He wanted so desperately not to care about this—not to care about anything but finding the Kindred for himself and for Lucia— to be as cold and ruthless as his father found it so easy to be.
If only that were possible.
After the king left Lucia’s chambers, Cronus entered. Wordlessly, the large, brutish guard swept Mira’s lifeless body up into his arms and departed the room.
A beam of sunlight shone in through the balcony window, illuminating a small patch on the floor. Otherwise, the room was in shadows. A collection of candles next to the bed lent their flickering light to the princess’s tranquil face.
Magnus held onto the edge of the silk sheets, squeezing hard and trying to concentrate on nothing but the smooth feel of the fabric. His heart still thundered from what had happened. The girl hadn’t meant any harm, he was sure of it.
Yet now she was dead.
His legs weakened and he sank down to his knees next to Lucia’s side. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against the edge of the bed.
Then he heard something. A quiet moan. Then a deep intake of breath.
He opened his eyes. Lucia’s eyelids fluttered, as if she was having another dream—perhaps one about Alexius. Whoever he was.
Then he caught a glimpse of her bright blue eyes beneath thick black lashes. Slowly, she turned her head to face him.
“Magnus?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
His breath caught. Surely, he had to be the one who was dreaming now. “Lucia . . . is this true? Are you really awake?”
She squinted at him as if the meager amount of light in this room was too much for her to bear. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Far too long,” he managed to reply.
A frown creased her brow. “What about Hana? Is Hana all right?”
It took him a moment to understand what she meant. Hana was Lucia’s pet rabbit, a gift from Magnus that he’d brought back to her at the Limerian castle after a hunt. “Hana is fine. In fact, Mother brought her along for you when she journeyed here to be with us. She arrived a few days after we took over this palace.” The worry that had been in her eyes lessened. “Good.”
s everything he’d ever wanted.
Mira had approached to refill the water jug, making eye contact with neither Magnus nor the king. She moved quietly as if hoping to remain unnoticed.
“What is your name again?” the king asked her, his voice soft.
Her shoulders went rigid as she straightened, and her gaze moved from the ground next to the bed to meet the king’s directly. “Mira, your majesty.”
“You haven’t, by chance, been listening to anything my son and I have been discussing, have you, Mira?”
“No, your majesty,” she said immediately. Her brows drew together, as if surprised by the question. “I focus on the room, cleaning, and tidying, and taking care of the princess. That’s all. I don’t listen.”
The king nodded. “I’m very glad to hear that. With the rebels so active now, we must be very conscious of what we say and to whom we say it. Spies could be anywhere, couldn’t they?”
“Of course, I completely understand.” Her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “Was there anything else, your majesty?”
The king scratched his chin, as if considering. “I’m curious to know if my son believes you.”
Magnus tensed.
His father easily wore the mask of indifference that Magnus currently struggled with. “I know you’re familiar with servants who develop unhealthy habits of overhearing information by accident,” the king continued, “so I’d like your opinion on the matter.”
Magnus remembered the icy walls of the tower where Amia had been restrained, beaten, and questioned about her crime of eavesdropping—which she’d done on his orders. He’d sent the girl away so she’d have the chance at a better life—at any life—but his father had her hunted down and killed anyway. Magnus chose his next words very carefully.
“We were speaking quietly and this girl was on the other side of the room. I believe she heard nothing that would cause any problems. Besides, even if she did hear something, she would take it no further if she knew what was good for her. Am I right, Mira?”
The girl glanced at him, distrust in her gaze that he might say anything to defend her. “Yes, your grace.”