The king brought up his weapon just in time, and their swords clashed. Clearly, his father had been ready for him to strike.
“Oh, Magnus, don’t look so surprised,” the king said, their swords locked together, their faces uncomfortably close. “I know you, can predict your every move, because a long time ago I was you. But still I’d hoped, perhaps, that you would see reason much sooner than I did.”
The guards took a step closer and the king flicked a look at them, halting them in place. “Stay where you are. It’s time that my son and I had this out between the two of us. He likely thinks he has a chance to win.”
“I’m younger,” Magnus growled. “I’m stronger.”
“Younger, yes. Perhaps stronger. But experience is the key to swordsmanship. And I am overflowing with experience in protecting myself, my son.”
The king shoved him backward, then swung his sword. Magnus stopped it with his own, steel clashing.
“Experience, you say? It seems to me that your preferred method of protecting yourself these days is to hide away in your palace. Or perhaps go groveling overseas to more powerful men—or women—and offer up your kingdom like a shiny apple.”
“Mytica is mine to do with as I wish.”
“You could have fooled me. It seems to be Amara’s now.”
“Amara is my wife. Just another thing I own. When she’s gone, I will be the Emperor of everything.”
“No, Father. By the time she’s gone, you’ll already be dead.”
Their blades crossed again, and there was such force from both sides that it seemed to Cleo that the two were equally matched.
“Is this really for her?” the king said with disdain. “You would oppose me like this, here and now, and throw away everything that could have been yours for the love of one girl?”
“No,” Magnus replied, his teeth gritted together with the effort it took to fight his father. “I oppose you like this because you’re a monster who needs to die. And when that monster is dead, I will fix the idiotic mistake you made by underestimating Amara, and reclaim Mytica as my own.” He jabbed his blade, slicing his father’s shoulder. “What happened to your experience? It seems to me that I’ve drawn first blood.”
“And I will draw last.” The king dodged the next strike with ease, clearly surprising Magnus. “Never show how strong you are from the very beginning. Save it for the end.”
Gaius jabbed and flicked his wrist, and Magnus’s sword flew out of his hand. Magnus stared at it, stunned, as it landed six paces away.
The king put the tip of his sword to the prince’s throat.
“On the ground.”
Magnus sent Cleo a pained look and sank to his knees before the king.
“I didn’t want to have to do this,” the king said, shaking his head. “But you’ve given me no choice. Perhaps you’re not like me after all. You’re too soft to do what needs to be done.”
“You’re wrong,” Magnus gritted out.
“I saw potential when no one else could. And yet, here we are. Serves me right, I suppose.”
Cleo was shaking her head, lost for words and feeling more hopeless than ever. “Please don’t do this . . . don’t kill him.”
“It must be done. I can never trust him. I could lock him in the tower for months, years, but not a day would pass without the knowledge that he would be plotting to kill me again. However, my son, I will do you the honor of making this quick.”
His arm tense, his expression without pity, the king raised his sword.
“King Gaius!” Cleo shouted. “Look over here!”
He froze, the sword stilled, but he didn’t drop it. The king sent a glance over his shoulder at Cleo, who stood at the edge of the cliff, holding the earth Kindred out at a dangerous angle.
The king blinked. The guards reached for their weapons, but Gaius motioned for them to stay where they were.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked evenly.
“I do,” he said past a tense, tight jaw.