Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms 2)

“I see.” His heart drummed fast and loud in his chest. “You’ve chosen the hard way. Fine. I’ll get my answers whether it’s now or whether it’s back in the dungeon on the rack. Perhaps it will give me the chance to capture Jonas if he attempts to save you.”

“He damn well better not even try.”

“Time will tell.” Magnus turned away, trying very hard to maintain his mask and not show how much his mounting frustrations weakened him.

“This piece of rebel scum will tell you nothing here or anywhere else,” Aron growled. He stood only a couple paces away, watching their exchange with a tight look on his pale face. “We don’t have time to take him back to the dungeon. We move on to the road tomorrow and we can’t spare any guards.”

“This is more important, Lord Aron.”

“I disagree, your highness. Rebels are best made an example of, not coddled and questioned.”

“Did it sound like I was coddling him?” Magnus gritted his teeth and glanced away.

“This is not how King Gaius would deal with this situation.”

ead guard shoved the prisoner forward. “Part of a group of rebels attempting to steal weapons from us.”

“A group of rebels? And yet you captured only one.”

“Apologies, your highness. But, yes.”

“How many were there?” Aron asked.

The guard had begun to sweat. “Three, my liege.”

“How many did you kill?”

A muscle in the guard’s cheek twitched. “The rebels are vicious, Lord Aron. They’re like wild animals, and—”

“Perhaps you did not hear my question correctly,” Aron snapped. “How many rebels did you kill of the three?” The guard blinked. “I’m afraid none today, my liege.” Aron glared at him with disgust. “Step back. Now.” The guard retreated.

What a complete jackass Aron was, spouting threat and intimidation as if he had the strength of will to back it up.

“Yes, your grace?” Aron asked evenly, noticing he’d gained the prince’s full attention.

“May I question the prisoner or would you like to have the honor?” It was an honest question, if offered on a slightly menacing level.

Aron gestured with his hand. “No, please. You go right ahead.”

How shocking. It was the correct answer. “Much gratitude, Lord Aron.”

Magnus indicated that the guards should bring the prisoner further into camp by the fire. There the rebel stood with his hands bound, but his shoulders were squared as he met Magnus’s gaze directly, without flinching.

“Welcome.” Magnus began with a smile, one that would mirror his father’s ease, if not the king’s famous charm. “I am Magnus Lukas Damora, crown prince and heir to the throne of Mytica.”

“I know who you are,” the boy said with distaste.

“Good. That will make things much simpler. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

The boy’s lips thinned, his eyes stony.

Magnus nodded to a guard, who backhanded the rebel. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but his gaze only grew more defiant.

“To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Magnus asked again. “This can go easy or it can go hard. The choice is yours. Answer my questions and I am capable of benevolence.”

The boy laughed at this, spitting out the blood that filled his mouth. “Prince Magnus benevolent? This I find hard to believe.”

Magnus’s smile thinned. “Your name?”