“I can find you many girls, much more beautiful than this one. One, two, three at a time. Your choice. This one has proven she’s not worth any more of your energy.” Magnus eyed Eugeneia. “Isn’t that right?”
She trembled with fear, but there was something harder in her eyes. Hatred for both of them in equal measure. “Yes, your highness. I’m not good enough for Lord Aron.”
“Then I suggest that you leave.”
She pushed herself up off the table and ran from the tent. Aron watched her flee with a dark look.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” Magnus asked. From Aron’s unfocused gaze and the stench of his breath, the boy was as drunk as Magnus had ever seen him.
“Enough.”
“Really? That’s too bad. I was going to join you in another round.” Magnus tore a strip from the silk table covering. “Here, let me help you with that wound. Doesn’t seem to be too bad.”
Aron let him pad his wound, his face pained. “You know, I could use another drink.”
“Thought you might agree.” When he finished with the bandage, Magnus grabbed a flacon of wine. He poured two glasses and handed one to Aron.
Aron downed it in one audible gulp. “I’m ashamed that you witnessed that, your highness.”
Magnus waved a hand as he took a sip of the wine. He’d not often indulged before; it was forbidden in Limeros. The wine was sweet, smooth, and not unpleasant. “Don’t be. It only goes to show that women are volatile.”
“Stupid, too.” Aron downed his second glass after Magnus poured it for him. “Much gratitude, your grace.”
“The more you drink, the less your wound will hurt.”
“I hope you’re right.” Aron grimaced, touching the bandage gingerly. “I would have thought you angry with me for attempting to bed the girl.”
Bed? Looked more like attempted rape to Magnus. “Not at all.” Magnus forced his smile to stay firm. “She was an attractive little thing. Just not for you.”
“Women are deceptive creatures of darkness whose beauty lures us close enough so they can carve their claws into our flesh.” A glint of humor lit Aron’s gaze as he took another deep gulp of the wine. “Which is why they must be declawed as soon as possible, as you’ve done with Cleo.”
“Sharp claws indeed.” The mention of the princess, who had been on his mind far more than he liked while on this journey, had Magnus tipping his glass back and draining it before he realized what he was doing. “I’m curious about something, Lord Aron.”
“What’s that?”
“I confess, I don’t know much about what you’ve done as kingsliege to prove yourself to my father. What you said earlier to Eugeneia—have you killed in the king’s name? Apart from the rebel the other day?”
Aron nodded grimly. “I have.”
Magnus leaned closer and offered the edge of a smile to set the boy’s mind at ease. “I think we’ve managed to put aside our many differences and become close friends during this journey.”
Aron’s brows rose. “You think so?”
“Yes, of course. I would like to be friends with you. Friends share secrets. They lean on each other for support in times of need.”
“It’s been a long time since I had a friend like that,” Aron said wistfully, swirling his wine.
“Me too.” Not since Lucia, when she could look at him without revulsion tainting her opinion of him. The reminder of her was a dull pain in the center of his chest.
Even still, the world had taken on a shimmering edge that brought with it a sliver of light-headedness. Paelsian wine was very strong—it could inebriate a man with only one glass.
Cleo liked wine. He’d watched her drink a great deal of it on the night of their wedding, and also during the tour. Perhaps it was all that had helped her tolerate the pain of being near someone she hated so completely.
“My first assignment for the king weighs heaviest on me.” Aron looked up at Magnus.
“Tell me more.”
Aron turned away, his grip tightening on his glass. “The king swore me to secrecy.”