Crystal Storm (Falling Kingdoms #5)(5)

“Does that make me a rebel now too?” he asked, almost able to find the humor in such a statement.

“I think you’ve been a rebel longer than you’d care to admit. But yes. We can be rebels together.”

Something stirred deep inside of him at her words, a kind of warmth that he’d repressed for far too long.

The king—with help from Magnus—had destroyed Cleo’s entire life, yet she still stood by his side. Fearless. Brave.

Hopeful.

He kept thinking that this was only a fevered dream, that this perfect version of the princess might fade as the sun rose higher in the sky. But as the day grew light, she still stood by his side. She wasn’t a dream.

Magnus raised his gaze to hers. Yesterday had been a blur of desperation and fear. It had been the absolute worst day of his life, which had been turned utterly inside out the moment he’d finally found her in the woods, alive and fighting with all her strength to survive.

He’d confessed his love for her in a pathetic heap of messy words, and she hadn’t turned away from him, disgusted. This beautiful golden princess who had lost so much . . . she’d said she loved him too.

It still didn’t seem possible.

“Magnus?” Cleo gently prompted when he didn’t respond immediately. “What do you say? Shall we make our way to Ravencrest?”

He was about to answer, when the king drew in a hoarse, rattling breath.

“Magnusssss . . .”

His gaze shot to his father’s face. The king’s eyes were open now, and he raised his arm a few inches, as if reaching for his son.

Impossible. Magnus forced himself not to stagger back from the man in shock.

“You should be dead by now,” Magnus managed, his throat painfully tight.

The king made a strange, coughing sound then, and if Magnus didn’t know better, he’d swear it sounded like a laugh.

“Not . . . that simple . . . I’m afraid,” the king sputtered.

Magnus could see Cleo’s eyes blazing with hatred as she looked down at the man. “Why did you say my mother’s name?”

The king glanced up at her, his gaze narrowed. He licked his dry lips but didn’t reply.

Magnus looked at Cleo with surprise. The king had spoken the name Elena in what had seemed like his dying gasps. Had he really meant Queen Elena Bellos?

“Answer me,” she demanded. “Why did you speak her name when you looked at me? You said you were sorry. Sorry for what? What did you do to her that you would need to be sorry for?”

“Oh . . . dear princess . . . if only you knew.” The king’s words were less like dying gasps this time and more like the sluggish statement of someone who had just awoken from a deep slumber.

The guards had drawn closer to them at the sound of the king’s voice.

Enzo gasped as King Gaius pressed his hands against the blood-spattered snow and raised his head from the icy ground. “What dark magic is this?” The guard’s wide eyes glanced over to Magnus, and he immediately bowed his head. “Apologies, your highness.”

“None required. It’s an excellent question.” Uneasily, Magnus drew his sword and held it as steadily as he could to the king’s chest. “You should be broken beyond repair, like a bird that flew into a window. What dark magic is this, Father? And is it strong enough to save you from a sharp steel point?”

The king glanced at him with a thin-lipped smirk. “You’d so easily wish to finish a man who’s grasping at the smallest edge of life?”

“If that man is you, then yes,” Magnus hissed.

His father was helpless, weak, bruised, and bloody. It would be the easiest kill Magnus had ever made. And well deserved. So very well deserved.

One jab, one small gesture, could end this. Why, then, did his sword arm feel trapped in stone, unable to move?

“The earth Kindred . . .” Cleo whispered, touching the pocket of her cloak where she’d put the crystal orb. “It’s healed him. Is that what this is?”

“I don’t know,” Magnus admitted.

“I don’t think the Kindred’s magic has anything to do with this.” The king now sat upright, his legs stretched out before him. He looked down at his hands, scraped and bleeding from holding on to the edge of the cliff. Gaius took out a pair of black gloves from inside his torn cloak. He slid them on, grimacing from the effort. “As I fell, I felt the darklands reaching for me, ready to claim another demon for their ranks. When I hit the ground, I felt my bones shatter. You’re right: I should be dead.”

“And yet, you’re sitting and speaking,” Cleo said, her words clipped.

“I am.” He peered up at her. “It must be taking quite a lot of restraint from you right now, princess, not to beg my son to end my life.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If I didn’t think your guards would kill him a moment later, I would.”

Magnus looked toward the silent guards now flanking them. Each one had their sword in hand, their expressions tense.

“Point well made.” The king took a deep, steady breath. “Guards, hear me. You will obey all commands of Magnus Damora from this moment forward. He will not be held responsible for anything that has, or will, happen to me.”

The guards glanced at each other with strained and uncertain expressions before Enzo nodded. “Very well, your highness,” he said.