Cleo sought Magnus’s gaze, but he remained focused on his father.
“You want me to kill her,” he said.
“Quick, painless. A sword through the heart. Or perhaps a simple push off this cliff. But choose one, or I will choose for you.”
Magnus stared at his father, his steely expression unreadable.
“I refuse to accept that this is the only way for me to redeem myself.”
“But it is, son. I know this is difficult—the most difficult thing I’ve ever asked of you. But that’s why it has so much value. Do this, and I will forgive you your past transgressions. You can rule the world at my side.”
“I thought you meant to rule the world with Amara.”
“That’s what she thinks, too. And I’ll let her keep thinking that for now. Do what’s right, Magnus. Don’t risk your life, your future, for one stupid girl. It’s not worth it.”
“I would have risked my life, my future, for Lucia.”
After all that had happened, Cleo thought, all that his adopted sister had put him through, did Magnus still love her?
“Lucia is different,” the king said. “She was worthy of your sacrifice. She was powerful. This Bellos girl”—he sent a venomous look at Cleo—“is only a pretty package containing nothing of value, a glimmering weight that will drag you down to the bottom of the sea.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right, yet I still struggle. I know she’s become the ruin of me.”
Cleo couldn’t find her next breath.
“A few unpleasant but necessary moments will fix all of that,” the king said. “Whatever you think you might feel for her is only an illusion—all romantic love is only an illusion. And illusions fade. Power doesn’t fade; power is eternal.”
Magnus nodded solemnly, his brow furrowed. “I thought I’d destroyed my chance to rule. I’d tried to think of other ways to reclaim any power at all, but . . . you’re right. There is no other way. I’ve risked everything, lost all of my potential because of my stupid decisions.” He raised his gaze to meet the king’s. “Yet you would still give me the chance to redeem myself for this.”
The king nodded solemnly. “I would.”
“Your capacity for forgiveness is both surprising and humbling.” His jaw tensed, then he, too, nodded. “If this is what I must do to reclaim my power, my life, my future. Then so be it.”
Cleo watched them both, stunned. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t happen.
The king nodded at a guard, who handed Magnus his sword. The prince studied it in his hand, as if assessing its weight.
“Look out at the lake, princess,” Magnus instructed her. “I promise this will be swift.”
All she could see was the sword in Magnus’s grip, light glinting off its sharp blade. A sword that, with one quick thrust, would end her.
“You . . . you honestly mean to d-do this?” she stammered. “To me? After—after everything we’ve survived together?”
“There’s no other choice.”
She grappled to maintain her composure, her grace, before dying, but it slipped through her fingers like sand. “And how will you do it?” she asked, breathless, heart fluttering like a flock of starlings. “Thrust a sword through my back when I’m not looking, like you did to Theon?”
“I was a boy then, I didn’t know myself when I killed that guard. But I know myself now. You, too, know me now, Cleiona. Which means you can’t be surprised by the choice I’ve made.”
Tears stung her eyes and she faced the cliff’s edge. “Everything is a surprise to me when it comes to you, Magnus.”
She thought of her father, the good and noble king. She thought of Emilia, of Theon and Mira. Everyone she’d lost. Everyone she’d been fighting for.
“Then do it,” she gritted out, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Do it now.”
Magnus nodded, his expression grim. “Very well, my princess.”
He turned and swung the sword. Cleo braced herself, and felt the gust of wind brought by the speed of Magnus’s blade. But that was all she felt. Then, hearing a deep, primal roar, she turned with surprise to see Magnus striking at his father with a furious blow.