Rebel Spring

This was truly torture for her. For a royal princess, even one from a fallen kingdom, to openly admit that she’d been defiled before her wedding night . . .

Well, it simply wasn’t something that happened. Or, at least, it wasn’t something anyone ever admitted to as publicly as this.

The king shook his head slowly. “Whatever are we to do with you now?”

Magnus noticed that Cleo’s fists were clenched at her sides. Through all of this, her eyes had stayed dry, her expression haughty despite her obvious fear. She did not cry, nor did she fall to her knees and beg forgiveness.

King Gaius loved it when people begged him for mercy. It rarely helped their cause, but he did enjoy it.

That pride of yours will be your undoing, princess.

“Magnus,” the king said, “what do you suppose we should do now that this information has seen the light of day? It seems I have betrothed you to a whore.”

Magnus couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him. Cleo cast a glare toward him, one made of sharp, broken glass, but he hadn’t meant the laugh to be at her expense.

“A whore?” he repeated. Well, his father had specifically asked for his opinion, which was a rare opportunity indeed. Why waste it? “The girl admits to being with Lord Aron one time; a boy she planned to wed. Perhaps they have since realized they acted impulsively by giving in to their . . . passions. Quite honestly, I don’t see this as quite as much of a crime as you do. In case you’re unaware, I have not retained my chastity, either.”

Speaking so plainly could have several different outcomes— negative or positive. Magnus ignored his churning gut and kept his expression as neutral as possible as he waited to find out which it would be.

The king leaned back, regarding him coolly. “And what of her admittance to lying to me?”

“If I were in her position I have no doubt I would’ve done the same in an attempt to gather my scattered reputation.”

“You believe I should forgive her this indiscretion?”

“That, of course, is for you to decide.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Cleo staring at him as if she was stunned he would say anything in her defense.

This wasn’t defense. This was an excellent chance to test the borders of the king’s patience with his son and heir now that he’d reached the age of eighteen. Magnus was a man now, so he would no longer act like a boy and cower away from his father’s potential rages.

“No,” the king said. “I wish for you to tell me. Tell me what you think I should do, Magnus. I’m fascinated to hear it.”

There was caution in the king’s tone, one unmistakably like the rattle of a snake moments before it struck.

Magnus ignored it.

After the unexpected announcement on the balcony, he felt reckless and unconcerned about consequences. At the time, Magnus had cast a stunned look in his father’s direction and had been met with one of steel. One that told him in no uncertain terms that if he argued this decision he would be very, very sorry.

Magnus would never underestimate his father. The scar that marked his face was a constant reminder of what happened when he did. The king had no problem hurting those he claimed to love the most—even seven-year-old boys.

His father insisted on playing games, but Magnus was no pawn, he was the future king of Limeros—now of all of Mytica. He too could play games if there was a chance of winning.

“I think you should forgive the princess this one time. And you should apologize to Lord Aron for scaring him. The poor boy looks rather distressed.”

The shivering Lord Aron was now covered in enough sweat that he looked as if he’d just gone for a swim in the lake.

The king stared at Magnus incredulously for several very long and very heavy moments. Then he began to laugh, a deep, rolling sound from the back of his throat. “My son wants me to forgive and forget—and apologize.” He said the last word as if it was unfamiliar to him. Probably because it was. “What do you think, Lord Aron? Should I apologize to you?”

Aron continued to kneel on the floor as if he did not have the energy to stand without help. Magnus noticed the damp patch on the crotch of his trousers from where he’d wet himself.

“No—no, of course not, your majesty.” Aron managed to use the tongue he’d come very close to losing. “It is I who should apologize for attempting to dissuade you from any plans you would make. Of course, you are right in all things.”

Now, that’s what my father likes to hear, Magnus thought.

“My decision,” said the king. “Yes, my decision to unite my son and the young Cleiona. But this was before I learned the truth about her. Magnus, tell me, what should happen now? Do you wish to sully yourself by a betrothal to a girl like this?”

Ah, so now he’d come to the inevitable fork in the road. How appropriate, since roads were so much on his father’s mind today.

One word from him could break this ludicrous engagement and free him from any ties to the princess, who made no attempt to hide her bottomless hatred for him. Reflected in her eyes was the brutal moment that had changed Magnus forever.

It wasn’t so much that Theon Ranus had been Magnus’s first kill. The young guard had to die, for he would have killed Magnus without question in order to defend the princess he loved. It was the fact that Magnus had slain the boy by stabbing him through his back that would forever haunt him. That had been the act of a coward, not a prince.

“Well, my son?” the king prompted. “Do you wish to end this betrothal? The decision is yours.”