“Magnus!” Lucia had rushed to his side and knelt next to him. Her attention was fully focused on his hand. “You’ve hurt yourself.”
“It’s nothing,” he said tightly. “Just a scratch.”
Blood had already soaked through the meager binding. Her brows drew together with concern. “Just a scratch? I don’t think so. Come with me and I’ll help bandage it properly.”
She pulled at his wrist.
“Go with her,” Lady Sophia advised. “You don’t want an infection to set in.”
“No, wouldn’t want that.” His jaw set. The pain wasn’t enough to bother him, but his embarrassment did sting. “Fine, my sister, the healer. I’ll let you patch me up.”
She gave him a comforting smile that made something inside him twist. Something he tried very hard to ignore.
Magnus didn’t cast another glance at either his father or his mother as he left the banquet hall. Lucia led him into an adjoining room, one that was chillier without the body heat of the banquet guests. Hanging, muted tapestries did little to warm the cold stone walls. A bronze bust of King Gaius glared at him from a tall stand between granite pillars, judging him sternly even now he’d left his father’s presence. She asked a palace maid to fetch a basin of water and bandages, then sat him down on a seat next to her and undid the napkin from his wound.
He let her.
“The glass was too fragile,” he explained.
She raised an eyebrow. “So it just shattered for no reason at all, did it?”
“Exactly.”
She sighed, then dipped a cloth in the water and began to gently clean the wound. Magnus barely noticed the pain anymore. “I know exactly why this happened.”
He tensed. “You do?”
“It’s Father.” Her blue eyes flicked up to meet his. “You’re angry with him.”
“And you think I imagined his neck in place of the stem of the glass like many of his subjects might?”
“Did you?” She pressed down firmly on his hand to help stop the flow of blood.
“I’m not angry with him. More like the other way around. He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you. He loves you.”
“Then he would be the only one.”
A smile lit up her expression. “Oh, Magnus. Don’t be silly. I love you. More than anyone else in the whole world. You must know that, don’t you?”
It felt as if someone had punched a hole through his chest and taken hold of his heart to squeeze it tightly. He cleared his throat and looked down at his hand. “Of course. And I love you too.”
The words felt thick on his tongue. Lies always slid smooth as silk for him, but the truth was never quite so easy.
How he felt for Lucia was only the love of a brother for his sister.
That lie did feel smooth. Even when he told it to himself.
“There,” she said, patting the bandage she’d wrapped around his hand. “All better.”
“You really should be a healer.”
“I don’t think our parents would consider that an occupation befitting a princess.”
“You’re absolutely right. They wouldn’t.”
Her hand was still on his. “Thank the goddess you weren’t hurt worse than this.”