.

She would be queen.