She didn’t realize it, but her words had wounded him deeply. When the day was over he’d taken the book with him, torn out the pages that contained the story about the gateway, and burned each one, watching the parchment curl and blacken before his eyes.
Torn, burned, and forgotten—this was what should always be done with useless fantasies.
“All I wanted to say to you today is . . . be careful with Cleo,” Magnus said. “She’s very deceptive.”
“Aren’t we all when we need to be?” Lucia said with a slight smile. “If there’s nothing else, Magnus, I have other things to do.”
A voice nearby caught Magnus’s attention before he could respond. Not that he knew what else to say to her. “Your highness.” It was Cronus. “The king summons you.”
Clearly Lucia didn’t want his guidance—or company—anymore. She wished only for him to leave her alone.
Very well. Wish granted.
“Good day, Lucia.” Magnus turned on his heels and followed Cronus along the path back to the palace. On the way, he passed Cleo, heading toward the flower garden.
“My sister is waiting for you,” he said.
“Glad to hear it,” she replied.
She sounded so lighthearted and carefree; it was as if they’d never had their discussion earlier. Was she really so certain he wouldn’t tell his father everything she’d said? Everything she’d overheard? “Be careful, princess.”
“I always am.”
“Always? Or starting today?”
The glare she sent him over her shoulder was so fierce it very nearly amused him.
Magnus left the sunlight of the garden. When his eyes had adjusted to the darker interior of the palace, he realized that Cronus was closely scrutinizing him, surely wondering why Magnus had let Cleo go with no more than a warning.
“Your comment is not required,” Magnus muttered.
“I wouldn’t dare offer it, your highness,” Cronus replied.
“What does Father want from me today?”
“He requests your presence when he questions the rebel.”
He didn’t see what help he could offer, but he didn’t protest. He would do as his father commanded, even though just being in the same room as the king made his blood boil.
He thought again about Cleo. He hadn’t admitted a thing, but he wondered what she would say if he told her the whole truth about Aron, about his mother, about the king.
Would she tell anyone about her suspicions that Magnus killed Aron? And would it even matter if she did? She had no allies within these walls, apart from the useless and inconsequential Nic.
And, of course, her new best friend, Lucia.
Before he could meaningfully consider any of this, they’d arrived at their destination—a place that struck him with surprise.
“He’s questioning the rebel in the throne room?” Magnus asked.
“Yes, your highness.”
Fancy. Perhaps the king didn’t wish to soil his fine clothes or dirty his boots by descending into the dungeon today. Several guards were stationed outside the doors, and four more stood inside. Gregor, the rebel who’d attacked Magnus in Limeros, kneeled at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the large golden throne, where the king calmly sat.
“Finally,” the king said to Magnus. Then he addressed the guards. “We’re waiting for one more guest. In the meantime, the rest of you can leave. Cronus, you stay.”
Cronus bowed. The other guards turned and marched out of the room, closing the tall, heavy doors behind them.
“Who are we waiting for?” Magnus asked.