Rebel Spring
He did as she asked, supporting her. But as soon as her weight was on both legs, she found she did not have the strength to stand on her own.
“Not yet, I’m afraid,” he said, helping her back into bed. “You must rest.”
“I’ve been resting for two months!”
A weary smile curled up the side of his mouth, though his dark eyes were still filled with grief. “Another couple of days will have to be added. You’re not going anywhere today. Too bad, really. On any other day, I could sit here till nightfall and fill you in on everything else you’ve missed. For example, how I feel about being trapped in Auranos. Always bright and shiny and delightfully green—and I truly could not hate it more. All I wish to do is join the hunt for the rebel who killed our mother. But that will have to wait.”
“Wait for what?”
Magnus stood up from the side of the bed and leaned his arm against the poster near the base. “Until I return.”
“Where are you going?”
His brow furrowed. It was as if he didn’t wish to speak his thoughts aloud.
“Magnus, tell me. What’s wrong?”
“Today’s an important day, Lucia. I find it quite ironic that today, of all days, is when you’ve finally returned to us. To me.”
“What’s today?”
“It’s my wedding day.”
She gaped at him and struggled to sit up amongst the many cushions and pillows surrounding her. “What? Who are you marrying?”
His jaw tightened. “Princess Cleiona Bellos.”
Lucia could not believe her ears. “This has been arranged.”
Magnus gave her a look. “Oh, not at all. Since helping to take her father’s kingdom and destroy her life, I couldn’t help but fall madly in love with her. Yes, obviously it was arranged.”
Her brother, betrothed to Princess Cleiona—the golden princess of Auranos! “And you’re not pleased.”
Magnus rubbed his forehead as if the very thought of this pained him. “Pleased that I’m to be wed to a girl who hates me? That I feel nothing for her in return? All to help serve Father’s political agenda? I would say ‘not pleased’ is putting it rather mildly.”
She understood why such a strange union would make sense, despite her initial surprise. But this felt deeply wrong. “He may be the king and your father, but he’s not your lord and master and you’re not his slave. Refuse to marry her.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Do you want me to refuse?”
“It has nothing to do with me, Magnus. This is your life, your future.”
From his suddenly pained expression she knew this was not the reply he’d hoped for.
She inwardly cringed at the memory of Magnus admitting the depth of his desire for her, of forcing a kiss upon her she didn’t want, nor did she return.
“Nothing has changed between us, Magnus,” she whispered. “Please understand that.”
“I do understand.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.” The word was a hiss.
They might not share blood, but, to her, he was her brother in every way that counted. To feel anything else for him was impossible. When he’d kissed her, she’d felt only disgust.
But when Alexius had kissed her . . .
“Don’t cry,” Magnus said, reaching forward to gently stroke the tears from her cheeks, tears she was surprised to find herself shedding. “I must wed the princess. There’s no other choice.”
“Then I wish you all good things, brother.”
She couldn’t help but notice her choice of words made him wince. She’d disappointed him, but there was nothing she could do about it. She didn’t love Magnus the way he wanted her to. And she never would.
Lucia pushed his hands away and turned toward the balcony again, searching for any sign of the golden hawk that had been there before, desperately wishing that Alexius would soon visit her again so he could guide her. So he could be with her.
Somehow, some way.
Chapter 20
CLEO
AURANOS
It was the morning of Cleo’s wedding.
And it would be the day that King Gaius would die.
For you, Mira. Today he will pay for his crimes in blood.
Fire burned within her. Today, she would have her vengeance. Currently, however, her two Limerian attendants tugged so painfully at her hair that she wanted to cry like a little girl, not a future queen. “I don’t know why I can’t just wear it down,” she growled.
“The king commanded that it be plaited like this,” Dora haughtily explained. “And it will only take longer if you keep squirming about.”
Cleo had to admit that the king’s interfering attention to detail had paid off. Her hair did look beautiful in this style, a crisscrossing of tiny braids, woven together in an intricate pattern. Still, she hated it. She hated everything to do with this wedding—doubly so as the servants helped her into the beautiful but heavy gown Lorenzo had finished for her. He’d personally come to the palace to take her measurements the day after she’d returned from the Wildlands, full of endless, groveling apologies that his seamstress, unbeknownst to him, had been working for rebels. The girl had disappeared, but Lorenzo swore that if he learned anything new about her location, he would inform the king.
In Cleo’s mind, the seamstress was less an aid to the rebels and more a simple-minded girl who would do anything a handsome and exciting boy like Jonas Agallon asked of her.