Crystal Storm (Falling Kingdoms #5)(19)

Speak, she commanded herself. Say something, so he doesn’t think you’re terrified of him.

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Has the wildcat lost her tongue?”

Damn, but he looked so much like Magnus in the shadows of the inn. The very thought made her stomach roil with disgust.

“Not nearly,” she said evenly as she drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “But she’d advise you to keep your distance if you want to keep yours.”

“An empty threat,” he said drily. “How predictable.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back to my room.”

“You certainly could.” He moved to take a seat at the nearest table, which was soon to be occupied by hungry patrons, and sat down heavily, groaning as if the movement caused him pain. “Or perhaps this is a good time for us to talk.”

“There’s no time that’s good for that.”

The king leaned back in his chair and regarded her silently for a moment. “It was Emilia who was blessed with her mother’s particular beauty. But you . . . you certainly inherited her fire.”

Hearing this snake mention her mother again turned her stomach. “You never did answer my question from before. How do you know my mother? Why was it her name on your lips in your dying moments?”

His lips thinned in a grimace. “It was a mistake, speaking her name.”

“You’re still avoiding the question.”

“I believe this may be the longest conversation you and I have ever had, princess.”

“Tell me the truth,” she snapped. “Or is that even possible for you?”

“Ah, curiosity. It is a dangerous beast that will lead you down dark alleyways to an uncertain fate.” He scanned her face, his expression pinched. “Elena and I were friends once.”

Cleo laughed at that, surprising herself at the sharp sound of it. “Friends?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t believe you have any friends, let alone that my mother was one of them.”

“It was a different time, back before I was a king or she was a queen. Sometimes it feels like a million years ago.”

“I don’t believe you were friends with my mother.”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. It was over and done with a very long time ago.”

Cleo turned away from him, disgusted that he could even attempt to make such a claim. Her mother would never have chosen to spend time with someone as vile as Gaius Damora.

“Now I get to ask a question, princess,” he said, standing up and putting himself in between Cleo and the staircase.

She turned slowly to give him the haughtiest look possible. “What?”

“What do you want with my son?” he said, enunciating each word.

She stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Are you planning to continue to use Magnus for your own gain? If so, then bravo to you. You’ve done an exceedingly fine job turning him against me. His many weaknesses have long been a disappointment to me, but this—” He shook his head. “Do you have any true idea what he’s given up for you?”

“You don’t know anything about it.”

Gaius scoffed. “I know that not that long ago my son aspired to be a leader, willing to do what it took to one day meet his great potential. I’m not blind. I saw how quickly his head was turned by your beauty. But beauty is fleeting, and power is forever. This sacrifice, the choices he’s made lately surrounding the subject of you . . . I don’t understand his reasoning. Not really.”

“Then perhaps you are blind.”

“He doesn’t see everything that’s at stake. He only sees what’s happening in the moment, before his eyes. But you do, don’t you? You know how you want your life to be ten, twenty, fifty years from now. You’ve never given up on your desire to reclaim your throne. I admit that I underestimated your drive, which was a grave mistake.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to reclaim what’s rightfully mine?”

“Be careful, princess,” he said.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve told me to do just that. This time, I can’t tell if you mean it as a warning or a threat.”

“It’s a warning.”

“Just like the warning about the curse that my mother passed to me?”

“Yes. Just like that. You don’t believe it?” He leaned closer. “Look in my eyes and tell me if I’m lying about something as important as this. Your mother was cursed by a hateful witch and she died giving birth to you because of that curse.”

Cleo took a moment to study the king who spoke lies so easily. If he were anyone else, anyone at all, she would be concerned for his health. Even during their short, unpleasant conversation, his face had grown paler, his voice drier and raspier. His broad shoulders were now hunched over.

She celebrated his decline and would equally celebrate his death. If he expected anything else from her, he would be sorely disappointed.

But his eyes—clear, steady, cruel—held no deception that she could see.

“You can see the truth,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Elena could too, all too often, when it came to me. She knew me better than anyone else.”