Gathering Darkness (Falling Kingdoms 3)

“Was it.” Magnus’s gaze was fixed on the temple doors. He should have been consulted about this. Why should she be given such privileges? “It wasn’t the king’s decision to make. He’s not the one who was forced to marry her.”

“All decisions are the king’s to make.”

This was completely unacceptable.

“Wait out here,” he commanded. “I want to inform the princess this is the last time she will be allowed to come here.”

He expected Cronus to protest, but the guard just nodded patiently. “Very well, your highness. Do what you must.”

Magnus pushed through the temple doors, leaving the guards to wait outside. The space looked like a miniature version of the grand Temple of Cleiona, where he and Cleo had been married, which had been big enough to hold thousands. That was, before the earthquake that had reduced it to a pile of rubble, making it unsafe for anyone to venture inside.

Though this temple was much smaller, it was still ornate and beautiful. White marble floors. Carved benches. A statue of the goddess peering at Magnus with what looked like disdain. The symbols of fire and air were etched into her upraised palms.

“You’re not welcome here, Limerian,” she seemed to sneer at him.

Too bad.

The temple was empty apart from the blond girl seated in the front pew. She gazed up at a gigantic mosaic depicting the goddess with the green valleys of Auranos behind her. On her left was a wildfire, burning with flames both orange and blue; to the right, a tornado.

Cleo gave Magnus a sidelong glance as he approached and sat down across the aisle from her, his attention fixed on the mosaic.

“Have you come here to worship?” she asked.

He repressed a laugh. “Hardly.”

“So you’re here only to interrupt my prayers.”

“As if you’re actually praying.”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Spare me such accusatory glares,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve seen no sign that you’re devout in your religious beliefs. You’re the same as anyone in this hedonistic, self-centered kingdom. Your religion is nothing more than a series of pretty marble statues adorning gaudily ornate spaces.”

“You are entitled to your opinion.”

Her dismissive attitude would do nothing to help her cause tonight. “You come here to escape the palace even if it means you must be accompanied by a half-dozen guards. This is where you can think in private, perhaps about how best to destroy us.”

Cleo crossed her arms over the bodice of her gown. “Oh, so now you’re a mind reader, are you? It’s incredible that you have the talent to know exactly what’s in my thoughts at all times.”

“You’d be surprised what I know about your thoughts, princess.”

She assessed him with a single sweep of her eyes. “You’re drunk.”

“Am I?”

“You’re slurring your words.”

He wasn’t slurring anything. She likely said this only to wound him—a constant goal of hers. “Apologies for not making myself clear. I came in here to tell you this will be the last time you will be allowed here.”

She didn’t seem overly concerned by his proclamation. “The king told me I could come whenever I wanted.”

“I don’t care what the king told you.”

The princess raised her chin. “What right do you have to prevent me from doing something that has already been approved by your father?”

How obtuse she was being! He barked out a laugh. “What right? I’m your husband, princess. That gives me the right to stop you from doing anything that displeases me.”

She sighed. But Magnus could tell it was one of weariness rather than defeat. “By morning,” she said, “you’ll have forgotten all about this conversation. Tell me, how much did you drink? A gallon? Did you fall face-first into your wine and swim around for a while?”